Full text of "The Shakespeare apocrypha; being a collection of fourteen plays which have been ascribed to Shakespeare. Edited with introd., notes and bibliography by C.F. Tucker Brooke"

THE SHAKESPEARE
APOCRYPHA

BEING A COLLECTION OF FOURTEEN PLAYS

WHICH HAVE BEEN ASCRIBED TO

SHAKESPEARE

EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES AND BIBLIOGRAPHY

C. F. TUCKER BROOKE, B.Lrrr.

SENIOR DEMV OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD

OXFORD L^i

^ Y\/

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

1908

HENRY FROWDE, M.A.

PUBUSHER TO THE DIVERSITY OF OXFORD

LONDON, EDINBURGH
NEW YORK AND TOBONTO

, - PR

ft?

PREFACE

THIS volume is designed to satisfy a need which during the past two genera
tions has been variously and often expressed. The ambition of the editor
ias been to provide an accurate and complete text, with adequate critical and
supplementary matter, of all those plays which can, without entire absurdity,
be included in the ' doubtfully Shakespearian ' class. A similar work to
3omprise the first thirteen dramas in this book, in addition to The Arraign
ment of Paris, The Death of Studey, and The Siege of Antwerp appears, indeed,
on the list of suggested publications of the New Shakspere Society (Trans
actions, 1874, p. 4), but it did not get beyond the stage of projection.

Since the days of Malone, only three of the works before us Arden of Fever -
sham, The Two Noble Kinsmen, and Sir Thomas More have appeared in English-
speaking countries in what can at all justly be termed independently edited
texts. Tolerable versions of four others have been published by Germans in
editions now practically unprocurable. As regards the other seven plays, no
real attempt at purification of the text or collation of the early editions has been
made, if made at all, for more than two centuries, and in the case of Sir John
Oldcastle, it has remained for this book to give the very first reprint of what is
most unmistakably the only reliable and uncorrupted version. Thus consider
able and important passages appear here for the first time since 1600.

In the preparation of the body of the text, the main object has been to give
a faithful reproduction of the most authoritative edition of each play ; that is,
of the .earliest, except in the rare instances where a later edition is demonstrably
truer to the author's manuscript. Supplementary passages are printed, within
brackets, from the earliest edition which contains them. Where a variant or an
jmendation has appeared inevitable, it has been adopted, but the reading of the
diti<> princeps has invariably been given in the footnotes. Great pains have
been taken it is hoped with a fair measure of success to register in the foot
notes all variants in accessible sixteenth and seventeenth-century editions which
ire not purely orthographic, and all such later emendations and conjectures as
possess any degree of usefulness or probability.

Silent alteration of the original has been tolerated only in such purely mechani-
3al matters as the abandonment of the long ' s ' ; the correction of obviously
unintentional mis-spacing ; the rectifying of the most transparent typographical
errors, such as Flaundsrs for Flaunders (Edward HI, I. i. 151) and thinekst for
'hinkc-st (Ibid. n. i. 98) ; and the introduction of modern punctuation where the

sense would otherwise be unintelligible to the ordinary reader. The old punctua
tion is, however, retained where possible, and all misprints which can conceivably
have interest or significance are recorded in the footnotes. The numeration of
lines is, of course, new, and it should be noted that the parts of divided metrical
lines are often separately numbered for convenience of reference and in order to
preserve the appearance of the original page.

It is believed that the text will be found as free from inaccuracy as a reprint
can well be made. Except for the few additional passages from the third quarto
of Mucedorus, personally copied by the editor, transcription has in no case been
trusted. The texts of the six plays contained in the third Shakespeare folio
and that of the first edition of Mucedorus have been based on photographic
facsimiles of the original quartos ; the other plays are printed from the best
modern old-spelling editions very carefully corrected by the originals. The
collation of the early editions has been done twice to ensure accuracy, and the
proof sheets revised by the original quartos. Particular care has been taken to
verify readings which are in opposition to those recorded by other modern editors.

The general notes are to be considered in connexion with the footnotes.
They have been kept within modest compass, and their raison d'etre the explana
tion or defence of the readings of the text has perhaps not often been lost sight
of. If more general comments have here and there intruded themselves, it is
trusted that they will be found always to serve some more legitimate purpose
than the mere display of ' all such reading as was never read '.

Like so many students of Elizabethan literature, I have to acknowledge
a large debt of gratitude to Mr. P. A. Daniel. My obligations to him for textual
comments and conjectures, particularly relating to The Merry Devil of Edmonton
and The Two Noble Kinsmen, will, I hope, be sufficiently evident from the notes
to those plays ; but for a great deal of other trouble willingly undertaken on my
behalf I have only this opportunity of rendering my sincere thanks. I am
equally indebted to Dr. Furnivall for unfailing interest and sympathy as well as
for a number of valuable suggestions for my Introduction ; and I gladly take
this occasion of expressing also my recognition of Dr. W. Aldis Wright's courtesy
to me while reading in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, and since.

Finally, it is with especial pleasure that I acknowledge my many obligations
to Professor Raleigh, to whom are due both the original inspiration for this book
and continued helpful encouragement during its preparation. It is my sincere
hope that the volume may be regarded as a testimony and a small tribute to
the force of his influence and example.

C. F. T. B
January, 1908.

CONTENTS

PAGE

PREFACE iii

INTRODUCTION . vi

The ' doubtful plays ' in general, p. vi. The history of their ascrip
tion, p. vii. Complete list of plays attributed to Shakespeare, p. ix. Chrono
logical list of the plays in this volume, p. xi. Comparison of the authentic
and the doubtful plays, p. xi. Had Shakespeare any interest in the doubtful
plays ? p. xii. Arden of Feversham, p. xiii. Locrine, p. xv. Edward III,
p. xx. Mucedorus, p. xxiii. Sir John Oldcastle, p. xxvi. Thomas Lord Crom
well, p. xxviii. The London Prodigal, p. xxix. The Puritan, p. xxx. A
Yorkshire Tragedy, p. xxxiii. The Merry Devil of Edmonton, p. xxxvi. Fair
Em, p. xxx \ iii. The Two Noble Kinsmen, p. xl. The Birth of Merlin, p. xlv.
Sir Thomas More, p. xl\ ii. The editorial history of the doubtful plays, p. liv.

TEXT.

ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM 1

LOCRINE 37

EDWARD III 67

MUCEDORUS 103

Appendix to MUCEDORUS . . . . . 120

SIR JOHN OLDCASTLE ..<... . . 127

THOMAS LORD CROMWELL . .165

THE LONDON PRODIGAL . . .191

THE PURITAN . .219

A YORKSHIRE TRAGEDY . . . .249

THE MERRY DEVIL OF EDMONTON . . 263

FAIR EM ... 285

THE Two NOBLE KINSMEN ... .307

THE BIRTH OF MERLIN .... .349

SIR THOMAS MORE . . .383

Appendix to SIR THOMAS MORE . . .418

NOTES.

Arden of Feversham, p. 421. Locrine, p. 422. Edward III, p. 422.
Mucedorus, p. 423. Oldcastle, p. 424. Cromwell, p. 426. The London
Prodigal, p. 427. The Puritan, p. 428. A Yorkshire Tragedy, p. 429. The
Merry Devil of Edmonton, p. 430. Fair Em, p. 432. The Two Noble
Kinsmen, p. 432. The Birth of Merlin, p. 435. Sir Thomas More, p. 436.

BIBLIOGRAPHY 438

INTRODUCTION

THE Shakespeare Apocrypha are indisputably the work of many hands,
varying to the extreme of possibility in strength, in skill, and in manner. Not
even the amateur Tieck, insatiable in his quest of literary curios, has had the
hardihood to ascriba the entire number to the greatest of the Elizabethans.
Yet unequal as they are in literary merit, these plays diverge still more, if
possible, in subject-matter, style, and general tone. Between certain individuals
of the group, indeed, a few similarities may be noted and a few comparisons
drawn ; but to attempt to treat the collection comprehensively and as a generic
whole would bs like undertaking a family history of Falstaff's motley company.
The pseudo-Shakespearian plays are waifs and strays of the Elizabethan drama,
brought together adventitiously from here, there, and everywhere, and with no
common bond but that mighty name, beneath whose broad influence they
all seek shelter.

Disconcerting though it is to the commentator, this infinite variety yet lends
a special zest to the consideration of the pseudo-Shakespearian cycle. The
plays are almost without exception interesting, but for very different reasons.
Two of them, Arden of Fever sham and The Two Noble Kinsmen, and probably
they alone, can rest their case boldly on their character as artistic wholes and
claim a position, when judged thus in their entirety, in the very first rank of the
extra-Shakespearian drama. Three others Edward III, A Yorkshire Tragedy,
and Sir Thomas More failing either in dignity or in unity of outline, rise in
parts to an equal height of poetry, a height where the question becomes less
whether they are good enough for Shakespeare than whether they are like him.

The remaining members of the group belong distinctly to a lower order,
that is, except on the theory of apprentice work or the hastiest of retouching,
modern criticism can hardly admit their claim of Shakespearian origin to be
even plausible. Yet there is scarcely any other dramatist of the period, save
Marlowe and Ben Jonson, whose reputation would suffer by the fathering of
plays like The London Prodigal, The Merry Devil of Edmonton, or The Puritan.

As there is no difficulty in selecting the five best pseudo-Shakespearian
dramas, so there need be little hesitation in pointing out the worst. Literary and
dramaturgical considerations would pretty certainly assign the position of
discredit to Fair Em and Mucedoriis, productions that bear the mark of vaga
bondage on every feature. Yet, for the reader of to-day, these plays, distinctly
the weaklings of the flock, possess an attractiveness of their own by very virtue
of their dull impersonality, because they display so little of the individual author
and so much of the vulgar dramatic taste. Such literary phenomena evolve
themselves, they are not created ; the writer docs no more than drift down the

INTRODUCTION

current of theatrical convention, and is doubtless as undiscoverable certainly
as little worth discovering as the author of a political election song or a low
melodrama of a generation ago.

There is a curious dramatic irony in the fact that Mucedorus and Fair Em
have been attributed by serious and respectable critics to the pen of Shakespeare.
Composed in utter disregard of probability and reason, with little poetry and less
psychology with no particular merit, indeed, but the freshness that comes of
complete unintelligent conventionality these performances made their appeal
frankly to the groundlings. In the case of Mucedorus, at least, we know that the
appeal was enormously successful. This absurd play, with the merits and defects
of a nursery tale, was acted by strolling companies everywhere till long after the
Commonwealth, and passed through seventeen editions between 1598 and 1700,
a record unequalled in the history of the pre-Restoration drama. The only play
of the pseudo-Shakespearian class, which can at all compare with Mucedorus
in popularity with the early book-publishers, is a considerably better comedy
of similar kind, The Merry Devil of Edmonton. Six quarto editions of the latter
are recorded between 1608 and 1655. It may be added, as a commentary on
Shakespeare knowledge after the Restoration, that Mucedorus, Fair Em, and
The Merry Devil of Edmonton, were bound together into a volume for the library
of King Charles II with the label, ' Shakespeare. Vol. I.'

The Shakespeare Apocryplia have been accumulating during three centuries.
Each generation has attributed to the poet, in good faith or in fraud, tentatively
or with conviction, the authorship of plays with which his name had not previously
been connected. At the same time, certain plays once ascribed to Shakespeare
have gradually disappeared from the list, as the actual authors have been dis
covered or the absurdity of the ascription has made itself generally felt. In the
present state of the case, the preparation of an adequate and practical catalogue
of pseudo -Shakespearian plays is a matter of some difficulty. The epithet
' pseudo-Shakespearian ' no longer carries with it any presumption as to Shake
speare's authorship. Certain plays, a baker's dozen in all, have acquired a pre
scriptive right to the title, and must be mentioned in every list ; twenty or thirty
others have at various times been proposed, with greater or less diffidence, but
are still far from having established their position in the category. In regard
to these last, each writer on the subject must decide for himself which may
be admitted into the ' doubtfully Shakespearian ' class without offence to the
rules of critical seemliness. The catalogue of a seventeenth -century bookseller,
for instance, gives to Shakespeare three histories : Edward II, Edward III, and
Edward IV. The second of these is universally regarded as one of the doubtful
plays, but to admit into the group either of the others, known to be by Marlowe
and Heywood respectively, would show an absurdly uncritical deference to the
blunder or deceit of the bookseller, the only mortal who has ever hinted at the
connexion.

The long critical history of the Shakespeare Apocrypha divides itself into three

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

pretty well defined epochs. The first, which lasted from the close of the sixteenth
century till well into the eighteenth, was the age of purely unliterary attribution.
Plays were stated on title-pages, on the Stationers' Registers, or in book-lists to be
by William Shakespeare, and there, for a time, the matter ended. No evidence,
internal or external, was adduced in support of the attribution, and in few cases
or none could the attributors by any stretch of the imagination be called literary
critics. Such ascriptions are either the most authoritative of all, or they are
utterly valueless ; they may rest on personal knowledge or general contemporary
report ; they may, on the other hand, be no more than the fabrication of an
ignorant or fraudulent bookseller. It requires a considerable amount of boldness
to deny the possibility of Shakespeare's concern in The Two Noble Kinsmen, in
the face of the title-page of the first edition, 1 which declares it to be ' written
by the memorable Worthies of their time ; Mr. John Fletcher, and Mr. William
Shakespeare, Gentlemen ' ; and the evidence of the Stationers' Registers 2 and
first edition 2 of A Yorkshire Tragedy in favour of Shakespeare's authorship of
that play is perhaps even stronger, because dating from the poet's lifetime. Yet
an edition of Sir John Oldcastle in 1600 likewise bears the words, ' Written by
William Shakespeare,' and this boast, absurd on the face of it, is proved menda
cious beyond the shadow of a doubt, by the record in Henslowe's Diary of the
actual authors : Munday, Drayton, Wilson, and Hathway. To sum up, we have
in the seventeenth century practically no evidence to indicate that Shakespeare's
dramatic activities extended beyond the list of canonical plays, save that of
printers, publishers, and stationers. This evidence is worthy of serious con
sideration in case, and only in case, there is no prima jade cause to believe the
witnesses grossly ignorant of the matter, or dishonestly intent on palming of?
their spurious wares as the works of Shakespeare.

The generation of Capell, Steevens, and Malone, ushered in the second epoch
in the criticism of the doubtful plays. They and their followers took a purely
literary point of view, judging the dramas on catholic lines and, in general, with
accuracy and fairness, though they suffered from inadequate comprehension of
the peculiarly distinguishing features of Shakespeare's art and placed a mis
chievous amount of confidence in such vanities as parallel passages and identical
archaisms. This tendency of criticism to which the apocryphal plays owe as
much perhaps, after all, as to any that has so far succeeded it vanished in
a burst of midsummer madness with the wild attributions of Tieck and his
romantic satellites.

For these last, Germans all, and incapable of appreciating the delicacies of
English style, Shakespeare appears to have meant rather a poetic principle than
a poet. Dazed by the newly discovered and ill-understood brilliance of the
Shakespearian drama, they tended to appropriate to the individual poet qualities
of freshness and freedom which, in truth, were the common property of the age.
To this misconception and to the desire, so characteristic of later German
1 1634. = Both in 1608.

INTRODUCTION

criticism, to outstrip Shakespeare's countrymen in magnifying his name, is due
without doubt Tieck's championship of the genuineness of plays like Mucedorus
and George a Greene.

Many of the utterances of Tieck and Schlegel concerning the doubtful plays
form a crushing though unconscious parody of the general impressionist method
inaugurated by Capell and Malone. The generation that followed Tieck saw
the rise in England of the third tendency in the criticism of the Shakespeare
Apocrypha. Here, as elsewhere, the trend of the time was towards more exact
knowledge, towards the careful consideration and classification of minutiae ;
for the first time an attempt was made, and with a good measure of success, to
establish definite criteria for style and spirit, whereby the work of one dramatist
might be distinguished from that of another. The most tangible, but surely
not the sole result of this effort is the development of the ' metrical tests '. Tho
new system, however, is at least as liable to abuse as that which it superseded ;
at its best, exact knowledge of metrical and dramatic details shows itself chastened
and directed by broad literary appreciation, as in Professor Spalding's essay on
the authorship of The Two Noble Kinsmen ; at its worst, as in some of Mr. Fleay's
radical pronunciamentoes, the ultimately all-important considerations of tone
and spirit are either slighted or forced into unwilling compliance with the results
of statistical tabulation.

The following is a list, as complete as seems practicable, of the uncanonical
plays which have been ascribed to Shakespeare arranged roughly according to
the date of attribution :

1. The First Part of Sir John Oldcastle, 1600. In this year appeared two
editions, one anonymous, the other bearing the words : ' Written by William
Shakespeare.'

2. The London Prodigal, 1605.

3. A Yorkshire Tragedy, 1608.

4. 5. The Troublesome Reign of King John, in two parts. The title-page of
the edition of 1611 says : ' Written by W. Sh.' The earlier edition of 1591 was
anonymous. There can be little doubt that the public was meant to interpret
' W. Sh.' as ' William Shakespeare ', and these words indeed appeared in full
on the title-page of the third edition (1622).

6, 7. The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of Yorke
and Lancaster and The True Tragedy of Richard, Duke of Yorke. These old plays
were reprinted in 1619 for T. P(avier), the title-page asserting them to be ' written
by William Shakespeare, Gent.'

8. The Taming of a Shrew. Ascribed to Shakespeare in Smetwick's reprint,
1631. The first edition 1 is anonymous.

9. The Two Noble Kinsmen. Attributed to Fletcher and Shakespeare on
title-page of the first edition, 1634.

10. The Merry Devil of Edmonton. Entered by H. Moseley in 1653 as by
Shakespeare. All the early editions are anonymous.

11. 12. Henry I and Henry II, ' by Wm. Shakespeare and Robert Davenport,'
so entered Sept. 9, 1653.

13. The History of Gardenia, ' A Play by Mr. Fletcher and Shakespeare ; '

1 1594.
a 3

entered Sept. 9, 1653. It has been suggested that this play is identical with
Double Falsehood (No. 25).

14. The Second Maiden's Tragedy. Entered Sept. 9, 1653, but read in MS.
and approved by Sir George Buc as early as Oct. 31, 1611 ; printed 1824. 1 This
is one of the three survivors of Warburton's famous collection of fifty-three
manuscript plays, the rest of which were sacrificed by his cook to make pie-
covers ; in this way perished the only known copies of Nos. 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17,
which were likewise in Warburton's possession. The Second Maidens Tragedy
was labelled by Warburton ' A Play by William Shakespeare ', but has been
attributed also to Th. Goff and to Chapman.

15, 16, 17. The History of King Stephen ; Duke Humphrey, a Tragedy ;
Iphis and lanthe, or a Marriage without a Man. All these were entered on
June 29, 1660, under Shakespeare's name. No. 16 may be a version of Henry VI,
Part 2.

18. The Arraignment of Paris,* by Peele ; ascribed to Shakespeare in the
catalogues of the booksellers Kirkman, Winstanley, and others, 1656-70.

19. The Birth of Merlin. The first edition, 1662, claims William Shakespeare
and William Rowley as joint authors.

20. 21. Fair Em and Mucedorus. A volume in Charles the Second's library,
which contained these two plays and The Merry Devil of Edmonton, bore on the
outside the title, ' Shakespeare. Vol. I.'

22, 23, 24. The Puritan, Tlwmas Lord Cromwell, Locrine. The first edition
of each of these plays gives the author merely as ' W. S.' The earliest definite
connexion with Shakespeare is their inclusion together with Oldcastle, The
London Prodigal, A Yorkshire Tragedy, and Pericles in the third Shakespeare
folio, 1664.

25. Double Falsehood, or The Distrest Lovers. Assigned to Shakespeare,
perhaps fraudulently, by Theobald in the preface to the first edition. 1728.

26, 27, 28. Edward II (1594), Edward III, Edward IV (1600). Casually
listed as Shakespeare's in an early bookseller's catalogue. Edward HI w r as first
seriously ascribed to Shakespeare by Capell in 1760.

29. Arden of Feversham. Shakespearian authorship was first suggested by
Edward Jacob in 1770.

30, 31. King Leir and his Daughters (1605) and George a Greene, the Pinner
of Wakefield (1599). First attributed by Tieck ; * 31 is now accepted as Robert
Greene's.

32, 33, 34. Wily Beguiled (1606), Satiro-Mastix (1602), A Warning for Fair
Women (1599). Ascribed to Shakespeare by W. Bernhardi 4 in 1856; 33 is
probably by Dekker.

35. Sir Thomas More. First printed, 1844 ; Shakespeare's part authorship
suggested by Simpson in 1871.

From Mr. Simpson's list of doubtful plays B may be added for the sake of
completeness :

36. The Merry Wives of 1602.

37. 38. The Prodigal Son and Titus and Vespasia(n) ; * both preserved only
in worthless old German translations.

1 In vol. i of The Old English Drama, London. 2 1st ed., 1584.

3 Altenglisches Theater, oder Supplemente zum Shakespeare. Berlin, 1811.
* Hamburger Litter aturblatt, No. 79.

5 Transactions, New Shaksperc Society, 1875-6, p. 155 ff.

6 Mentioned by Henslowe. An early version of Titus Andronicus, printed in
Cohn's Shakespeare in Germany. London, 1865.

INTRODUCTION

39. The lost Hamlet of 1589 and ' Corambis ' Hamlet of 1603.

40. The True Tragedy of Richard III. First edition, 1594.

41. A Larum for London, or the Siege of Antwerp, 1602. 1

42. Albumazar ; generally accepted as the work of Tomkis. First edition
in 1615.

From this catalogue 2 Pericles and Titus Andronicus are designedly omitted
because they have established their position in practice, if not in universal
opinion, among the genuine works. It is hardly necessary to call attention to
the further omission of such transparent and confessed forgeries as Vortigern 3
and Henry the Second,* by W. H. Ireland, and The Fifth of November ; or The
Gunpowder Plot, 5 by George Ambrose Rhodes.

Of the forty- two ' doubtful plays ' just enumerated, only thirteen can be
regarded as having acquired a real claim to the title ; to these thirteen is added
in the present volume Sir Thomas More, a play discovered less than a century
ago and destitute, therefore, of prescriptive right of membership. Yet the
evidence, internal and external, which can be submitted in defence of the pleasing
idea that Shakespeare had a reviser's part in the authorship of Sir Thomas More
is of so interesting and plausible a nature that no apology seems necessary for its
inclusion. The following, then, are the names and earliest dates of publication
of the fourteen dramas here reprinted, which alone appear entitled, on grounds
either of reason or of custom, to a place among the Shakespeare Apocrypha :

I. Arden of Fever sham, 1592.
II. Locrine, 1595.
III. Edward III, 1596.
IV. Mucedorus, 1598.

V. The First Part of Sir John Oldcastle," 1600.
VI. Thomas Lord Cromwell, 1602.
VII. The London Prodigal, 1605.
VIII. The Puritan, 1607.
IX. A Yorkshire Tragedy, 1608.
X. The Merry Devil of Edmonton, 1608.

XI. Fair Em. First edition not dated ; second edition, 1631.
XII. The Two Noble Kinsmen, 1634.
XIII. The Birth of Merlin, 1662.
XIV. Sir Thomas More, 7 1840.

The exact likelihood of Shakespeare's connexion with any member of this
various group must be determined by careful individual examination. On the
whole, it may be said, the reader will be impressed more with the unlikeness of
the doubtful to the authentic plays than with their likeness.

There can, indeed, be no stronger vindication of the honesty and intelligence
of the editors of the first Shakespeare Folio, Hemings and Condell, than careful
study of the works which they excluded. As all attempts to deprive the poet of

1 Reprinted, 1872, by R. Simpson, School of Shakespeare, No. 1.

2 For several other utterly absurd attributions cf. the catalogue of 1656 mentioned
in my Bibliography, V. (b) 1 (p. 454).

3 1799. Reprinted 1832. 4 1799. 5 1830.

6 The second part of this play is not extant. 7 Date of composition circa 1590.

xii THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

a large interest in any of the thirty-six plays published by them have so far
failed, so it seems in the highest degree improbable that their list will ever be
augmented by more than the genuine act or two of Perides and a few broken
fragments which Shakespeare would doubtless have been the last of all men to
include among his works.

As regards the fundamental matters of plot and dramatic structure, there
is no member of the Shakespeare Apocrypha, with the exception possibly of
The Two Noble Kinsmen, which displays special kinship with any genuine play.
There is not, for instance, a single French or Italian plot to be found in the doubt
ful group and, except in the case of Mucedorus and The Two Noble Kinsmen, the
leading characters are invariably English. In the Shakespeare canon the matter
is entirely different ; if we leave out of account the ten English histories, we
find that fourteen out of twenty-seven genuine works have French or Italian
plots, derived usually directly or indirectly from novels; while (with the necessary
exception again of the ten histories, the closely associated Merry Wives of Windsor,
and the three mythical British dramas) not a single authentic play is avowedly
English either in scene or characters.

Moreover, seven of the apocryphal dramas belong to well-defined dramatic
species, of which there is not a single instance among Shakespeare's accepted
works, and which there is inherent reason for supposing he would have avoided.
These species are :

1. What may be termed the ' biographical history ', represented by Sir John
Oldcastle, Thomas Lord Cromwell, and Sir Thomas More. Such dramas depict
in loosely cohering scenes disconnected passages from the life of the hero ; struc
tural chaos is the prerequisite of their existence. To this group belong also the
first two acts of Perides which arc certainly un-Shakespearian.

2. The dramatic record of contemporary crime. Arden of Feversham and
A Yorkshire Tragedy are remarkably fine instances of a class which, because it
concerns itself primarily with actual physical horror, can scarcely rise to the
level of high art.

3. Comedy of contemporary London manners, of which The London Prodigal
and The Puritan are examples. This type of drama, superlatively interesting
to our age for its richness of topical allusion, is opposed to the method of Shake
speare, who sets his realistic sketches against a romantic background and never
condescends, like Ben Jonson and the author of these plays, to copy the life
before his door in all its uninspiring mediocrity.

It seems improbable, then, for many reasons, that Shakespeare had an interest
in the original construction of any of the doubtful plays. When we consider
the possibility, however, of his co-operation in the capacity of reviser or elaborator,
there is less cause for disbelief. During his long and many-sided connexion with
the stage, the poet-manager would doubtless have had occasion to retouch and
refine much of the inferior work which came to his company. Several of the
canonical plays bear witness that Shakespeare did, indeed, follow this usual

INTRODUCTION xiii

Elizabethan practice, but his acknowledged works would not naturally, and do
not, include his slight or casual revisionary labours. It is at present a thoroughly
permissible belief, though one which can hardly be strengthened into certainty,
that some of the splendid passages in the best apocryphal plays are thus the
hasty and fragmentary creation of the master's hand. More exact knowledge
as to this and other points of interest can be acquired only, if at all, from the study
of the individual plays, to the separate discussion of which we may now proceed.

I. Arden of. Feversham was entered on the Stationers' Register on April 3,
1592. 1 The same year appeared the first edition, in quarto (Q. 1), with the follow
ing title-page : ' The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden of Feversham in
Kent. Who was most wickedlye murdered, by the meanes of his disloyall and wanton
wyfe, who for the loue she bare to one Mosbie, hyred two desperat ruffins Blackwill
and Shakbag, to kill him. W her in is shewed the great mallice and discimulation
of a wicked woman, the vnsatiable desire of filthie lust and the shamefull end of all
murderers. Jmprinted at London for Edward White, dwelling at the lyttle North
dore of Paules Church at the signe of the Gun. 1592.'

This edition, of which copies are preserved m the Bodleian and in the Dyce
Collection, South Kensington, is in black letter ; it gives a remarkably good text
and appears to have been closely followed by the second edition (Q. 2), of 1599.
The only copy of Q. 2 known to exist is in the library of the Duke of Devonshire.
In 1633 a third quarto (Q. 3) was published ; this poor edition, which is to be
found both in the Bodleian and in the British Museum, has a different pagination
from Q. 1, and is especially remarkable for the number of words it omits.

The murder which Arden of Feversham represents took place on February 15,
1550-1 considerably more than a generation, therefore, before the publication
of the first edition, or the earliest date (1590) to which the actual writing of the
play can easily be referred. Yet there can be no doubt that popular interest
in the event was still lively and widespread. Holinshed's Chronicle contains
a detailed account, which many common inaccuracies and embellishments
show to have been followed closely by the author of the tragedy. S tow's
Chronicle gives a brief narrative of the crime and its punishment, while the actual
facts are recorded in the Wardmote Book of Faversham.

To the dramatic talent of Holinshed we seem to owe the story of the repeated
unsuccessful attempts on Arden's life, and the merging of tho two colourless
individuals of the Wardmote Book into the single effective figure of Susan. Finally
the Roxburghe Collection preserves a long ballad of forty-eight stanzas probably
inspired by the play with the following title : ' Complaint and lamentation of
Mistresse Arden of Feversham in Kent, who for the love of one Mosbie, hired certaine
Ruffians and Villaines most cruelly to murder her Husband ; with the fatall end of
her and her Associats. To the tune of Fortune my Foe.'

Not till nearly two centuries after the first appearance of Arden of Feversham,

1 ' 3 Aprilis (1592). Edward white, Entred for his copie vnder th(e h)andes of the
Lord Bishop of London and the wardens The tragedio of Arden of Feuersham and
Blackwall (i.e. Black Will), vjd A.'

xiv THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

was the play coupled with the name of Shakespeare. This service and, right
or wrong, it should be deemed a service we owe to a loyal but somewhat un
critical citizen of Faversham, Edward Jacob, who in 1770 published a reprint
of the first edition with the title : ' The Lamentable and True Tragedie of M. Arden,
of Feversham in Kent. . . . With a Preface ; in which some Reasons are offered
in favour of its being the earliest dramatic Work of Shakespeare now remaining . . .'
The only reasons which Jacob actually offers are embraced in a scant half-page
of parallel phrases between Arden and various genuine plays, and the similarity
thus indicated is of so general a character as to prove nothing at all, beyond the
obvious fact that Arden of Feversham and Shakespeare both belong to the Eliza
bethan period. 1

Around few plays has so large a mass of able criticism accumulated during
the last century with so little definite result as around Arden of Feversham.
Those readers who feel impelled to assign this fine tragedy to the pen of the
youthful Shakespeare have on their side the great authority of Mr. Swinburne
and the more hesitating testimony of Charles Knight, Delius, and the Dutch
translator Kuitert. But the balance of critical opinion, it may safely be said,
is turning slowly to the side of respectful incredulity, the side represented by
Tyrrell, Ulrici, Ward, Professor Saintsbury, Symonds, and the editors of the
three modern texts : Mr. Bullen, Warnke and Proescholdt, and the Reverend
Ronald Bayne. a

In considering the claim to authenticity of the work before us and others of
its class, it is but fair to recognize that the reader's sympathies will ordinarily
incline him strongly toward their acceptance. Besides the pleasure involved
in the fancied recognition of a real personality, and that the greatest, behind the
frigid mask of anonymity, allowance must be made, particularly on first perusal,
for the intoxicating effect of the poetry. In the five doubtful plays in which the
question of Shakespeare's authorship lends itself to rational discussion, there
are gorgeous poetic passages that grip the imagination and overwhelm the reason.
If, however (as is the case with regard to Arden of Feversham and its companions),
our enthusiasm dies away when we consider the work in its dramatic entirety,
or fit the words to the speaker, then surely we should pause long ere we venture
on anything approaching a general attribution to Shakespeare. There is nothing
fitful or transitory about the true Shakespearian quality ; his creations gain,
instead of losing, by repeated and various examination, and the very sign-manual
of his work is the subordination of the expression to the idea, the complete
amalgamation of the parts in the whole.

Arden of Feversham fails in all of these great tests, and a full century of the

1 The following is the list of phrases and words for which Jac >b cites Shakespearian
parallels : ' such a taunting letter,' ' painted cloth,' ' Mermaid's song,' ' Basiliskc,'
' lean faced knave,' ' white livered,' ' buy his merriment as dear,' ' Precisian,' ' a Raven
for a Dove,' ' wild cat,' ' swear me on the interrogatories,' ' horned beast,' ' Endimion,'
' death makes amends for sin.'

2 For more exact details as to works referred to here and elsewhere, readers are
requested to consult the Bibliography.

INTRODUCTION

most searching inquiry has not been able to add one iota to the probability of
its authenticity. In such cases, not to advance is to recede hopelessly ; were
there enough of Shakespeare in Arden of Feversham to make up more than two
or three purple patches at the most, its presence would long ago have made itself
perceptible to the dullest vision, as it has done in the less intrinsically interesting
play of Pericles.

Mr. Fleay and Mr. Charles Crawford * have argued with a considerable amount
of plausibility that Arden of Feversham was written by Thomas Kyd, who is
known to be the author of a prose work on a very similar subject, the murder of
John Brewen. It seems likely that there are indeed more parallels in feeling
and expression between our play and the tragedies of Kyd than coincidences will
account for, but they presume imitation, as Sarrazin 2 and Mr. Boas 3 have
pointed out, rather than identity of authorship. Whether the unknown author
of Arden of Feversham was debtor or creditor to Kyd, must for the present be
left in uncertainty.

There is but one character of the first magnitude in Arden of Feversham :
Alice, Arden's wife and murderess. It is her demoniacal persistence in the
execution of her horrible purpose, while her confederates fail or fall away, that
gives the tragedy otherwise hopelessly disjointed and ineffective an ultimate
unity and a really dramatic spirit. To her, too, belong much of the finest poetry
and the two most dramatic speeches, 4 probably, in the play. Yet this gigantic
figure is vulgarized and degraded by the two vices, which are most distinctively
un-Shakespearian, and which, perhaps, it is hardest of all to pardon in a tragic
heroine : purposeless revolting deceit and coarseness of feeling. Through all
the dialogues between Alice and her husband, the reader is shocked by the moral
obtuseness the love of clever lying and hypocrisy for its own sake, even where
there is no dramatic need for it which is so entirely absent from Shakespeare's
works and so unpleasantly conspicuous in many of his contemporaries'. So, too,
Alice has little of the sustained delicacy of tragic feeling ; from the heights of
lofty passion she descends into the deepest mire of criminal brutality with such
words as those she speaks concerning the news of her husband's intended assas
sination :

' They be so good that I must laugh for ioy,
Before I can begin to tell my tale.' 5

For a truly rounded poet, sensible of the dignity and delicacy of tragedy, such
lines would be as impossible as the undisguised doggerel of Black Will's leave-
taking, which comes like a dash of cold water at the most breathless moment

of the play :

' We haue our gould ; mistris Ales, adew ;
Mosbie, farewell, and Michaell, farewell too.' e

II. The first and only early edition of Locrine dates from 1595. The title-

1 Jahrbuch der deutsch. Shakespeare-Gesellschaft 39, p. 74 ff.

Tk. Kyd u. sein Kreis, pp. 73-4. 3 Introduction to Kycl's Works, Ixxxix.

* I. 186-205 ; in. v 100-134. I. 553-4. 6 v. i. 261-2.

xvi THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

page reads : ' The Lamentable Tragedie of Locrine, the eldest sonne of King Brutus,
discoursing the wanes of the Britaines, and Hunnes, with their discomfiture : The
Britaines victorie with their Accidents, and the death of Albanact. No lesse pleasant
then profitable. Newly set foorth, ouerseene and corrected, By W. S. London.
Printed by Thomas Creede. 1595.'

During the previous year, on July 20, 1594, the play had been entered on
the Stationers' Register. 1 The first definite suggestion of Shakespearian author
ship belongs to 1664, when Locrine was reprinted, for the first time since its
original appearance, as the last of the seven new plays in the third folio of Shake
speare. The fourth folio, printed in 1685, retained these supplementary dramas,
Locrine among the number, but, of the seven, only Pericles has succeeded in
establishing its claim to a place in modern editions. The mythical story on
which the tragedy of Locrine is founded was current at the end of the sixteenth
century in several forms. Herr Theodor Erbe, who has written a dissertation *
on the subject, believes the dramatist to have followed Geoffrey of Monmouth's
Chronicle in the main, with occasional borrowings from the versions of Caxton
and of Holinshed.

The inquiry into the authorship of Locrine begins naturally with the con
sideration of the initials ' W. S.' on the title-page. And here our play connects
itself at once with two other apocryphal works, Thomas Lord Cromwdl and The
Puritan, the first editions of which, in 1602 and 1607 respectively, bear the
identical words, ' by W. S.' Now it is pretty clear, from the evidence of style,
spirit, and method alike, that these three dramas are not by the same author
whether the William Smith suggested by Malone and Knight, or another and
we do not know of any two or three competent dramatists of the time, leaving
Shakespeare out of the question, each of whom had the initials ' W. S.' In 1611,
moreover, the early play of The Troublesome Reign of King John was republished
with the new claim : ' Written by W. Sh.', where it seems certain that a dishonest
but cautious bookseller meant the public to construe ' W. Sh.' as ' William
Shakespeare '. From all this we may conclude with tolerable assurance : First,
that the initials ' W. S.' on the title-pages of Locrine, Cromwell, and The Puritan,
may well stand for 'William Shakespeare'. 3 Second, that -such doubtful and
suspicious evidence, though it apparently impressed the editors of the third folio,
has almost no weight in deciding the question of Shakespeare's authorship of
the plays under discussion.

Tieck accepts Locrine as the earliest of Shakespeare's dramatic works, and
Schlegel registers his belief that this tragedy and Titus Andronicus must stand
or fall together on their claim to authenticity. Few succeeding critics have been

1 ' xx die Julij. Thomas Creede, Entred for his Copie vnder th(e h)andes of the
Wardens, The lamentable Tragedie of Locrine, the eldest sonne of Kinge Brutus,
discoursinge the warres of the Brittans, &c. . . . vjd.'

2 Die Locrinesage und die Quetten des Pseudo-Shakespeareschen Locrine. Halle a. S. 1 904.

3 In the case of Locrine, however, the probability of a reference to Shakespeare
is much less than in the case of the other two later plays, both by reason of the former's
early date and because of the wording of the title-page. Cf. p, xx.

INTRODUCTION

willing to admit the possibility of Shakespeare's concern in the serious part of
Locrine, which is indeed composed in the most exaggerated manner of the
' university wits '. The comic scenes, however, which centre around the figure
of Strumbo, are more successful and more in the early style of Shakespeare.
Accordingly Hopkinson and Ulrici agree in pronouncing the Strumbo scenes
Shakespearian, while Hopkinson gives the rest of the play to George Peele.
The distinction in tone between the tragic and the comic elements appears, how
ever, to rest, not on duality of authorship, but on the change from a very affected
type of poetry and a mythical age to prose and what is, to all intents and pur
poses, contemporary life. The dove-tailing of comedy and tragedy in such scenes
as II, iii, iv, v, and iv, ii, is much too perfect to be explained on any hypothesis
of double authorship ; and these four scenes, unquestionably the work of a single
man, represent all the peculiarities of the play, which I feel a large degree of con
fidence in attributing as a whole to the pen of Robert Greene. Before, however,
entering specifically upon the vexed, and vexing, problem of the author's identity,
it will be well to summarize the more obvious general features of the style.

Locrine is possibly as characteristic an example as can be found of the type
of drama developed by Greene andJPeele. The usual faults of their school are
in this play exaggerated into vices, but the special lyric beauty, the imaginative
fervour, and the delicate feeling for natural loveliness are equally prominent ;
and both in its defects and its merits Locrine manifests a close consanguinity
with the acknowledged plays of the ' university wits '. No reader can well fail to
note the infinity of classical allusion, 1 the craze for mouth-filling but meaningless
adjectival epithets, 2 the ranting bombast of the heroic figures, 3 the wearisome
lyrical repetition of high-sounding words and phrases, 4 or the childish delight in
such freaks of verbiage as ' agnominated ' and ' contentation '. No less striking,
however, and no less indicative of its authorship are the poetic beauties of Locrine,
detached, for the most part, and scattered like living springs in the dreary waste
of rhetoric and affectation. There are few touches of purer pastoral feeling even
in Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, or in The Arraignment of Paris, than Estrild's
description of England :

The aierie hills enclosd with shadie groues,
The groues replenisht with sweet chirping birds,
The birds resounding heauenly melodic, &c.' 5

or the allusion to

the fields of martiall Cambria,
Close by the boystrous Iscans siluer streames,
Where lightfoote faires skip from banke to banke.

The enthusiasm for external life and action, bound up so closely with the reflective
tendencies of the ' university wits ', is worthily expressed in Hubba's martial
speech, 7 and in the splendid outburst of national feeling in iv. i. 28-37.

1 e.g. i. i. 235-56. 2 Ibid, and in. i. 43-4.

3 e.g. Humber's raving in in. 6. 4 e g. n. i. 102-5.

6 n. i. 36 S. 8 in. i. 71-3. ' in. ii. 36 ff.

xviii THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

Malone has put it on record as his ' creed ', that this play ' was written by
Christopher Marlowe, whose style it appears to me to resemble more than that of
any other known dramatick author of that age '. It is to be hoped that Mr.
Malone's creed contained other saving articles ; else his hopes of salvation must
be reckoned to be small, for with the exception of a few of the generic qualities
just mentioned, which Marlowe also shared, there is not a jot of resemblance
between the two styles. Indeed, it is perhaps a degree less possible to imagine
Marlowe the author of the natter and feebler parts of Locrine than to believe
them the output of the youthful Shakespeare himself.

The various-minded Mr. Fleay has several times decided upon Peele 1 as the
author of our play, and Hopkinson is of the same opinion as regards the tragic
portion of the piece. Peele's authorship at least in the present state of our
knowledge of that poet is no such self-evident impossibility as that of Shake
speare or Marlowe, but it seems for many reasons improbable. The importance,
character, and success of the comic element, 2 the excessive richness of mytho
logical allusion far greater than in any play of Peele's and differently employed,
the extreme rarity of run-on lines, and the general appearance of over-decoration
all indicate that the author of Locrine is not Peele, and that he is Peele's more
humorous, but weaker and more florid companion, R^obertjgreene.

In the discussion of Greene's special claims to the play of Locrine is involved
the consideration of another play closely and curiously linked to ours the
first part, 3 that is, of The Tragical raigne of Sdimus, sometime Emperour of the
Turkes, published anonymously in 1594 by the same Thomas Creede who brought
out Locrine, Alphonsus, The Looking Glass, and James IV. Mr. P. A. Daniel
first called attention to the connexion between Selimus and Locrine, a connexion
so close as to prove indisputably either common authorship or conscious plagiar
ism. The one comic passage in Selimus (11. 1873 ff.) is appropriated bodily from
Locrine, iv. ii, and the two works have more identical or similar lines than could
easily be enumerated ; sometimes considerable passages in one play are repeated
in the other with the change of only a word or two. 4 For an imposing but by
no means exhaustive array of parallel passages and a discussion of the relationship
of the two dramas, the reader may be referred to Mr. Churton Collins's Intro
duction to Greene's Works. 5 Mr. Charles Crawford has further shown that some
of the more elaborate parallel passages in Locrine and Selimiis are imitations of lines

1 In his History of the Stage he gives the play wholly to Peele ; in the Shakspere
Manual (286) he assigns it to Charles Tilney, but believes that it was revised by Peele.
There is nothing to support either theory. The two parallels from Peele's Fareicdl to
N orris and Drake, 1589, noted by Dyce and alluded to impressively by Fleay are these :
' To arms, to arms, to honourable arms,' and ' Take helm and targe ' ! Tilney's only
claim to this or any other play rests upon an unauthenticated statement of Collier's
that the former is mentioned as the author in a manuscript note written in a copy of
the first quarto. Cf. Tilney in Diet. Nat. Biog.

* Cf. p. xxiii. 3 No second part exists.

4 e.g. Locrine n. v. 7-11, and Selimus, 2434-8 (Temple edition).

* Oxford, 1905, pp. 64- 7.

INTRODUCTION

in Spenser's Ruins of Rome, which was probably known in MS. some years before
its publication in 1591.

Dr. Grosart has claimed Selimus for Greene, and on the whole with a greater
show of probability than Mr. Collins is willing to allow. The fact that two
selections l from this drama are quoted in England's Parnassus, 1600, over the
name of R. Greene ought surely to be given very considerable weight when
there is no contradictory external evidence and when the internal evidence
must be agreed to point in the same direction. In the variety and amount of
mythological reference, in general dramatic structure, in the number and kind
of borrowings from Spenser, Marlowe, and Greene himself, there is little doubt
that Selimus bears more likeness to Orlando Furioso and Alphonsus, King of
Arragon than to any work of any other contemporary writer. As for Mr. Craw
ford's fine-spun theory that Selimus, with its multiplex heroes, disjointed plot,
frequent rhyme, and total absence of any strikingly original situation or poetry,
is the production of Christopher Marlowe, it is assuredly not unjust to pronounce
the suggestion worthy of keeping company in the limbo of rash and unbalanced
criticism with Mr. Simpson's arguments in defence of Shakespeare's authorship
of Fair Em, and with that egregious sentence of Schlegel which declares that
Cromwell and Oldcastte deserve to be classed among his best and maturest works.

Robert Greene's early dramatic method is marked by two features, which
especially distinguish Locrine. The first is his constant borrowing of lines and.
phrases from other poets and from himself ; the second is his tendency to beautify
himself with borrowed feathers in greater matters to copy the plot and general
structure of the most fashionable work of the hour. How continually in Locrine
we find Greene's favourite epithets, phrases, and classical divinities forcing them
selves uncalled for into the lines will not escape the notice of any one who will,
for example, make a cursory catalogue, as I have done, of the mythological
references in Locrine and compare it with Selimus, Alphonsus, Orlando, and the
Looking Glass.

Crawford has pointed out truly, I think that Locrine is less influenced by
Marlowe than Selimus, and that the former play, unlike the latter, does not
borrow from the Faery Queene. I differ from Mr. Daniel in regarding Locrine
as the earlier play, and I believe it to have been written before Greene fell under
the spell of Tamburlaine and while he was taking as his models for tragedy the
species of drama represented by Gorboduc and The Misfortunes of Arthur. The
choice of subject, the dumb shows, and the presence of lyrical speeches arranged
in stanzas, 2 all mark Locrine as belonging to this class as surely as Alphonsus
belongs to the class of Tamburlaine. The true, if not very powerful or original poetic
gifts of Greene raise Locrine, however, as far above the barely respectable work of
Norton and Sackville and the unmitigated rubbish of Hughes as all Greene's early
plays are themselves transcended by the first achievement of the mighty Marlowe.

Selimus I would take as marking the transition from Locrine to Alphonsus.
1 503-9, 853-7. 2 The last feature is found also, more rarely, in Selimus.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

The trumpet blast of Tamburlaine reverberates through many of its speeches,
but the cramping walls of Senecan dramaturgy are tottering rather than fallen.
Lyrical stanzas and couplets occur here and there, and the action goes a-straying,
as in Locrine, from one principal character to another. The sequence I have
indicated is borne out by examination of the style, which is most artificial and
hyper-classical in Locrine and grows very gradually but steadily less so in Selimus,
Orlando Furioso, and Alphonsus, till the culmination is reached in the excellent
simplicity of James IV.

Locrine is a tragedy of the type of about 1585 ; that it could have been
composed with all its dumb show machinery and so forth immediately before
1595 is practically impossible. Yet the reference in the epilogue to the thirty-eighth
year of Elizabeth's reign points clearly to 1595-6, and these lines must therefore
be considerably later than the play as a whole. There is, indeed, no shadow
of a reason why we should not accept as absolute truth the statement of the title-
page that the drama was in 1595 ' newly set foorth, ouerseene, and corrected by
W. S.' This W. S. may have been William Shakespeare or William Smith,
or any one else possessed of these initials. His identity will probably never be
known, and there is no question connected with Locrine which is less worth
the settling, for the whole character of the play shows that, but for the addition
of the twelve-line epilogue, 1 the activities of W. S. can hardly have extended
beyond the crossing of an occasional ' t ' or the dotting of an ' i '.

III. E^war^_III^ in some ways the most extraordinary of all the doubtful
plays, is first heard of in the Stationers' Register for Dec. 1, 1595 2 ; three other
entries are recorded between this date and Feb. 23, 1625. The earliest
edition (Q. 1) has the following title-page : ' TheRaigne of King Edward the third :
As it hath bin sundrie times plaied about the Citie of London. London, Printed
for Cuthbert Burby. 1596.' The play must have been temporarily popular,
for in 1599 there appeared a second quarto (Q. 2), printed likewise for Cuthbert
Burby. From this time, however, Edward III seems to have been very largely
neglected during more than a century and a half, till it was permanently rescued
from oblivion by the scholarly editing of Capell in 1760.

Scene 2 of the first act, and the second act of Edward III are based in part
on Holinshed's Chronicle of Scotland and in part on a novel by Bandello, as
translated in Painter's Palace of Pleasure. 3 The only source of the rest of the
drama, according to Warnke and Proescholdt, is Holinshed's Chronicle of England ;
but Knight may be correct in recognizing through the last three acts the influence
of Froissart as well. The Villiers-Salisbury episode 4 is not found either in
Holinshed or Froissart and is of uncertain derivation. The two editions of the
play were anonymous ; however, in ' An exact and perfect Catalogue of all

1 v. iv. 261-72.

2 ' primo die decembris (1595). Cuthbert Burby Entred for his copie vmler the
handes of the wardens A book Intitled Edward the Third and the Blacke Prince
their warres with kinge John of Fraunce . . . vjd.'

8 Novel XL\ 7 I. iv. i. 19-43 ; iii. 1-56 ; v. 5G-12G.

INTRODUCTION

Playes that are Printed ', prefixed to T. G(off)'s Cardess Shepherdess, 1654,
the three plays of Edward II, Edward III, and Edward IV, are assigned to
Shakespeare. Such an attribution is uncritical and untrustworthy on the face
of it and appears to have been ignored in the case of Edward III, as, of course,
it was in the case of the other two histories, till Capell's introduction to our
play in his volume of ' Prolusions, or Select Pieces of Ancient Poetry,' l put the
arguments for its authenticity boldly and persuasively before the popular mind.

The first two acts of Edward III concern themselves mainly with a love
intrigue. The beginning of the third act brings with it a complete change of
plot and a considerable diminution in dramatic force. Since Capell, only Tieck,
Collier, Teetgen, and Hopkinson untrustworthy critics all have assigned the
entire play to Shakespeare ; but the number of those who regard the main
portion of the first episode as Shakespearian, includes at least three high authori
ties : Tennyson, Ward, and Fleay, while Halliwell-Phillips, Tyrrell, and Freiherr
von Vincke recognize the authenticity of these scenes as at least possible. In
the criticism of Edward III, however, as in that of Arden of Feversham, the
trend of modern opinion inclines strongly to the negative side. The long list
of those who deny the presence in the play of more than, conceivably, a few
brief insertions by Shakespeare, includes : Mr. Swinburne, Dr. Furnivall, Saints-
bury, Knight, Syrnonds, G. C. Moore Smith, Ulrici, Delius, Warnke and Proe-
scholdt, H. von Friesen, and Liebau.

It will doubtless be generally agreed by readers of the play that the last acts,
dealing with the French wars, though full of fine dramatic poetry, are, as a whole,
not by Shakespeare ; and there seems good reason to believe that the earlier
' countess scenes ', so much more Shakespearian at first sight, are in reality
by the same author as the rest of the drama. Whether the scenes in which the
countess appears, and possibly other passages, were later revised by a second
hand, Shakespeare's or another's, is a question that must be left open.

The supporters of the authenticity of the love episode explain it usually as
a relatively late addition, written by Shakespeare to eke out the insufficiently
long military scenes ; at all events, it is certain that, if there is any difference
in date of composition, the military scenes represent the original dramatic
conception, to which the love episode is subsequent. But there are two passages
in Act III, which belong apparently to the very first draft and which refer directly
to the love episode. In the third scene 2 King John says :
' For whats this Edward but a belly god,
A tender and lasciuious wantonnes,
That thother date was almost dead for loue ?

And in Scene 5, 3 King Edward likewise reminds the audience of the events of
the first two acts :

' Now, lohn of Fraunce, I hope,
Thou knowest King Edward for no wantonesse
No loue sicke cockney.'
1 1760. 11. 155-7. 3 11. 100-2.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

The author of Act III, must, therefore, have had the contents of Acts I and II
distinctly before his mind.

A more definite indication of singleness of authorship is the fact that, wherever
in the last three acts the necessity of portraying actual events disappears, there
we find, as in IV. iii, a return to the tone and style of the earlier unhistoric scenes.
Indeed, it is not too much to assert that the true lover and student of this play
will be likely to turn with most pleasure not to the brilliant intrigue scenes of
the first acts, which have, I think, a rather cloying sweetness, but to the freshness
and perfect sincerity of some of the later passages, uneven and sometimes uncouth
though they are. There is a verve and exhilaration about the scene in which
the Black Prince receives his arms 1 and that 2 in which he returns to his father
triumphant from the shadow of death, or in the brief eighth scene of Act IV,
where Audley passes wounded and dying across the stage, which are nowhere
to be found in the countess episode. The latter is certainly a much finer entity
than any other division of the play, but there is probably not a passage in it
which does more credit to the poetic ability of the author than this single line of
Audley's : 3

' Good friends, conuey me to the princely Edward,

That in the crimson brauerie of my bloud

I may become him with saluting him.'

or the four spoken by the second citizen of Calais : *

' The Sun, dread Lord, that in the western fall
Beholds vs now low brought through miserie,
Did in the Orient purple of the morne
Salute our comming forth, when we were knowne.'

Mr. Symonds has remarked that, in case Edward III was written as a whole
by some imitator of Shakespeare's Marlowesque manner, the unknown author
would naturally have succeeded better in his treatment of the love story which
Bandello had shaped ready to his hand, than when he came in the later acts to
deal with the refractory material of actual history. The nature of the play,
from beginning to end, lends special weight to this criticism ; throughout we
recognize the writer's love of noble situations and his sympathy with high-
minded characters, but the continual inferiority of his hand to his heart is equally
obvious. The inability to grasp strongly the realities of life produces in the
historical scenes a woodenness and restraint, which mark these portions of the
play as distinctly un-Shakespearian, despite several bursts of magnificent poetry.
In the greater part of the first two acts, however, and occasionally elsewhere,
the demands of realistic sanity are less obvious, and the author has been able
to rise to a very great height by his fine poetic sense and delicacy of feeling.

Yet the central fault is present here as elsewhere. Notwithstanding their figura
tive richness of style, their melody and forcefulness of expression, and their
real likeness in many outward features to Shakespeare, the scenes between the
countess and the king will hardly bear frequent re-reading. Tried by the test
1 ill. iii. * in. v. 3 iv. viii. 7. 4 v. '27-30.

INTRODUCTION

of what they say, not how they say it, these passages sound hollow and insincere ;
the sophistry of nearly all the arguments becomes more objectionable as one knows
the play better, as one comes to feel once the bewildering effect of the declama
tion has abated how much the characters guide their actions by the dictates of
complex academic reasoning and how little by the inner voice of nature.

Yet after declaring Shakespeare utterly incapable, at the mature, period
presumed by the artistic finish of Edward HI, of the quibbling mawkishness of
Warwick and the Countess, the conscientious critic will pause long before he
undertakes to name the actual author one of the truest poets and most ardent
patriots, certainly, of his generation.

I should like to see this fine though very imperfect play recognized as the
crown and conclusion of the work of George Peele, a poet who has perhaps
received scant justice in recent times, but who in the fire and melody of his
poetry rises high above all but the two greatest of his contemporaries. David
and Bethsabe is only just inferior in its best parts to Edward III and the two
works bear a very marked resemblance in all essential particulars. In both there
is the basal lack of unity arising from the juxtaposition of a love episode conceived
in a vein of rare lyrical beauty and a military-political plot for which the author's
hand shows itself less well adapted. Both are characterized by nearly total
abstinence from the mythological jargon of Greene, by the peculiar liquid beauty
of Peele's best poetry, and by a verse movement which is almost identical. 1

As in David and Bethsabe and The Battle of Alcazar, so in Edward III, there
is not a vestige of comedy a fact which would surprise us in the work of almost
any writer of the time, except two. For it is a curious truth that Peele, with
his immense reputation as a jester and social buffoon, has left us less comedy,
and that little of a feebler sort, than any of his contemporaries save Christopher
Marlowe. For the type of ardent but rather undiscriminating patriotism which
pervades Edward III any number of parallels will be found in The Arraignment
of Paris, Edward I, and The Battle of Alcazar.

It must be conceded that Edward 111 is a finer production than any with which
Peele is at present accredited. Yet I believe that the majority of persons who
will compare the first act of David and Bethsabe with the first two acts of
Edward III, will recognize not only that the general characteristics merits and
defects are the same, but furthermore that there is nothing in the latter play
which was not potentially within the grasp of the poet who could write the former.
A few years more of practice, a free hand, 8 and the change from the dry threshed
husks of Biblical narrative to the full and stimulating garners of native history
might have performed a far greater transfiguration.

IV. Mucedorus appears first in an edition of 1598, with the title-page :

The proportion of run-on lines in David and Bethsabe is about one in five ; in
Edward III it is slightly less than one in six. There is absolutely no appreciable
difference in this regard though Mr. Fleay rather insinuates that there is between
the three King-Countess scenes and the rest of Edward III.
a At least in the non-historical scenes.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

' A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus the kings sonne of Valentia and Amadine
the kings daughter of Arragon, 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 Jones, dwelling at Holborne
conduit, at the signe of the Gunne. 1598.' There is no mention of the play in the
extant Stationers' Registers till September 17, 1618. 1

Of all pre -Restoration plays Mucedorus passed through the greatest number
of early editions. Seventeen have been enumerated by Mr. W. W. Greg, 2 the
dates in order of publication being as follows : 1598 (Q. 1), 1606 (Q. 2), 1610 (Q. 3),
1611 (Q. 4), 1613 (Q. 5), 1615 (Q. 6), 1618 (Q. 7), 1619 (Q. 8), 1621 (Q. 9), 1626
(Q. 10), 1631 (Q. 11), 1634 (Q. 12), 1639 (Q. 13), 1663 (Q. 14), 1668 (Q. 15), an
undated edition (Q. 16), and an edition of which the only extant copy 3 lacks the
title-page (Q. 17). Collier has mentioned yet another quarto, dated 1609, upon
which he professed to base his text of the play, but it is highly probable that
this edition, known to nobody but Collier, is entirely imaginary. Nine of the
existing quartos are to be found in the British Museum ; 4 to these the Bodleian, 5
Trinity College, Cambridge, 6 and the Dyce Collection 7 add two others each.
Q. 7 and Q. 9, neither of which is important, are the only ones not easily accessible,
the former being in Mr. Huth's private library, the latter in the Municipal Library
of Dantzig. Collation of all the British Museum quartos and careful consideration
of the rest show that it is possible to divide the early texts of Mucedorus into
the following three groups :

Group A, including only Q. 1 and Q. 2, is characterized by the absence of
certain scenes and passages found in all the others.

Group B embraces Q. 3-6 ; all the editions of this group as well as Q. 1 and Q. 2
were published by William Jones.

Group C includes Q. 7-17 ; the first seven of these editions (Q. 7-13) were
published by John Wright, Q. 14-16, and probably Q. 17, by Francis Coles. In
this group the text has been superficially edited, the spelling modernized to some
extent, and grammatical irregularities normalized. The divergences within
the various groups appear quite unintentional and are confined as a rule to mere
misprints and variant spellings.

The title-page of Q. 3 runs : 'A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus . . . Amplified
with new additions, as it was acted before the king's Maiestie at White-hall on Shroue-

1 This notice is of interest as explaining the change of publisher after the sixth
edition (1615). It runs as follows: ' 17 Septembris 1618. John Wright Assigned
ouer vnto him by Mistris Sara Jones widowe late wife of william Jones Deceased and
by Direction from Master warden Adaines by a note vnder his hand theis two bookes
following xijd.

viz 1 .

The schoole of good manners

The Comedy Called Mucedorus.'

2 Jahrbuch XL., 95 ff.

3 In Library of Trin. Coll., Camb. Q. q. 1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 11, 12, 15, 16.
5 Q. 4, Q. 14. 6 Q. 13, Q. 17. 7 Q. 2, Q. 10.

INTRODUCTION xxv

Sunday night. By his Highnes Seruants usually playing at the Globe. Very
delectable, and full of conceited Mirth. . .' The title-pages of the subsequent quartos
are as nearly as possible the same. Most of the critical interest attaching to
Mucedorus concerns the ' new additions ' found in the texts of groups B and C
and the definite statement in these editions that the play was acted by the King's
men ' usually playing at the Globe '. The additions are certainly not by the
original author and are superior to the rest of the comedy ; they include the
Prologue, Scenes 1 and 2 of the first Act, Scene 1 of the fourth Act, a revision and
amplification of Act V, Scene 2, from line 91, and of the Epilogue from line 14.

The source of the comedy has not been discovered ; Schlegel, who had not
read the play, conjectured wrongly that it was founded on the story of Valentine
and Orson, 1 the subject of a Spanish drama by Lope de Vega. Among the
Roxburghe Ballads 2 there is a poem, which, though hardly older in its present
form than the seventeenth century, differs from our play in several particulars and
may be based in part on an earlier version of the story. The heading of the ballad
reads : ' The wandring Prince and Princess or Musidorus and Amadine, both of
Royal Progeny, who being unfortunately seperated by means of their parents
disagreeing ; as fortunately met in a Desert, while both resolved never to cease
from searching, till thsy had found out each other.

In shady Deserts there was none

but Beasts to hear these Lovers moan,

There these faithful Lovers met,
Their marriage day was quickly set.

Tune, Young Phaon?

Besides the conclusive testimony of the large number of early editions and
the circulation of a ballad on the subject, we have several other evidences of
the special popularity of Mucedorus with vulgar audiences in the seventeenth
century. The Citizen's Wife in The Knight of the Burning Pestle says 3 of an
apprentice : ' Nay, gentlemen, he hath played before, my husband says,
Mucedorus, before the wardens of our company.' To the same effect is the follow
ing interesting record of the comedy's vogue in the provinces during the Common
wealth : ' The comedy of Mucedorus was revived by some strollers in 1652, and
privately exhibited in the villages of Moore, Standlake, Southleigh and Cumner
in Oxfordshire, till in the following February, they ventured to represent it
publicly at Witney. The use of the Town-hall being denied them, they were
obliged to perform it at the White-hart inn, where a numerous audience assembled
on the evening of the 3d.' * On this occasion several persons were killed by
the giving way of the floor, and the town lecturer Rowe profited by the catastrophe
to deliver a series of sermons against theatrical performances.

The only external evidence which in any degree sanctions the attribution
of Mucedorus to Shakespeare consists in the statement on the title-pages of

1 A play with this title, by Hathway and Munday, is mentioned by Henslowe
under date of July 19, 1597. 2 Vol. ii, pp. 490-1. 3 Induction.

4 Quoted from a clipping pasted in the British Museum copy of Q. 8.

xxvi THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

1610 and after, that the play belonged to the repertoire of the Globe Company,
and the fact of its inclusion, with Fair Em and The Merry Devil of Edmonton, in
the famous 'Shakespeare' volume prepared for Charles the Second's library. Tieck
alone has ascribed the whole of Mucedorus to Shakespeare, and modern criticism
will no longer tolerate so absurd an attribution. There can be little doubt that
the comedy in its original form was the work of some member of the school of
'university wits'. Malone attempted, on the most dubious of external testimony,
to establish Greene's authorship, and Mr. Hopkinson holds the same view, which,
however, has recently been discredited by Mr. Churton Collins ; x Mr. Fleay
prefers to give to Lodge such credit as the composition of these crude early
scenes carries with it, while H. von Friesen supposes Peele to have written them.
The spirit of the school is everywhere visible, especially so, perhaps, in such
a pastoral bit as iv. 3, but there is little to identify the individual poet. If he be
one of the three or four famous members of the group, then much of the play
must represent hasty or slevealy work, but it is more likely that these old scenes
were written by an obscure and only moderately gifted disciple.

The additional scenes, written apparently between the publication of the
second edition in 1606 and the third in 1610, are of greater poetic merit than the
rest of the comedy and somewhat more in Shakespeare's manner. It is agreed
that they fall far short of what one would expect from Shakespeare at this
period ; yet Collier, Hopkinson, and Simpson accept them, with reservations,
as hurried and careless patch-work, done by the master in his capacity of theatre
manager. Against this, and in support of the negative position occupied by
Fleay, Ward, Tyrrell, Knight, Warnke and Proescholdt, and Soffe, it may be
mentioned :

First. That, though the single authorship of the additions is pretty evident,
only one of the new scenes (iv. 1) shows anything which can possibly be regarded
as the imperfect work of genius, while the others display merely workmanlike
mediocrity.

Second. That all the new scenes indicate the very reverse of haste and-are-
lessnesss their great fault is that they impress the reader as laboured.

Third. That the style, even in the finest scene of all, is sometimes so strained
and artificial as not conceivably to be Shakespeare's in 1606-10. Take, for
instance, this couplet in iv. i. 2 :

' No, no ; till Mucedorus I shall see againe,
All ioy is comfortlesse, all pleasure paine.'

Mr. Fleay suggests Wilkins as the author of the additions, but the matter
is not likely soon to be settled. So much seems certain : that the additions to
Mucedorus were written by a person of true, but neither great nor mature poetic
gifts who stood somewhat under the influence of Shakespeare.

V. Two quarto editions of the First ParJjaLSirJohn Oldcastle were published
in 1600. One, which we may call Q. 1, bears the title: 'The first part Of the true
1 Introduction to Greene's Works, pp. 60-1. a 11. 15-16.

INTRODUCTION xxvii

and honorable historic, of the life of Sir John Old-castle, the good Lord Cobham.
As it hath been lately acted by the right honorable the Earle of Notingham Lord
high Admirall of England his seruante. London. Printed by V. S. for Thomas
Pauier, and are to be solde at his shop at the signe of the Catte and Parrots neere the
Exchange. 1600.' The other quarto (Q. 2) inserts the words ' Written by William
Shakespeare ' and replaces the full particulars as to the publisher's name and
address by the non-committal sentence : ' London printed for T. P. 1600.'
This dishonest and defective text has been followed by the editors of the third
and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2) and by all modern publishers. 1 There
can be no doubt, though, that the anonymous quarto (Q. 1) is infinitely superior ;
it contains many fine passages which Q. 2 has either omitted entirely or hopelessly
corrupted. The play was registered by Pavier, August 11, 1600. 2

Sir John Oldcastle has many pleasant and a few really good scenes, but there
is perhaps no member of the pseudo-Shakespearian group more totally destitute
of a single passage which might imaginably have been written by Shakespeare.
Only Tieck and Schlegel have championed its genuineness ; and the question
of authorship has now been settled with a most agreeable definiteness by the
unearthing of the following entries in Henslowe's Diary : 3 ' This 16 of October
(15)99. Receved by me, Thomas Downton, of phillip Henslow, to pay Mr. Mon
day, Mr. Drayton,^nd Mr. Wilsonand Hathwqy, for the first pte of the lyfe of
Sr. Jhon Ouldcasstell and in earnest of the second pte., for the use of the com-
payny, ten pound, I say receved . . . 10 1 '.'

' Receved of Mr. Hinchloe, for Mr. Mundaye and the Reste of the poets, at
the playnge of Sr. John Oldcastell, the ferste tyme. As a gefte . . . x s .'

From other entries it appears that the Second Part of Sir John Oldcastle, now
lost, was written by Dray ton alone.

The first part of Oldcastle was beyond question composed for the Lord Admiral's
Company as a reply to the successful Falstaff plays 4 which the Lord Chamberlain's
Servants had been acting. The character of Falstaff, originally called Oldcastle,
is certainly aimed at in the slur of the prologue : 5

' It is no pamperd glutton we present,

Nor aged Councellor to youthfull sinne.'

The gambling scene between the disguised king and Sir John of Wrotham suggests
Henry V, iv, i ; while the reference to the thieving exploits of the king's youth

1 It may well be that Q. 2 is the earlier of the two quartos and that it was hastily
printed from a shorthand version several months before Pavier secured the accurate
version from which he published Q. 1. It is noteworthy that both editions have the
curious transposition of Scenes 2-8 of the last act.

2 ' 1 1 Augusti. Thomas pavier Entred for his copies vnder the handes of master
Vicars and the wardens. These iij copies, viz.

The first parte of the history of the life of Sir John Oldcastell lord Cobham.
Item the second and last parte of the history of Sir John Oldcastell lord Cobham

with his martyrdom.
Item ye history of the life and Deathe of Captaine Thomas Stucley . . .'

3 Edition of 1845, p. 158.

4 The two parts of Henry IV, 1597-8 ; Henry V, 1599. 6 11. 6, 7.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

is a clear allusion to the first part of Henry IV, and the two mentions l of Falstaff
by name are reminiscences of the same play :

' King. . . . Where the diuel are all my old theeues, that were wont to keepe
this walke ? Falstaffe, the villaine, is so fat, he cannot get on 's horse, but
me thinkes Poines and Peto should be stirring here abouts ; '
and

' sir lohn. . . . Because he (i.e. the King) once robde me before I fell to the
trade my selfe ; when that foule villainous guts, that led him to all that
rogery, was in's company there, that Falstaffe.'

VI. Thoma^LordCromwell was entered on the Stationers' Register by
William Cotton, Aug. 11, 1602. 2 In the same year appeared the first edition
(Q. 1) with the title : ' The True Chronicle Historie of the wliole life and death of
Thomas Lord Cromwell. As it hath beene sundrie times publikely Acted by the
Right Honorable the Lord Chamberlaine his Seruants. Written by W. S. Imprinted
at London for William tones, and are to be solde at his house neere Holburne con-
duict, at the signe of the Gunne. 1602.'

A second quarto (Q. 2) was printed by Thomas Snodham in 1613. The only
important variation from Q. 1 on the title-page of this edition consists in the
necessary change of the name of Shakespeare's company : ' As it hath beene
sundry times publikely Acted by the King's Maiesties Seruants. Written by
W. S.' The play was included in the third and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1,
F. 2), and was reprinted by Rowe, Pope, and again separately by R. Walker in
1734, as ' A Tragedy. By Shakespear.' Q. 2, the later quarto, was, as usual,
followed by the editors of the folios, as well as by Malone, who was not acquainted
with Q. 1, and has thus served as basis for all modern texts. Q. 1 is certainly
to be preferred ; the variations of Q. 2 are for the most part due merely to the
conventionalizing of syntax and spelling, but there are several cases where the
original reading has been falsified by the insertion or substitution of new words.
The later editions have no critical importance.

Thomas Lord Cromwell exceeds Sir John Oldcastle in all the particular defects
of that defective though interesting play, and it has fewer merits. The scenes
of Cromwell are disconnected and undramatic to such a degree that the real plot
cannot be said to begin before the close of the third act, and there is hardly a passage
in the work, with the exception of in. iii, which excites special attention. Tieck
and Schlegel, to their lasting discredit, have defended the genuineness of this
play, and Ulrici also is inclined, against his better judgement, to accept it as
a very early work of Shakespeare, anterior to 1592. Hopkinson assigns the main
part of the performance to Greene, 3 but he alone of English critics would like

1 m. iv. 61-5, 102-5.

2 ' 11 August] (1602). William Cotton Entred for his Copie vnder th(e h)andes
of master Jackson and master waterson warden A booke called " the lyfe and Deathe
of the Lord Cromwell " as yt was lately Acted by the Lord Chamberleyn his ser-
vantes, vjd.'

3 It is possibly worth remarking though not as an indication of Greene's author
ship, than which few things are more unlikely that the episcde of Seely and his cow

INTRODUCTION

to establish Shakespeare's connexion as reviser of the greater part of the comic
scenes and of in. ii and iii ; IV. i and v ; and v.

Other writers have suggested the authorship of Wentworth Smith, William
Sly, Heywood, and Drayton respectively, but there is strong reason against
ascribing the play to any of these, while it appears as absolutely certain as so
undemonstrable a matter well can be, that William Shakespeare was never
concerned with a single line of it. On this point it is pleasant to find the first
and the last of the critics of Cromwell in complete and emphatic agreement.
Malone says : * 'To vindicate Shakespeare from having written a single line of
this piece would be a waste of time. The poverty of language, the barrenness
of incident and the inartificial conduct of every part of the performance, place
it rather perhaps below the compositions of even the second-rate dramatick
authors of the age in which it was produced.' And Mr. Swinburne writes in the
same strain, but with even greater and rather excessive disapproval : ' Thomas
Lord Cromwell is a piece of such utterly shapeless, spiritless, bodiless, soulless,
senseless, helpless, worthless rubbish, that there is no known writer of Shake
speare's age to whom it could be ascribed without the infliction of an unwar
rantable insult on that writer's memory.' 2

The source of the play is ' The History concerning the Life, Acts, and Death
of the famous and worthy Councillor, Lord Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex '
in Fox's Book of Martyrs. 3 The story of Frescobald, which Fox 4 has incorporated,
comes, as Malone has remarked, from one of Bandello's novels (Part II, No. 27).

VII. The London Prodigal appears not to have been entered on the Stationers'
Books. 5 The only early quarto (Q. 1) was published in 1605 with the title : ' The
London Prodigall. As it was plaide by the Kings Maiesties servants. By William
Shakespeare, London. Printed by T. C. for NatJianiel Butter, and are to be sold
neere S. Austins gate, at the signe of the pyde Bull. 1605.'

It was next published in the third and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2),
in supplements to Rowe's and to Pope's Shakespeare, and in careless separate
reprints by Walker and Tonson. 6

All these editions ascribe the comedy unreservedly to Shakespeare, and their

may have been inspired by the speeches of Alcon in A Looking Glasse for London and
England (i. iii, u. ii).

1 About 1780. 2 A Study of Shakespeare, 3rd ed., p. 232.

3 Cf. Streit's dissertation on the subject. 4 Ed. 1684, II. 429-30.

5 I have found the following entry, which is of slight interest, though it is not very
probable that the work mentioned had much to do with our play : ' 27 Novembris
(1598). Nicholas linge Entred for his copie vnder the handes of master Sonibanke
and the wardens A booke called The Portraiture of the prodigall sonne. vjd.'

* In 1734 both these publishers brought out worthless editions of Locrine, Oldcaslle,
The London Prodigal, and The Puritan, while Walker printed Cromwell in the same
year, and Tonson A Yorkshire Tragedy in 1735, in which last year appeared also
another reprint of Oldcastle, this time with no publisher's name. All these editions
claim Shakespeare unreservedly as the author, and they are all quite worthless save
as curiosities. Naturally the rival publishers were foes, and Tonson has denounced
Walker in unmeasured terms as a pirate.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

unanimous testimony gains weight from the facts that The London Prodigal was
performed by Shakespeare's Company, and that the quarto was printed during
the poet's lifetime for Butter, the publisher of King Lear. Yet in spite of this
evidence and the acceptance of its genuineness by Tieck, Schlegel, and Hopkin-
son, any theory which supports the play's authenticity may safely be branded
as utterly untenable.

The London Prodigal deals entirely with humours and manners. Like The
Puritan, which it resembles in many points, 1 it depends for its value and effect
on the bare plot and the really admirable delineation of the externalities of
contemporary life. Shakespeare's catholicity and psychological insight are
conspicuously absent, and every principle of his dramatic morality is outraged
in the treatment of the prodigal's career. The only supposition on which the
attribution can at all be justified is that put forward by Mr. Fleay ; namely, that
Shakespeare ' plotted ' the comedy roughly and then left his vague design to be
very imperfectly executed by another.

Mr. Fleay feels certain that The London Prodigal and Thomas Lord Cromwell
are by the same author, and Ulrici ascribes our play to one of the writers of
Sir John Oldcastle. There seems no reason for either belief. Considered with
regard to general spirit, The London Prodigal, so full of the intimate details of
domestic life, shows as much affinity perhaps to the early works of Dekker or to
those of Marston as to the writings of any other well-known dramatist of the
period ; but in Dekker's case such a theory of authorship would become plausible
only if he could be shown to have written for the King's Players just before
1605. 2 We know that Marston's Malcontent, 1607, was acted by the King's
Majesty's Servants.

VIII. The Puritan was entered at Stationers' Hall on Aug. 6, 1607, by
G. Eld, 3 and published in quarto (Q.) immediately after. The title-page runs :
' The Puritaine or the Widdow of Watling-streete. . Acted by the Children of Paules.
Written by W. 8. Imprinted at London by O. Eld. 1607.' The next editions
were those of the third and fourth Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2), of Howe and
Pope, and the separate reprints of Walker and Tonson in 1734. 4

The first definite recognition of this comedy as the work of Shakespeare
appears in a bookseller's catalogue of plays 5 published in 1656. The authority
of the folios doubtless established the belief in its authenticity for a time, and we
find Gildon in 1702 6 alluding to it as one of the genuine plays. Since the time

1 There is good reason for believing that The London Prodigal and The Puritan
are by the same author, or that the same author had a hand in both. See the dis
cussion of the authorship of The Puritan, p. xxxi. f. It may be mentioned, though not as
a fact of much significance in itself, that there is a close resemblance betwee'n Luce's
Dutch-English in our play and that of Franchesina in Marston's Dutch Courtesan.

2 He appears to have written ordinarily for Henslowe's Company.

3 ' 6 Augusti (1607). George Elde Entred for his copie vnder th<e h)andes of Sir
George Bucke knight and the wardens a book called the comedie of " the Puritan
Widowe ". vjd.' 4 See p. xxix, note 6. 5 Appended to an edition of The Old Lair.

6 Also listed as one of the genuine plays in Gildon's revision of Langbain's Lii\s

INTRODUCTION

of Malone, however, no English critic seems to have doubted its spuriousness,
and of the Germans, perhaps, only Tieck and Schlegel have attempted to enroll
it among the works of Shakespeare.

Crude and farcical as The Puritan is, it contains some good bourgeois scenes,
of a thoroughly un-Shakespearian kind, and has, moreover, the not very usual
merit of making the reader laugh with genuine amusement. The spirit of the
piece is light-hearted and pleasing, but it has small claim to consideration as
serious art.

On the strength of the initials ' W. S.', and for no other reason, The Puritan
has been attributed to each of the two forgotten dramatists, William and Went-
worth Smith. There is slightly better cause possibly, from internal evidence, 1
to accept the theory of Middleton's authorship, favoured by Fleay, Bullen,
Hopkinson, and Ward ; but this attribution, besides being entirely problematical,
is not in accord with the certainty, first pointed out by Dr. Farmer, that the
second scene of Act I, with its college cant and reminiscence, is the work of an
Oxford man. 8

So far, it must be generally allowed, rather less than no progress at all has
been made towards the solution of the mystery of this play's authorship ; nor
can the present editor presume to offer more than a very diffident and tentative
answer to the question. Yet there are, I think, several facts, hitherto overlooked,
which appear incontrovertible, and which, if they do not justify a final decision,
should at least offer to future inquiry that definite terminus a quo so conspicuously
lacking in the contradictory and unsupported theories previously advanced.

The most obvious of these facts is the extremely close affinity between The
Puritan and the comedy of Eastward Hoe, published just two years earlier
(1605) and authoritatively assigned to Chapman, Jonson, and Marston. It will
be impossible, perhaps, for any one to read the two plays consecutively without
being struck by their likeness in all the more significant and less easily imitated
characteristics. The outward details of plot are for the most part different, but
in general tone and dramatic method, as well as in a number of mannerisms and
personal touches, there is a similarity which approaches near to absolute identity,
and which makes it very hard to resist the conviction that the pen of one of the
authors of Eastward Hoe has been employed in the other play.

It is not unlikely that in the later drama, as in the earlier, we have to do with
a case of collaboration. The connexion of The Puritan with Bartholomew Fair
would be explained if we could prove Ben Jonson to have been concerned in the
former, but I feel much more sure of the authorship of John Marston, who, like

and Characters of the English Dramatick Poets, 1698, p. 128, where he adds : ' This was
accounted a very diverting Play.'

1 Reference to Mr. Bullen's valuable Index at the end of his edition of Middleton
will show that a great number of passages in The Puritan and The London Prodigal
may be illustrated by similar allusions in Middleton's works, but the parallels are by
no means such as to suggest, even remotely and afar off, the idea of common authorship.

2 Note, for example, the references to ' quadrangles ', 'batteling,' and to the Welsh
at Jesus College.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

the creator of Pye-board, was a member of Oxford University, and whose special
traits as known from his independent works and partly distinguishable in the
tangled mesh of Eastward Hoe are conspicuous in The Puritan.

The outlook upon London life in the last two dramas is practically identical.
Both are realistic in the coarsest sense, and the types are the same, representing
and satirizing, in the one play as in the other, the two hostile classes of court and
city. Touchstone and Sir Godfrey, Quicksilver and Master Edmund, have little
to distinguish them. Sir Petronel is but a composite of Pye-board and Penny-
dub, with the villainy of the first and the inanity of the second. But the greatest
resemblance appears in the female characters : Gertrude and Moll, one hopes
and believes, can have but one creator. Both are revolting to the finger-tips,
twin embodiments of middle-class vulgarity without a shade of difference. With
their craving for coaches and ladyship, their loud expressed dread of ' leading
apes in hell ', and their continued mouthing of obscenities, they illustrate what,
in one of the few pregnant phrases to be found in German dissertational literature,
has been called l the schmutzige Spur which Marston's hand leaves ever behind it. \

How often minor allusions in The Puritan answer to similar references in
Eastward Hoe may be seen to a small extent from the notes to the former play.
Both presume an encyclopaedic knowledge on the author's part of the Counter
prison, with its manners and customs, its denizens and apartments. In both
also we find sarcastic references to King James's new-made knights, though the
allusions in The Puritan 2 are somewhat milder than the bold satire of Eastward
Hoe, 3 which assisted in drawing down upon Marston's innocent associates the
wrath of the sovereign. The two plays likewise were acted by what was practi
cally the same company, though in the three years that separated them, its name
and personnel had suffered alteration.*

In both the dramas before us there are frequent parodies and imitations of
Shakespeare humorous often, but not unkindly. In the one we have the
changes rung on Pistol's rants about the welkin, and see ' Hamlet, a footeman ',
' entering in haste ' for the purpose of being asked, ' Hamlet, are you madde ? '
to the delectation probably of an audience already beginning to addle its brains
and lose its temper over this infinitely discussed question. In the other play
that which immediately concerns us Puttock and Ravenshaw serve Pye-board
as Falstaff has been served by their colleagues Fang and Snare ; while Corporal
Oath is made to sit, instead of Banquo's spectre, as ' the ghost ith white sheete
at vpper end a'th Table ', and the mighty tragedy of the fifth act of Othello is
burlesqued by the imitation of Pye-board, Skirmish, and Oath.

A further characteristic of The Puritan, which can hardly fail to impress the

1 Emil Koeppel : Quetten Stvdien zu den Dramen B. Jonsotis, J. Marston's ti.
Beaumont's u. Fletcher's. Erlangen-Leipzig, 1895.

2 i. i. 85 ff ; iv. i. 4. 3 Belles Lettres ed., iv. i. 213-18.

* The Children of her Maiesties Reuels, mentioned on the title-page of Eastward Hoe,
were replaced in 1606 by The Children of Paides, who acted The Puritan. Cf. Fleay :
History of the Stage, pp. 184, 185.

INTRODUCTION xxxiit

careful reader is the especial bitterness of the author against his Puttocks and
Ravenshaws. It is obvious that he looks upon himself as belonging to the poor
scholar class, and that, if he does not regard Pye- board as a friend and a brother,
he at least resents in a very personal way the insults and indignities to which the
latter is subjected by the minions of the law. 1 It seems certain that there must
have gone into the vivid portraiture of the poltroonery, brutality, and rapacity
of Yeoman Dogson and his confederates, and into the realistic delineation of
conditions in the Counter, a very considerable amount of unpleasant personal
experience.

The general similarity of The Puritan to Bartholomew Fair is, of course,
obvious, and has been alluded to repeatedly. For the most part the likeness
is one of subject rather than treatment, and has no great significance, but in
the case of a few details it merits more serious consideration. I cannot but
think that the rough sketch of Master Ful-bellie the Minister who is an excellent
feeder and will be horribly drunk upon occasion, though he rails against players
mightily because they once brought him drunk upon the stage stood clear
before the memory of Ben Jonson, when he came in 1614 to immortalize the
race of Ful-bellies in Zeal-of-the-Land Busy.

The name of the central figure in The Puritan, George Pye-board, is probably
a punning allusion to George Peele," who was the perpetrator, according to
contemporary story, of two of the tricks described in the comedy. 3 For any
more definite information as to the source and authorship of the play, we must
be content to await the discovery of further facts. 4

IX. A Yorkshire Tragedy has from its first appearance been coupled with
the name of Shakespeare. On May 2, 1608, it was entered on the Stationers'
Register by the notorious Thomas Pavier (the publisher of Oldcastte) as a play
'by Wylliam Shakespere '.* A quarto (Q. 1) followed at once, with the title:
' A Yorkshire Tragedy. Not so Neiv as Lamentable and true. Acted by his
Maiesties Players at the Globe. Written by W. Shakspeare. At London. Printed
by R. B. for Thomas Pauier, and are to bee sold at his shop on Cornhill, neere to the
exchange. 1608.' At the top of the first page of the text is the heading, ' All's
One, or, One of the foure Plaies in one, called a York-shire Tragedy': as it was

1 See, for example, the feeling behind Pye-board's and Puttock's colloquy on the
gentlemanliness of scholars, in. iii. 62-72.

2 ' Peel. A baker's shovel . . . for thrusting loaves, pies, &c., into the oven and
withdrawing them from it.' New Eng. Diet.

3 Cf. the second and the eleventh of The Merric conceited Jests of George Peele,
Gent., 1607. Licensed Dec. 14, 1605.

* The Stationers' Register has the following entry under date of Aug. 15, 1597,
but it is by no means certain that the works referred to have any bearing upon our
play : ' Richard Jones. Entred for his Copie by warraunt from master Warden
man ij ballades beinge the ffirste and Second partes of the wydowe of Watling streete.
xijd. Provided that noe Drapers name be set to them.' See Shirburn BaVads, I.

6 ' 2 do die maij (1608). Master Pavyer Entered for his Copie vnder the handes of
master Wilson and master Warden Seton^A booke Called A Yorkshire Tragedy written
by Wylliam Shakespere. vjd.'

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

plaid by the Kings Maiesties Plaiers.' Eleven years later a second quarto
(Q. 2) was issued with the imprint, ' Written by W. Shakespeare. Printed for
T. P. 1619.' The text of this latter edition, though inferior to that of Q. 1 in
the few points of difference, was followed by the editors of the third and fourth
Shakespeare folios (F. 1, F. 2), Rowe, Pope, and Tonson.

The murders represented in A Yorkshire Tragedy occurred in 1605, and are
thus recorded in Stow's Chronicle : ' Walter Callverly of Calverly in Yorkshire
Esquier, murdred 2 of his young children, stabbed his wife into the bodie with
full purpose to have murdred her, and instantly went from his house to have
slaine his youngest child at nurse, but was prevented. For which fact at his
triall in Yorke hee stood mute and was judged to be prest to death, according to
which judgment he was executed at the castell of Yorke the 5th of August
(1605).'

This sensational crime, as might be supposed, attracted no less attention
than the earlier murder of Arden. At least three narrative accounts of it were
licensed within a couple of months of its occurrence. On June 12 (1605) a pam
phlet was entered 1 with the title : ' A booke called Twoo vnnaturall Murthers,
the one practised by master Coverley a Yorkshire gent, vppon his wife and
happened on his children the 23 of Aprilis 1605 . . .' 2 In July we have notice of
' A ballad of Lamentable Murther Done in Yorkeshire by a gent, vppon 2 of his
owne Children sore woundinge his Wyfe and Nurse,' 3 and on August 24 we hear
already of ' The Araignement Condempnacon and Execucon of Master Caverly
at Yorke in Auguste 1605 '.*

The authenticity 6f the Yorkshire Tragedy has been allowed by Steevens,
Ulrici, Hopkinson, Ward 8 , and others ; but the case which has been made out
for the negative by Malone, Tyrrell, Knight, Halliwell-Phillips, Symonds, and
Swinburne seems much the stronger. The barbaric force of the play and the
splendour of some of the prose it contains cannot fail to impress the reader ;
but the late date (1605-8) is in itself an almost conclusive argument against the
possibility of Shakespeare's authorship.

Neither in characterization, nor in plot, nor in metrical peculiarities have
the most ardent defenders of the Yorkshire Tragedy's authenticity pretended
that there is any approach to Shakespeare's manner subsequent to 1605. There
are only two really considerable characters in the tragedy, the husband and the
wife, and they are represented in a quite un-Shakespearian fashion. Each is

1 By Nathaniel Butter, 'vnder th(eh)andesof master Hartwell and master norton
warden.'

2 The entry continues : ' The other (murder) practised by Mistress Browne and
performed by her servant vpon her husband who in lent last were executed at Berry
in Suffolk.' This last crime forms the subject of A Warning for Fair Women.

3 ' Tertio Julii (1605). Thomas Pavyer Entred for his Copie vnder the handes
of the wardens A ballad,' &c.

4 ' 24 Augustj (1605). Nathanael Butter Entred for his Copie vnder the hand of
Master ffeild The Araignement,' &c.

8 Ward accepts only the best prose passages.

INTRODUCTION

a mere type, not even invested with a name, and quite without the definite
personality that Shakespeare in his maturity gives even to subordinate figures.
The husband is a brilliant incarnation of wild fury and misdirected remorse. An
unreasoning hatred of the world in which he has played so ignoble a role, and
the ever-present consciousness of personal and family disgrace, drive him to seek
momentary relief in brutish violence. The wife typifies the opposite extreme
of rather unattractive docility. When this is said, there is little more to say ;
few or none of the individualizing and humanizing touches that Shakespeare
gives his characters are here to be found.

The plot itself, in its nature narrow, sensational, and quite devoid of the
morality of all Shakespeare's later work, speaks loud against the possibility of
his authorship. To admit all this, as has been done, and explain A Yorkshire
Tragedy as a sudden excursion by Shakespeare, during the last decade of his life,
into a new and essentially lower field of literature, is to join the critical school
of the famous friend of Schlegel, 1 who defended the authenticity of The Puritan
on the ground that it was a successful attempt of Shakespeare to forsake his own
style and write for once in that of Ben Jonson.

Finally, the verse of the Yorkshire Tragedy has few, if any, of the characteristics
of Shakespeare's later verse. The end-stopped lines amount to about 88 per cent.,
an exceedingly high proportion for late work, while as many as 20 per cent, of
the verse lines two in every ten are in rhyme. This large number of rhyming
lines is not to be found in any but the earliest of the genuine plays, and the
rhymes, moreover, are frequently obtained by means of a distortion in the word
order, such as Shakespeare was not reduced to even in his apprentice work. The
following six lines exemplify the quality of verse to be found in the duller parts
of A Yorkshire Tragedy :

' Oh that I might my wishes now attaine,

I should then wish you liuing were againe,

Though I did begge with you, which thing I feard :

Oh, twas the enemy my eyes so bleard.

Oh, would you could pray heauen me to forgiue,

That will vnto my end repentant Hue.' *

If Shakespeare's hand is to be traced anywhere in this play, we must look
for it solely in the two hundred lines of prose scattered through the first four
scenes. Some of this prose is, indeed, very fine, particularly the opening scene
between the servants, and the splendid monologue of the husband in Scene 4.
The latter passage of twenty-five lines, to the beginning of the feeble verse
appendage, is certainly the poetic climax of the play, and perhaps not unworthy
of Shakespeare. Yet it may be denied most emphatically that there is, here or
elsewhere, anything either in thought or in expression which bears credible
witness to the presence of the true Shakespearian touch.

As the heading of the first page of the quartos indicates,* the brief Yorkshire
Tragedy, which runs to little over 700 lines, was performed in connexion with

1 Cf. Schlegel's Lectures, ii. p. 266. * x. 45-50. * Cf. p. xxxiii.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

three other dramatic fragments. It is probable that these last were of yet cruder
workmanship than our play, and that no effort was made to preserve them from
oblivion once they had served their turn upon the stage. Their connexion with
A Yorkshire Tragedy may have been solely a matter of theatrical convenience,
but it is at least possible that some or all of them concerned the earlier history
of Calverley, and presented much the same incidents which Wilkins has used
in The Miseries of Enforced Marriage. 1

X. The Merry Devil of Edmonton was entered on the Stationers' Register,
Oct. 22, 1607, the author's name being omitted. 2 A second entry * on April 5,
1608, referring to a ' booke called the lyfe and deathe of the merry Devill of
Edmonton. ... By T. B.', alludes certainly to a prose work by Tony Brewer, which
has only the remotest connexion with our comedy. The latter, however, is
again mentioned on the books of the Stationers' Company, and for the first time
coupled with Shakespeare's name, in are-entry by H. Moseley, the book-publisher,
on Sept. 9, 1653.

There are six seventeenth-century editions of The Merry Devil of Edmonton, all
in quarto and all anonymous. The first (Q. 1), dated 1608, is to be found in the
library of Trinity College, Cambridge, and bears the following title-page : ' The
Merry Deuill of Edmonton. As it hath beene sundry times Acted, by his Maiesties
Seruants, at the Globe on the bank-side. London, Printed by Henry Bollard for
Arthur lohnson, dwelling at the signe of the white-horse in Paules Churchyard, ouer
against the great North doore of Paules, 1608.' Other quartos followed in 1612
(Q. 2), 1617 (Q. 3), 1626 (Q. 4), 1631 (Q. 5), 1655 (Q. 6). 4

The text of this play abounds in difficulties, and a few passages seem hope
lessly corrupt. The later editions sometimes correct misprints and insert emenda
tions, but they throw little light on the real obscurities and have no independent
authority. Altogether, though none of the quartos can perhaps be regarded as
decidedly the best intrinsically, Q. 1, which gives as good sense as any, and
stands nearest the original, appears to offer the beet basis for modern editions,
and has here regularly been followed.

The Merry Devil of Edmonton was as popular in the theatres as it appears
to have been with the reading public. Reed first quoted 6 what is probably the

1 Registered and published, 1607. This drama deals largely with the fate of the
' young mistress ' alluded to in the first line of A Yorkshire Tragedy ; it has a happy
ending. Cf. Hazlitt's Dodsley, vol. ix, for the text of the Miseries. Its connexion
with our play was first pointed out ty Mr. P. A. Daniel, Athenaeum, Oct. 4, 1879.

* ' 22 Octobris(1607). Arthur Johnson Entred for his copie vnder th(e h)andes
of Sir George Buck knight and Th(e) Wardens. A Plaie called the Merry Devill of
Edmonton, vjd.'

3 ' 5 to Aprilis(1608). Joseph Hunt, Thomas Archer Entred for their copie. Vnder
the hand of master Seton Warden a booke called the lyfe and deathe of the merry Devill
of Edmonton with the pleasant prankes of Smugge the Smythe. Sir John, and myne
Hoste of the " George " about their stealynge of Venson, by T. B. vjd.'

* Q. 2 is not in any public library, but has been carefully collated by Warnke and
Proescholdt from Mr. A. H. Huth's copy. Qq. 3-6 are in the British Museum ;
Q. 3, Q. 5, also in the Bodleian.

* Dodsley's Select Plays, 2nd ed., 1780. Vol. v, p. 247.

INTRODUCTION

first extant mention from the Blacke Booke by T. M. (1604) : ' Giue him leauc
to see the Merry Devil of Edmunton or A Woman kill'd with kindness.' * From
this we see that the play had attained a general reputation on the stage at least
three years before it was registered for publication. Its vogue must, indeed,
soon have become proverbial, for Ben Jonson asks in the Prologue to The Devil
is an Ass : 2

' And show this but the same face you have done

Your dear delight, the Devil of Edmonton.'

In Cunningham's Revels Accounts 3 there is the following mention of a performance
before the King : ' To the said John Heminges upon a Warrant dated 15 May
1618 for presenting before his Ma'y the thirde of May the Merry Divell of Edmon
ton . . . x 11 .' It is not unimportant to note, if this extract can be relied on
and there seems no cause to suspect a forgery that the presentation here referred
to took place only two years after Shakespeare's death, and five before the
publication of the first folio. If, then, Hemings later failed to include The Merry
Devil of Edmonton in his edition of Shakespeare's works, it could not be because
the play had not been brought conspicuously before his attention.

The external evidence which has been collected to prove Shakespeare's
authorship of The Merry Devil of Edmonton is of the most dubious kind. It
consists merely in the unsupported statements of the booksellers Moseley and
Kirkman 4 about the middle of the seventeenth century, and in the play's presence
in the ' Shakespeare volume ' 5 of Charles the Second's library. Internal evidence
there is none, unless we accept as such the not very significant likeness of Host
Blague to the host in The Merry Wives of Windsor a likeness which, as far as
it shows anything, shows that the one writer has imitated the other, or that
both have found dramatic use for a very common stock type.

Tieck was the first ' critic ' who ascribed The Merry Devil of Edmonton to
Shakespeare. He offered no serious evidence in favour of his theory, but has
been followed by two other German writers, Franz Horn and H. von Friesen.
No English reader, except Hopkinson, has been able to detect in this comedy
the slightest approach to Shakespeare's manner, and the more trustworthy
Elizabethan scholars in Germany Bodenstedt, 6 Ulrici, Warnke and Proescholdt
are equally incredulous. Two eighteenth-century antiquaries, Coxeter and
Oldys, 7 assigned the play to Michael Drayton, for no very apparent reason except
that the country in which the scene is laid is described in Polyolbion. Charles

1 Middleton's Works, ed. Bullen, vol. viii, p. 36. 2 1616. 3 p. xlv.

4 The editor of the first edition of Dodsley's Select Collection of Old Plays has the
following prefatory note, which is both sound and candid : ' One Kirkman, a book
seller, who, about fourscore years ago, made diligent enquiry after old" plays, and
collated and published a great number, affirms this play to have been wrote by Shake-
spear ; but I cannot help thinking he must be mistaken. When it was wrote I cannot
say, or who was the author of It.'

6 Cf. p. vii. 6 Note appended to Friesen's article : Jahrbuch I, p. 165.

7 Cf. Reed's note on the play in the second edition of Dodsley's Collection, vol. v,
p. 247, 1780.

xxxviii THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

Lamb and Mr. Fleay slightly favour this attribution, while Hazlitt and Ulrici
ascribe the comedy to Thomas Heywood instead.

There seems no adequate reason to accept either Shakespeare, Drayton, or
Heywood as the author of this fine play, and it will probably be long before we
can venture with safety beyond the statement of Knight, that it is ' the perform
ance of a true poet, whoever he be'. Certainly the vitality of the scenes, the
heartiness of the humour, and the unsurpassed delicacy in the portrayal of true
love and true friendship, make The Merry Demi of Edmonton one of the most
delightful of all the pseudo-Shakespearian plays to read and to re-read.

XI. Fair Em does not appear to have been registered at Stationers' Hall,
though at least two early quarto editions were published. One of these, which
we shall refer to as Q. 1, is undated, and has the title : ' A Pleasant Commodie,
of faire Em the Millers daughter of Manchester : With the loue of William the
Conqueror : As it was sundrietimes publiquely acted in the honourable citie of
London, by the right honourable the Lord Strange his seruaunts. Imprinted at
London for T. N. and I. W. and are to be solde in 8. Dunstones Church-yarde in
Fleete-streete.'

The only known copy of this edition is in the Bodleian ; the other, somewhat
commoner, quarto has a practically identical title-page, except as regards the
imprint, which reads : ' Printed for John Wright, and are to be sold at his shop
at the signe of the Bible in Guilt-spur street without Newgate. 1631.' The
textual differences between the two editions are for the most part merely ortho
graphic or accidental, but it seems likely that Q. 1, with its archaic spelling and
grammar, is the older by perhaps a generation or more. The play is pretty
definitely dated by the statement that it was acted by Lord Strange' s servants,
for this name was applied to one of the London companies 1 only from 1589 to
1593, and it seems probable that Q. 1 was published while the memory of ' the
right honourable the Lord Strange his seruaunts ' was still fairly fresh in the
mind of the publisher and the public to whose tastes he was catering. Q. 2 is
hardly more than a reprint of Q. 1, occasionally correcting an obvious mistake
but never venturing on the real elucidation which some passages greatly require.

W. R. Chetwood, an eighteenth-century editor of Fair Em, enumerates three
early editions of the play, assigning to one the date 1619. It was this 1619 quarto
which Chetwood claimed to follow, but as the alterations which he introduced
into the text are certainly not Elizabethan, 2 and as no one else has alluded to the
edition of 1619, there is reason to believe it a mere figment of Chetwood's imagina
tion, devised to give authority to his departure from the text of the two genuine
quartos.

Regarding the authorship of Fair Em we have not a shred of evidence previous

Originally the Earl of Leicester's ; later successively the Earl of Derby's, Lord
Hunsdon's, the Lord Chamberlain's, &c., cf. Fleay's History of the Stage, pp. 82 ff.,
133, &c.

2 For a fuller discussion of this question, cf. Introduction to Warnke and Proes-
choldt's edition of Fair Em, pp. viii, ix.

INTRODUCTION

to the Eestoration. The only seventeenth-century hint of Shakespeare's con
nexion with the play is the label ' Shakespeare. Vol. I ' on the back of the book
which contained Fair Em, Mucedorus, and The Merry Devil of Edmonton, in the
library of Charles II. Such small weight as this doubtful testimony may have
is quite balanced by the assertion of Edward Phillips in his Theatrum Poetanim l
that Fair Em was written by Robert Greene. Both these ascriptions have found
defenders, but it is at present almost certain that neither of the poets suggested
was ever in the least degree connected with the writing of our comedy.

The theory of Greene's authorship, advanced by Phillips and accepted by
Dyce, has been discredited by R. Simpson, who shows that two lines in the last
scene 2 are ridiculed, and the unknown author violently attacked, in Greene's
Farewell to Folly, published in 1591. Tieck, Horn, Hopkinson, and Simpson
have imagined that they saw in Fair Em indications of Shakespeare's handiwork,
but only the last has produced arguments which to-day deserve even casual
consideration. Simpson's idea, which he has elaborated with rather excessive
ingenuity, is that Shakespeare wrote Fair Em as an allegorical attack on Greene
and his school. William the Conqueror represents William Kempe, who had
recently led a theatrical company to Denmark ; Mountney typifies Marlowe,
Manvile Greene, and the successful Valingford, Shakespeare himself, while Fair
Em symbolizes the prize of the dramatic contest, the Manchester public. This
interpretation is accepted in general by Mr. Fleay, who, however, ascribes the
play to R. Wilson instead of Shakespeare, and explains Valingford as George
Peele, while Fair Em, in his judgement, means the company of Queen's Players,
not the Manchester audience.

In regard to the possible allegorical significance of Fair Em, the sanest con
clusion is doubtless that to which Warnke and Proescholdt have come : there
may be a substratum of allegory beneath the structure of the comedy, but it is
only vaguely discernible, if it exists, and fails entirely to support the elaborate
edifice of theory which both Mr. Simpson and Mr. Fleay have attempted to erect
upon it. Mr. Simpson appears to have proved two facts : first, that Fair Em
was not written by Greene ; and, secondly, that it antedates Greene's Farewell
to Folly. 3 It is doubtless equally certain that he has not succeeded in establishing,
from external evidence, even the slightest probability of the play's Shakespearian
origin, while, as he practically admits himself, the dramatic character and style
of the work tend strongly to negative his arguments. In Fair Em, as Charles
Knight says, ' we look in vain for all that sets Shakespeare so high above his
contemporaries ; his wit, his humour, his poetry, his philosophy, his intimate
knowledge of man, his exquisite method.'

Fair Em is a thoroughly childish and inartistic production. Its only charm
rests in the fact that it exhibits, with much of the crudity, also something of the
heartiness and freshness of childish performances. Regarded as a serious essay

1 1675. 2 v. 121 and 157.

3 1591. For another indication of date, cf. p. xxxviii.

THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

in dramatic art, it is full of impossibilities and absurdities both in the conception
of the characters and in the incidents by which the action is carried along. Yet
for the reader who can overlook its puerilities and occasional flatnesses, this
indifferent play will probably justify the claim of the title-page, that it is ' a
pleasant coinmodie '.

Fair Em might well have been defined in terms dear to the Elizabethan
playwrights as ' Two Comedies in One '. Only in the fifth act is there any sort
of real connexion between the two plots which make up the drama. The source
of the story that gives the work its title is so far undiscovered ; the other plot
that of William the Conqueror and the Danish Court has been shown by Pro
fessor Schick, in his scholarly Preface to The Spanish Tragedy, 1 to come from
Henry Wotton's Courtlie controuersie of Cupids Cautels (1578), which is itself
a translation of Jaques Yver's Prin-Temps d 1 Yver. The novel which concerns us
is the fourth in the collection ; it ends tragically with the execution of Lubeck
and the suicide of William.

XII. Of all the doubtful plays, The Two Noble Kinsmen is the one which has
inspired the greatest amount of criticism and conjecture ; yet there is perhaps
no other member of the class that has so thoroughly maintained the mystery
of its authorship, or has so often obliged candid investigators to retract their
theories and confess themselves at a loss. This brilliant and puzzling drama
was registered April 8, 1634," and appeared first in quarto (Q.) with the interest
ing title-page : ' The Two Noble Kinsmen : Presented at the Blackfriers by the
Kings Maiesties servants, with great applause : Written bij the memorable Worthies
of their time ;

Mr. John Fletcher, and

Mr. William Shakespeare, i Gent '
Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, for lohn Waterson : and are to be sold at the siync
of the Crowne in Pauls Church-yard. 1634.'

The only other seventeenth-century edition is that (F.) which was published
in 1679, with no mention of Shakespeare's name, in the second Beaumont-
Fletcher folio. That this text is only a reprint of Q. with revised spelling,
is made clear both from collation and from the express indication at the beginning
of the folio that The Two Noble Kinsmen is one of the seventeen plays omitted
in the first folio of Beaumont and Fletcher, and printed ' out of 4to '. The play
has maintained its position in subsequent editions of Beaumont and Fletcher,
and has been frequently published of late years, either separately or in collections.
The standard edition is that prepared in 1876 for the New Shakspere Society
by Harold Littledale.

We first hear of a drama on the subject of Chaucer's Kniglites Tale in the

1 Temple Dramatists edition, p. xxvi.

1 ' 8Aprilis(1634). Master John Waterson Entrcd for his Copy vmler the hands
of Sir Henry Herbert and master Aspley warden a TragiOomedy called the two noble
kinsmen by John ffletcher and William Shakespeare, vjd.'

INTRODUCTION xli

accounts of Queen Elizabeth's entertainment at Oxford in 1566. Stow's Chronicle
for August 31, 1566, contains the following allusion : ' Comedies also and Trage
dies were played in Christs Church, where the Queene's Highnesse lodged. Among
the which, the Comedie entituled Palemon and Arcet, made by Master Edwards
of the Queenes Chappell, had such tragicall successe as was lamentable ; for at
that time, by the fall of a wall, and a paire of staires, and great presse of the
multitude, three men were slaine.' l

In Henslowe's Diary for the months of September-November, 1594, occur
four notices of receipts from the presentation of a play with the same name,
' palamon and arsett.'j The letters 'ne ', affixed to the earliest entry, that of
Sept. 17, show that the drama was on that day acted for the first time. 8 Collier's
theory is that the work here mentioned is a revision of Edwards's old play, pre
pared by Shakespeare for joint performance by the Lord Chamberlain's and
Lord Admiral's companies at the Newington Theatre, and that the Shakespearian
portions were later elaborated by Fletcher in The Two Noble Kinsmen. Skeat
and Littledale, however, base our play directly on Chaucer, and deny with probable
justice that it has any connexion with either of the earlier dramas just mentioned,
both of which are now lost.

Modern criticism is unanimous on two points : First, that The Two Noble
Kinsmen was written by two poets, very different in style, genius, and character.
Second, that the longer and weaker portion is mainly or exclusively the work
of Fletcher. The separation is thus made by Littledale :

(a) The non-Fletcher part : I. i (except 11. 1-40), part of ii, iii, iv ; n. i ;
III. i, ii ; nearly all of iv. iii ; v. i (except 11. 1-19), part of iii, iv (except 11. 99-113).

(b) The Fletcher part : All the rest.

The ' metrical tests ' have been applied to this play with striking effect.
The results of Littledale's reckoning as to the comparative proportion of double
endings and run-on lines in the two divisions of the Avork may be tabulated thus :

Double endings. Run-on lines.

Part not by Fletcher 1 to 3-49 1 to 1-78

Part by Fletcher 1 to 1-89 1 to 4-06

The utter dissimilarity is obvious at a glance. In fact there is not the least
difficulty in distinguishing the parts, except in one or two prose scenes belonging
to the underplot, and in several passages which appear to combine the work
of both hands. It is of importance to note that the style of the un-Fletcherian
part of The Two Noble Kinsmen, as represented by the metrical tests, approaches
very near to that of The Winter's Tale and The Tempest, and that it almost

1 Littledale (Introduction 10*, 11*) quotes a fuller account of this catastrophe from
Nicholls, Progr. of Eliz., 1823, pp. 210-13. The authority is Anthony Wood.

2 The following allusion in Bartholomew Fair, 1614 (iv. ii, Mermaid ed., pp. 103-4),
is probably to this play : ' Quar. . . Well, my word is out of the Arcadia, then ;
Argalus. Winw. And mine out of the play ; Palemon.'' From the reference to the
Arcadia, we may infer that the work coupled with it was not a recent one. Though it
is possible, it seems to me excessively improbable that The Two Noble Kinsmen was
acted as early as 1614, or indeed for some years after.

xlii THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

coincides with that of the un-Fletcherian part of Henry VIII, ascribed usually
to Shakespeare, but by some recent critics to Massinger.

The answer to the long-mooted question as to Shakespeare's part-authorship
of The Two Noble Kinsmen has always depended, and still depends, on the balanc*
ing of the undeniably Shakespearian tone of the style against the quite un*
Shakespearian characterization. There arc great names in abundance on
each side.

The authenticity of the so-called Shakespeare parts has been defended by
Lamb, Coleridge, De Quincey, Tyrrell, Spalding, Hallam, Hickson, Skeat, Furness,
Littledale, Hopkinson, and Swinburne. The number of the sceptics is equally
large and no less distinguished, including, strange to say, the usually over-
credulous German writers. The case for the negative has been put boldly and
trenchantly by Shelley in a letter to his wife : * ' I have been reading the " Noble
Kinsmen ", in which, with the exception of that lovely scene, to which you added
so much grace in reading to me, I have been disappointed. The Jailor's Daughter
is a poor imitation, and deformed. The whole story wants moral discrimination
and modesty. I do not believe Shakespeare wrote a word of it.' The same
disbelief has been expressed by Steevens, Hazlitt, Knight, Ulrici, Delius, von
Friesen, Halli well -Phillips, Boyle, Bierfreund, Furnivall, and Fleay.

In all that pertains to verse form and poetic expression the un-Fletcherian
scenes of The Two Noble Kinsmen must probably impress the majority of readers
as more overwhelmingly Shakespearian than any considerable passage hi
Edward III, Arden of Feversham, or A Yorkshire Tragedy. Yet in the case of
this play no less certainly than in the case of the others it seems to be the tendency
of good criticism to discredit the idea of Shakespeare's authorship. As Professor
Ward says, 8 ' The ordinary results of a prolonged reflexion on the problem of the
authorship of the doubtful portions of The Tivo Noble Kinsmen seems to be either
an increased unwillingness, or at least a diminished willingness, to decide it in
favour of the only specious claim that which has been advanced on behalf of
Shakespeare.'

An interesting case in point is that of Mr. Spalding, who in 1833 defended the
genuineness of the ' Shakespearian ' scenes in his classic Letter on Shakespeare's
A uthorship of the Two Noble Kinsmen. Seven years later his opinion was ' not
now so decided as it once was ' ; and in 1847 he had become so doubtful as to
declare : ' The question of Shakespeare's share in this play is really insoluble.' 3
Similarly, Mr. Fleay and Dr. Furnivall, who at first accepted the authenticity
of the doubtful scenes, came, on maturer consideration, to pronounce them
certainly spurious.

It is highly improbable that any critical reader of this play lias mot with
a single scene which, after judging it on its own merits, he has been able to

1 Pro^e Works (ed. 1888), ii. :>:5:>. - /;/. Iffnn,. Lit. ii. -J4:i.

3 Cf. the reprint of the Letter v.itii ' Forewords ' by Furnivall in Publication-* of
Xev. Sh. Soe.. 1876.

INTRODUCTION x !iii

pronounce candidly and With absolute confidence to be the work of Shakespeare.
It would scarcely be too much to say that there is not even one speech which has
ever seemed thoroughly and completely convincing to any conscientious student
no speech, that is, on which he would have been willing to rest the whole
question, declaring that just here, if nowhere else, the fingers of the greatest
poet of the world have infallibly left their mark. On the contrary, when we
consider individually the parts of The Two Noble Kinsmen which have been
ascribed to Shakespeare, we find invariably that each act, scene, or verse falls
just short of what it should be. Always there is the strong Shakespearian remi
niscence, but nowhere quite the full and perfect reality that we could swear to.

The advocates of the play's authenticity are, therefore, driven upon one or the
other of two entirely illegitimate courses : either they argue from vague generali
ties of impression, without venturing upon the examination of details, whether
of method, characterization, or technique ; or they go on the hypothesis
perfectly unjustifiable and illogical that we have before us not, indeed, Shake
speare's work as we all know it, but the same work degraded and weakened by
the mischievous revision of Fletcher. On this last assumption there is no depth
of critical absurdity which may-Bofe-be reached. Admitting once that we are
to judge of the work of Shakespeare not by what we know it to be, but by what
we imagine that it might have been after alteration and debasement at the hands
of a Fletcher or a Rowley, we may prove Shakespeare's concern in any wretched
play of his age in Fair Em itself, if we like by merely assuming a sufficiently
small amount of the Shakespearian gold and a relatively large amount of the alloy.

That portion of The Two Noble Kinsmen which is obviously not Fletcher's
contains some of the most brilliant of Jacobean poetry. It is not less certain,
I think, that it contains no spark of psychological insight or philosophy of life
which can in sober moments be thought either worthy of the mature Shakespeare
or even suggestive of him.

On the utter absurdity of associating Emilia, as she appears in any scene
of the play, with Imogen or Miranda, or indeed with any other reputable dramatic
heroine, Dr. Furnivall appears to have spoken the final word. Nor can her
coarseness be explained, as critics have attempted to explain the spinelessness of
Palamon and Arcite, by the theory that Fletcher has marred the promise of
Shakespeare's plan. In the most distinctly un-Fletcherian scenes of all she is
what Dr. Furnivall has called her, ' a silly lady's-maid or shop girl, not knowing
her own mind, up and down like a bucket in a well.' l

On the dramatic character of the scenes not Fletcher's, few words require
to be said, but they must be strong ones. There are two portions of the play
which probably dwell so vividly in every reader's mind as to obscure the recol
lection of all the rest. They are the first scene of the first act and the first scene
of the fifth. Both, it need hardly be said, are by another than Fletcher, and

1 Note, for instance, her really revolting \vishy-washiness and ingrained fensuality-
in what are perhaps her best scenes, iv, ii (the portrait scene) and v. iii.

xliv THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

neither has much to do with the action of the play. They are, as De Quincey
has remarked, 1 examples of the most gorgeous rhetoric, and there is little reason,
I think, for adding De Quincey's qualification that they are anything much better.

Had the first scene of The Two Noble Kinsmen come in the middle, the play's
claim to authenticity would probably have found far fewer supporters. As it
is, we are gripped at the very start by the grand operatic opening, the music of
the verse, the spectacular effect of the marriage procession met by the sombre
and hysterical widows, by the swaying of the opposing groups to and fro across
the stage, by the co-operative supplication and bending of knees not singly and
individually, but in symmetrical groups, and, as it were, to the sound of music
by all the specious clap-trap, in fact, which seems to be dramatic action, and is
really mere verbiage and ballet-dancing. That Shakespeare wrote a syllable of
this scene will hardly be believed by any diligent reader who will take the trouble
to ask himself what it all means and what is its connexion with the rest of the play.

The other memorable scene is that in which Arcite, Palamon, and Emilia
offer their prayers before the altars of their patron deities. Here again we have
an entire lack of dramatic utility or propriety cloaking itself behind spectacular
brilliance and fine but unmeaning poetry. The whole incident is, of course,
transported bodily from Chaucer's tale, where it is in keeping, to the closing act
of the drama, where it most emphatically is not. Two of the speeches those
of Aroite and Emilia are in De Quincey's words, ' gorgeous rhetoric ' ; the third
is hardly that. They would make a fine though somewhat tedious division of an
epic poem, but to suppose that they were foisted in by Shakespeare himself at
the very climax of his play, and were meant by him for representation before
an audience uninterested in mythical rites or divinities, but craving immediate
and realistic action, this surely is to strain credulity to the breaking-point.

In conclusion we may thus sum up the matter : metrical and external evidence
agree in proving that, if Shakespeare wrote any part of The Two Noble Kinsmen
in its present form, he must have done so during the very last period of his career.
But, rich as the language and verse are in Shakespearian reminiscence, there is
practically nothing in characterization or dramatic structure which points to
the author of The Tempest ; while such defects as the ambiguous personality of
Emilia, he failure properly to..diatinguish between P^n^n $$$ Arcite. and the
low dramatic pitch of the doubtful scenes render their ascription to the mature
Shakespeare all but unpardonable. The only hypothesis, indeed, on which
present-day criticism can even consider the idea of Shakespeare's connexion with
The Two Noble Kinsmen is that laid down, not very probably, by Mr. Herford ;
namely, that the play consists of very late ' poetic ' 2 fragments by Shakespeare,
subsequently connected and completed by Fletcher.

If we put aside for the present the theory of Shakespeare's authorship as

1 Works, ed. 1862, x. 49.

2 Fragments, that is, in which the requirements of practical stagecraft were
neglected to a much greater extent than in The Tempest.

INTRODUCTION xlv

being at the very least quite undemonstrable, there remain for consideration the
claims of three other poets. George Chapman was suggested by Knight * many
years ago, but no other writer has accepted the idea as even conceivable, and it
need be mentioned only to be rejected. An acute Danish scholar, Dr. Bierfreund,
maintains in his dissertation on ' Palamon og Arcite ' 2 that Beaumont was
Fletcher's sole collaborator in The Two Noble Kinsmen, 3 which he believes to be
their first joint work. This attribution is favoured by the well-known fact of
the literary partnership between Beaumont and Fletcher, and by the metrical
similarity of Beaumont's verse to that of Shakespeare's last period and of the
' Shakespearian ' part of The Two Noble Kinsmen. Beyond this, however, there
seems to be nothing to support Dr. Bierfreund's theory, which, till it is further
substantiated, can hardly be regarded as more than an ingenious guess.

Undoubtedly the most serious claimant to the honour, besides Shakespeare,
is Philip Massinger, whose cause has been championed with a good deal of ability
by Boyle and Fleay. In poetic technique, Massinger has been shown to approach
nearest of all the Elizabethans to Shakespeare, and the metrical tests give him
an even better title than his master to the doubtful part of our play. Moreover,
the structural and psychological imperfections of the work, the tendency to
unnecessary coarseness of language, the feeble imitation of Shakespeare, the
frequent similarity to Massinger's acknowledged writings, all tell as strongly
for Massinger's. authorship as against that of Shakespeare.

There appears, indeed, to be but one serious objection to the assumption, other
wise very probable, that The Two Noble Kinsmen was written by Fletcher and
Massinger, and that is the magnificent poetry of the un-Fletcherian part, with
which hardly anything in Massinger's accepted work can compare. Prudent
criticism will leave the whole question in doubt, till more evidence can be obtained.
Yet, if a tentative decision is to be made from the facts at present before us, it
appears both a more logical and a more pleasant course to assume that Massinger
should, for once, have risen to the lofty poetry of The Two Noble Kinsmen, than
to asume that the ripened Shakespeare should have stooped to its low level of
character and morality.

XIII. The Birth of Merlin survives in a late seventeenth-century quarto
(Q.) with the following title : ' The Birth of Merlin : or The Childe hath found
his Father. As it hath been several times Acted with great Applause. Written by
William Shakespear, and William Rowley. Placere cupio. London : Printed by
Tho. Johnson for Francis Kirkman, and Henry Marsh, and are to be sold at the
Princes Arms in Chancery-Lane. 1662.'

There seems to have been no second edition till the publication of Tyrrell's
' Doubtful Plays of Shakspere ' in 1851. The spelling of Q, as might be expected,
is of the usual Restoration character, and the metre has been corrupted, in many

1 Pictorial Shakespeare, vii. p. 182 ff. 2 p. 77.

8 The same view has been expressed more casually by Colman (Beaumont and
Fletcher's Works, 1778) and Hazlitt (Elizabethan Literature).

xlvi THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

cases irretrievably, by the printing of the entire play in long prose lines appar
ently to save space. From the language and grammar, however, as well as from
the general tone, it is clear that The Birth of Merlin was not composed later than
the reign of James I ; nor is it at all likely that it antedates James's accession.
Mr. Fleay assigns it, in its present form, to the year 1622.

There is no external evidence of Shakespeare's partial authorship except that
of the publisher, Kirkman, repeated in his catalogues of 1661 and 1671, where we
read : ' Shakespear and Rowley . . Birth of Merlin . . T(ragi) C(omedy).'
This attribution, made so long after Shakespeare's death, and by a particularly
untrustworthy authority, has met with scant respect in modern times save from
the early German critics, Tieck and Horn. There is not a single poetic passage
in The Birth of Merlin, which will justify for an instant the hypothesis of Shake
speare's authorship. The disjointed nature of the plot, moreover, the foolish
and immature morality of the Modestia scenes, and the repeated appeals to the
cheap make-shifts of sorcery and divination, stamp it as distinctively un-Shake-
spearian.

Yet the reader of this play will perceive, as no modern reader of Cromwell
or The London Prodigal easily can, what was in the minds of those critics who
have defended its genuineness. One meets with occasional bits of poetry and
characterization which have certainly a remote kinship to Shakespeare and were
probably written under his influence. In passages like the speeches of Prince
Uter in n. iii l , we recognize dimly and afar off the syntactic rush, the ease of
verse flow, the figurative power, and sincerity of emotion, which we know in
Shakespeare. The strength and naturalness of the lines given to Edoll in II. ii,
show that the author could portray deep passion in lucid, simple verse.

But in other places we find what seems to be intentional and rather disastrous
imitation of Shakespeare's broken syntax and bold use of words. In these cases
we acknowledge ourselves in the presence of a poet of rather more than respectable
endowments, yet we must often feel that the actual value of the thought is
hardly sufficient recompense for untwisting the convolutions of a sentence such
as this :

' Or like to Marius soldiers, who, o'retook,
The eyesight killing Gorgon at one look
Made everlasting stand : so fear'd my power,
Whose cloud aspir'd the Sun, dissolv'd a shower.' 2

No commentator has seen particular reason to deny William Rowley's concern
in The Birth of Merlin, since this Rowley was too obscure a dramatist to be
credited with a play, without at least hearsay evidence in his favour. Hopkinson
assigns the entire performance to Rowley, while Fleay, on the other hand, believes
his part to consist solely or mainly in the revision of another man's work. Mr. P. A.
Daniel (1884) suggested Middleton as the author of the play, and Mr. Fleay at
one time accepted this attribution with conviction, at least as regards the serious

1 11. 162-9, 183-205. * n. i, 11. 95-8.

INTRODUCTION xlvii

parts. 1 Till the matter has been much more thoroughly investigated, however,
the connexion of Middleton with The Birth of Merlin must remain quite problem
atical. It is perhaps an indication in his favour that the detailed legal allusions 2
prove the author to have been one well versed in the law, 3 and the fact of his
frequent collaboration * with William Rowley adds a little more to the weight of
confirmatory evidence.

XIV. Until 1844, the fine play of *SVr Thomas More existed only in a confused,
mutilated, and generally unknown manuscript belonging to the British Museum. 6
In that year it was transcribed by Dyce, with admirable fidelity, and printed
for the Shakespeare Society. The only other edition, with modernized spelling,
was published in 1902 by A. F. Hopkinson for private circulation. As Mr. Hop-
kinson did not consult the MS., his variations from Dyce have no claim to con
sideration except as pure conjecture.

The text of Dyce contains a few unintentional deviations from the MS., such
as the difficult and varied handwriting of the latter rendered practically unavoid
able. These trifling inaccuracies, so far as careful collation has revealed them,
have been set right in the present edition. For certain parts of the play, however,
Dyce's version must remain the ultimate authority, since a number of words and
lines, intelligible to him, have by the subsequent deterioration of the MS. become
quite indecipherable or have entirely crumbled away. The manuscript consists
of twenty sheets, written in five 6 different hands. The paper is not of the same
kind throughout, and some of the scenes are obviously misplaced. In several cases
we get two drafts of the same scene, while small portions of other scenes have
been entirely lost. Altogether the confusion is extreme ; yet Dyce has succeeded
in effecting what appears to be certainly the proper arrangement, and the lacunae
are nowhere so great as to obscure the plot.

Leaves 3-5, 10, 11, 14, 15, 17-22, of the MS., 7 comprising about two-thirds
of the whole, are undoubtedly older than the rest. These thirteen leaves, written
closely on both sides of the paper, with a certain amount of neatness and only
the usual copyist's errors, belong, without doubt, to the draft of the play which
was submitted to Sir Edmund Tilney, the Master of the Revels, for licence to act.
On the margins of these pages we meet, from time to time, with Tilney's com
ments, called forth by what he regarded as the seditious nature of various passages.
Thus, at the top of the very first page he has written : ' Leaue out ye insurrection
wholy and the cause thereoff, and begin with Sir Tho. Moore at ye mayors sessions,
with a reportt afterwardes off his good seruice don, being shriue off London,

1 Life of Shakespeare, 1889, pp. 289-90. Withdrawn Biog. Chron. Eng. Dr., 1891,
ii. 105, where he regards the Birth of Merlin as a refashioning by Rowley of an older
play, possibly the Utcr Pcndragon, acted bythe Admiral's Company in 1597.

*e.g. n. i'ii. 20-2; m. i. 89-91 ; in. ii/38-44.

:1 Middleton may have boon a member of Gray's Inn.

4 Cf. Fleay, Biogruph. Chron. on ' Middleton '. '" Harleian 7308.

6 Possibly only four; of. p. xlviii. According lo Dr. Fiirnivall, there are clearly
six, and perhaps seven.

' That is, leaves 1 3, &c., of the piny, which begins on the third leaf of the MS.

xlviii THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

.vppon a mutiny agaynst ye Lumbardes, only by a shortt reportt, and nott other
wise, att your own perrilles. E. Tyllney.'

The insurrection scene, however, and the other parts to which the Master
of the Bevels took exception were not left out, but merely recast. There appears,
indeed, to have been no difference of plot between the original version of Sir
Thomas More, as submitted to Tilney, and the elaborated form in which the
MS. preserves it. The new scenes are revisions of the old ones, indescribably
finer in several instances as poetry and drama, but adding no fresh element to
the general design.

In one or two cases a page of the original matter has been almost totally
hidden by having a new passage pasted bodily over it. The thirteen legible
leaves of the original draft give us the following scenes. Act i, Scene i, ii, iii ;
II. i, iv (11. 173-end) ; in. i ; iv. i (11. 1-309), ii, iii, iv, v (except new draft of
11. 68-104) ; v. i, ii, iii, iv. Scraps of other important scenes, such as u. ii and
in. ii, are also occasionally discernible, but the old versions of these parts of the
play have generally been deleted or pasted over to prevent confusion with the
new, improved readings.

The original draft of the play, as submitted to Tilney, is in a single hand
and runs on almost without a blot or correction ; it is a clean copy, made perhaps
not by the author himself, but by a professional scribe. The later insertions,
however, leaves 6-9, 12, 13, 16 are for the most part preserved exactly as
they were composed. They are full of deletions and alterations, and are written
on paper of varying sorts and sizes, in certainly three, probably four, different
hands, none of which resembles that of the original thirteen sheets. If, then, we
call the handwriting of the first draft Hand A, we may thus indicate the various
sorts which appear on the seven new leaves :

Hand B. Found only on leaf 6, which contains a revision 1 of the scene
between More and his wife (iv. v, 11. 68-104). This passage of seventy lines was
never properly fitted into the play, so that the old version in Hand A has been
left standing hi its proper place, while the improved, lengthened version in
Hand B was negligently inserted between n. i and n. ii.

Hand C. Occurring on the first page of leaf 7 (n. ii) and on leaf 16 (iv. i. 309,
S. D. ' Enter a Servingman,' to end of scene).

Hand D. This is the handwriting which Mr. Simpson and Mr. Spedding have
united in assigning to Shakespeare upon evidence of a most interesting character.
The only difficulty connected with the discrimination between the various hand
writings of the MS. concerns itself with this Hand D. Mr. Simpson " believed that
all the passages hi the play, which are not in the easily recognizable A, B, and C
hands, are written in Hand D and by Shakespeare. This would make the latter
the author or reviser of the following scenes : n. iii, iv (11. 1-172) ; ill. ii and iii.

Mr. Spedding, 3 on the contrary, recognizes a fifth hand, to which he assigns :

1 Printed in the Appendix to the play, pp. 419, 420.

* -1 Soles and Queries, viii. 1 ff . * 4 Notes and Q

ucries, x. 227 ff.

INTRODUCTION* xlix

n. iii ; in. ii, 11. 1-282 ; in. iii ; and perhaps the remaining part of in. ii. Thus
Spedding leaves to Shakespeare only the magnificent insurrection scene ' to the
end of line 172, and a very doubtful title to the end of in. ii from line 283. The
best judgement on this difficult question seems that kindly given me by Mr. Her
bert, of the British Museum, 2 who considers all the scenes ascribed by Simpson
to Shakespeare to be in one handwriting, with the exception of in. ii, 11. 283-end.
In agreement with this opinion we divide as follows :

Hand D : ii. iii, iv (11. 1-172) ; in. ii (11. 1-282), iii.

Hand E : in. ii (11. 283-end).

The manuscript of Sir TJiomas More contains no direct statement in regard
to the play's origin. The questions of authorship, date, and stage production
are all left dark, except for such doubtful light as a few casual allusions in the
body of the text may shed. That the drama belongs to the end of the sixteenth
century, and probably not to the extreme end, is indicated by several considera
tions. In Act IV, Scene I, 3 there occur two anachronistic references to Ogle,
a theatrical wig-maker mentioned in Cunningham's Revels Accounts for 1573,
and again under date of 1584. As one of the players is represented as leaving
More's house to get from Ogle a false beard, with which he later appears, the
realistic effect of the allusion would have been lost, had not Ogle's shop been in
actual existence when the drama was produced.

Dyce suggested 1590, or just before, as the date of the play, and Simpson,
who regarded the insurrection scenes as inspired by a similar outbreak in 1586,
decided positively for that year or the next. Mr. Fleay, on the other hand,
supported by Hopkinson, pronounced 1595-6 the earliest probable date, and
refers to a rising in June, 1595, which might well have given appositeness to the
insurrection scenes and rendered them particularly distasteful to the Master of
the Revels. The two dates proposed by Simpson and Fleay respectively may
safely be accepted as determining the period within which Sir Thomas More
was written.

The additions were most likely composed soon after the body of the play.
This is almost certainly true of More's magnificent speech in defence of order
and humanity in ii. iv, intended obviously as a balance to the revolutionary
scenes which so displeased Tilney. Without such a makeweight on the side of
law, no theatre manager, however bold, could well have ventured to perform
the first part of the play, in the face of the tremendous prohibition : ' Leaue
out ye insurrection wholy and the cause thereoff . . . att your own perrilles.'
The most probable explanation of the number of hands concerned in the work

1 n. iv.

* Through the kindness of Dr. Furnivall I am able to give also the careful opinion
of Mr. Warner, the Keeper of the MSS. at the British Museum. His belief is that
ff. 8, 9 the leaves containing the insurrection scene (n. iv. 1-172) are in a different
hand from the rest, but he is not sure of the matter. This view would make the
problem much simpler, but I have thought it safer to accept the decision which is
less fa-curable to the idea of Shakespeare's authorship. 3 11. 126, 292

1 THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

and the extraordinary disorder of the MS. seems to be that the manager, anxious
to act the play with the least possible loss of time, but afraid to run directly
counter to authority, turned the original draft over to several writers, each of
whom hastily revised what seemed to him most glaringly in need of alteration.

There is reason for believing that Sir Thomas More was acted by the Lord
Chamberlain's Servants. Before the speech of the Messenger in in. iii, the MS.

writes : m l ^ ess ' | which, of course, means that the messenger's part was to be

taken by T. Goedal. Thomas Goodale, who is here indicated, is known 1 to have
been in 1592 a subordinate member of the Lord Strange's Company, later called
the Lord Chamberlain's.

Such discussion as this play has received hitherto has concenied itself chiefly
with the interesting possibility that the scenes in Hand D, or some part of them,
may be directly from the pen and brain of Shakespeare. The theory of Shake
spearian part-authorship was evolved by Kichard Simpson in 1871, and supported
in the following year by James Spedding, with the differences as to detail already
specified. Mr. Hopkinson has accepted their general conclusions, and Professor
Ward, declaring his inability to judge concerning the genuineness of the so-called
Shakespearian handwriting, goes on to say : 2 'As to the style and manner of
the passages in question, not only may the speeches of More, in particular that
addressed to the insurgents, which may have been specially elaborated to suit
the requirements of the licenser, be said without hesitation to have the true
Shakespearean manner, besides being genuinely Shakespearean in feeling, but it
is with difficulty they can be conceived to have been written by any other con
temporary author.' Dr. Furnivall, on the other hand, doubts that the text of
the insurrection scene, &c., in the MS., is hi Shakespeare's writing, and says of
this portion of the play that there is ' nothing necessarily Shaksperean in it,
though part of it (is) worthy of him '. 3 Mr. Fleay appears likewise to be in
credulous.*

The difficult question raised by these dissimilar opinions would be much easier
of solution if we could, with Spedding, dismiss all but the supreme passage in the
play, the culminating insurrection scene and speech of More, 5 as written in
a different hand, and therefore not belonging to the Shakespearian matter. This,
it must be said in candour, we are perhaps hardly justified hi doing. All the
scenes enumerated on p. xlix as belonging to Hand D including the relatively
weak Randall-Erasmus-More passages in in. ii, and the even more commonplace
n. iii may very probably be in the same handwriting. Moreover, it is practically
certain, from the appearance of the MS. of the ' insurrection scene ' (as will be
indicated later) that the handwriting is that of the author. If, therefore, we

1 Cf. Fleay, Hist, of the Stage, p. 84. s Eng. Dram. Lit., ii, 214.

3 Royal Shakspere, i, cxv. His opinion has not altered materially since.

* Life of Shakespeare, 292 ff. 6 ii. iv, 11. 1-172.

At least for the present, though we should have Mr. Warner's great authority
for doing so. Cf. p. xlix, note 2.

INTRODUCTION li

decide that n. iv, 11. 1-172, is written and composed by Shakespeare, then we
should be prepared to accept n. iii ; in. ii, 11. 1-282 ; in. iii, as at least transcribed
in Shakespeare's hand. It is quite possible to do this, and the necessity of doing
so detracts little perhaps from the strength of the case which may be founded
on the ' insurrection scene ' alone.

The first 172 lines of the ' insurrection scene ' appear to me more thoroughly
in the tone of Shakespeare than any other passage in the doubtful plays. There
is possibly more striking poetry in Edward III and The Two Noble Kinsmen, and
greater intensity of feeling in parts of Arden of Feversham, but it would be difficult
or impossible to find, outside the plays of the ordinary canon, any extract of
similar length which reminds the reader so strongly and lastingly of the special
peculiarities of Shakespeare's genius. We get something of the familiar ring in
the very first sentence, Lincoln's appeal to the unruly inob he has gathered
about him.

' Lincolne. Peace, heare me : he that will not see a red hearing * at a Herry
grote, butter at alevenpence a pounde, meale at nyne shillings a bushell, and
beeff at fower nobles a stone, lyst to me.

Geo. Belt. Yt will come to that passe, yf straingers be sufferd. Mark him.'

This, and the speeches that follow inevitably suggest Jack Cade and his
company in 2 Henry VI. 3 The perception of the individual Shakespearian touch
grows stronger in the mob's clamorous debate as to whether Shrewsbury, Surrey,
or More, is to address them a debate decided finally for More with the true mob
logic of Shakespeare .

' Doll. Letts heare him : a keepes a plentyfull shrevaltry, and a made my
brother Arther Watchins Seriant Safes yeoman : lets heare Shreeve Moore.
All. Shreiue Moor, Moor, More, Shreue Moore ! ' 3

The speech of More, which follows,* is praised on all hands both for its splendid
poetry and for its likeness to Shakespeare, but it, as well as the earlier part of
the scene, must be read in its entirety to be appreciated. The numerous parallels
of word and phrase with the acknowledged works will not escape the notice of
any reader. Equally apparent and generally recognized is the similarity to
Shakespeare's early style in all matters of technique. The bold figurative use
of words, 5 the rich smoothness of verse, and the total absence of strain or affecta
tion at the height of poetic intensity, mark these lines as not less Shakespearian
in metrical quality than any part of The Two Noble Kinsmen or Edward III.

The top scene of Sir Thomas More, however, exhibits the surest indications
of Shakespearian authorship just where the claim of all the other doubtful plays
breaks down ; that is, when we judge it dramatically rather than poetically,
giving less regard to the manner and more to the matter. The 172 lines in
question say precisely what we should expect Shakespeare, the man and dramatist,

1 herring. 2 iv. ii. 3 11. 58-63. 4 11. 80-172.

5 e.g. ' And you in ruff of your opynions clothe!,' 1. 99.

' Your noyce
Hath chidd downe ail the maiestie of Ingland.' 92-3, &c.

lit THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

to say ; we have here the same attitude toward the mob half good-natured
laughter, half seorn and distrust and the same eloquent championship of law
and order against anarchic tendencies, which appear so consistently throughout
the genuine works.

Moreover, the ' insurrection scene ' satisfies fully the almost decisive test ot
utility. Whereas the so-called Shakespearian portion of Edward III splits the
play into two irreconcilable halves, and the analogous scenes in The Two Xoble
Kinsmen seldom touch at all the dramatic crises, which are regularly left to the
pen of Fletcher, the author of the ' insurrection scene ' in Sir Thomas More has
turned his attention to the crucial point in the drama, and has revised it in just
the way which best answers the requirements both of stage effect and of managerial
prudence. It is not too much to say of this scene, by way of summary, that it
is exactly the sort of scene we should expect Shakespeare to write, had he been
called upon to revise the play, full of his well-known sentiments, and expressed
in a style which is very remarkably like his own during the period 1590-5.

If these lines are really by Shakespeare, we have a most interesting illustration
of the method of composition during his early maturity. The frequent interlinea
tions and substitutions of one phrase for another show how the work took form as
it proceeded, and make it evident that the sheet of paper on which this scene is
Avritten in the Harleian MS. contains the author's first draft, set down line by
line as the passage evolved itself in his brain. In the final version, 11. 132 ff.
read as follows :

' Wash your foule mynds with teares. and those same handes,
That you lyke rebells lyft against the peace,

Lift vp for peace, and your vnreuerent knees, 134

Make them your feet to kneele to be forgyven ! 135

Tell me but this ; what rebell captaine,
As mutynies ar incident, by his name
Can still the rout ? ' &c.

These fine lines were not arrived at without difficulty. In their first form there
was a pause after ' feet ' in 135, after which the poet wrote :

' To kneele to be forgyven
Is safer warrs then euer you can make

Whose discipline is ryot, why euen your warrs 3

Cannot proceed but by obedience ; what rebell captaine,' &c.

This failed to satisfy him and caused him an obvious struggle, before it could
be remodelled to his taste. First he deleted ' warrs ' at the end of the third line
and wrote instead ' hurly ', apparently because of the presence of ' warrs ' in
the preceding line. Then, as a substitute for ' why . . . hurly ' he has written above
' in in to yr obedience ', which in turn is lined out with all the rest, to be replaced
by the single half-line, ' Tell me but this.' At the same time, apparently, the
pause in 123 was shifted from the middle to the end of the line.

Of the other scenes, possibly written in Hand D, only the soliloquy of More l

1 m. ii, 11. 1-21.

INTRODUCTION liii

and the comic Faulkner passages l seem at all worthy of Shakespeare. They,
however, may doubtless be attributed to him, without excessive temerity, as
careless revisionary work, fundamentally similar in style and tone to his genuine
performances, but naturally more hasty and somewhat less spirited. II. iii, the
Erasmus part of in. ii, and the whole of in. iii, must be allowed to be decidedly
un-Shakespearian ; but of the last two of these passages it is quite certain, and
it is extremely probable of the first, that the person who transcribed them in
Hand D (?) was not in any real sense their author. The two Erasmus bits of
in. ii (11. 22-47, and 142-240), and the two Faulkner bits (11. 48-141 and 241-end),
alternate with each other and are not easily separated. From the scraps of the
old version of the scene in Hand A, which are still legible, it appears that the
Erasmus part was largely copied with only casual embellishments by the reviser,
while the Faulkner part is remodelled and immensely improved. Thus the
Erasmus passages are basically the work of the original author of the play and
have been rewritten in Hand D, with merely incidental improvements, because
they are wedged into the same scene with the Faulkner episode to which the
reviser gave serious attention.

The brief and tame Scene 3 of the third act is copied in Hand D (?) verbatim,
except for the insertion of the single word ' hether ', from the original draft
written in Hand C just after iv. i. It is clear that scribe C, having added to iv. i
the final lines 310-68, used the remaining half -sheet of paper for the sketch of
a much-needed connecting scene between the third act and the fourth. The
deletions prove the priority of this copy of the scene to that in Hand D(?).
Line 5, for instance, was first written : ' As sent to tell your lordship of his
cominge.' Then the first two words were deleted, and the last three replaced
by ' that they ar at hand ', which later was also scratched out in favour of the
final reading : ' of ther neer aproche.' Scribe D has merely copied this scene
in its final form, inserting ' hether ' in line 3 for the sake of the metre, and has
pasted his copy where the scene obviously belongs at the end of Act III. What
is certainly true of the Erasmus parts in in. ii, and of in. iii, is in the highest
degree likely of n. iii, the only other mediocre scene in Hand D (?). Here, too,
the scribe seems to have been not the author, but merely the theatrical arranger,
though, from the incomplete state of the MS., it is not possible in this case to
compare the revised version with the original.

Setting these scenes aside, then, we are left with the first 172 lines of n. iv,
and three passages from in. ii (11. 1-21, 48-141, 241-282), all of which are written
in Hand D (?) and are in large measure composed by the writer. Through these
three hundred lines we meet the same general characteristics, though they display
themselves in greater freedom and grandeur in the completely new-cast ' insur
rection scene ' than in the merely revised and elaborated passages of in. ii.

When we consider this part of Sir Thomas More in its poetic, and particularly
in its dramatic and personal aspects, taking into account the play's probable

1 HI. ii, 11. 48-141, 241-282.

liv THE SHAKESPEARE APOCRYPHA

date and the probable company by which it was acted, it is hardly possible to
withstand the conviction that if Shakespeare was ever concerned with any of
the apocryphal plays, then surely it was with this.

Of the body of the play little need be said, though Sir Thomas More ranks
high among the productions of its decade. Lack of unity is a defect inherent
in its style of composition, but the absence of anything like a consecutive plot
is to some extent atoned for by the effectiveness of More's genial character.
The really attractive personality of the central figure, and the genuine spirit of
light-heartedness which inspires even the tragic scenes, are two merits covering
a multitude of imperfections, and raising Sir Thomas More far above the flatness
of Oldcastle and Cromwell. In no work of the period do we get a more vivid
portrayal of the management of an aristocratic household. The dinner to the
Lord Mayor, the picture of More in the midst of his family circle, and the glimpse
behind the scenes of a Tudor morality l are charming bits of domesticity which
it would not be easy to parallel in the range of Elizabethan dramatic literature.

The main source of the drama is doubtless Hall's Chronicle, from which Dyce
quotes illustrative excerpts ; however, the story of More's life and death was
such common property in the reign of Elizabeth that it is unsafe perhaps to
fix upon any one authority. I have found an account of the fight in Pannier
Alley, and of the episode of the long-haired Faulkner (in. ii) in Fox's Book of
Martyrs (ed. 1684, II, 431), where both incidents are related in connexion with
Thomas Cromwell. The stock account of More's execution, very much as it
appears in the play, will be found in the same work (II, 294). The authorship
of Sir Thomas More in its first form has been assigned to Lodge, whose doubtful
claim is favoured by Fleay and Hopkinson."

A few words remain to be said regarding the editorial history of the Shake
speare Apocrypha. Of the fourteen plays here printed, all but the recently
discovered Sir Thomas More have suffered at the hands of late sixteenth and
seventeenth-century editors. During the period which began with Kirkman 3 and
culminated with Malone, Capell, and Steevens, critical energies were engaged here
as elsewhere, in the well-meant but mischievous task of levelling out grammatical
archaisms, and normalizing the frequently rough or irregular flow of the lines.

1 It may be remarked that the play here presented (iv. i) has only its name in
common with the Marriage of Wit and Wisdom, edited for the Shakespeare Society
by Halliwell in 1846. The morality of Luggins and his companions is, as Mr. Fleay
and others have pointed out, a medley of Lusty Juventus and The Disobedient Child.
The real Mariage of wyt and wisdome appears on the Stationers' Register as the first
of a list of books transferred from Th. Marshe, deceased, to Th. Orwyn, June 23, 1591.
Cf. Arber's Transcript, ii, 2756.

2 Mr. Fleay (Life of Sh., 292-3 ; Biog. Chr. Eng. Dr., ii. 312, 313) identifies Sir
Thomas More with the play called Abuses, which, we are told, contained a comedy and
a tragedy, and which was acted by the Children of Paul's before James I and the King
of Denmark on July 30, 1006. This is a guess pure and simple.

3 Circa 1600.

INTRODUCTION h

Under this regime, which shows itself almost at its worst in the emendations of
the modern German critics Delius, Moltke, and Elze, the present plurals in -s, for
example, and such expressions as ' thou was ' l disappeared, while ' the hugie
monsters ' of Locrine 2 reappeared as ' the hugest monsters '. At the same time,
the frequent nine-syllable lines of the originals, and the lines in which words like
' grace,' ' fear,' ' lord,' were pronounced in two syllables, were made arith
metically orthodox by the insertion of some colourless monosyllable. Thus in
Cromivell, 3 instead of the correct old reading,

4 Well hath your Grace said, my Lord of Norffdke ;
Therefore let vs presently to Lambeth.'

we find in Malone's and every succeeding text :

' Well hath your grace said, my good lord of Norfolk :
Therefore let us go presently to Lambeth.'

In the last two acts of this one play thirty-four words have been thus unwarrant
ably inserted, and the number of omissions is almost as great.

Only within the last few decades has any attempt been made to purge the
text of the apocryphal plays of the impurities which all had accumulated during
the long period of careless or ill-advised editing. Even since the beginning of
the nineteenth century, edition after edition has reprinted the insipid texts of the
later quartos and Malone, or has differed only in the incorporation of yet other
unnecessary emendations. For two hundred years there has not appeared
a reliable version of Locrine, Mucedorus, Sir John Oldcastle, Thomas Lord Crom
well, The London Prodigal, The Puritan, or A Yorkshire Tragedy and that, too,
notwithstanding the fact that all these plays, except Mucedorus, are included in
the third and fourth Shakespeare folios, and that all of them in their garbled
form have been many times reprinted.

The other seven plays have in recent times been edited from the original
quarto texts, with varying accuracy. Undoubtedly the most valuable of these
editions are the standard texts of The Two Noble Kinsmen and Sir Thomas Mors,
by Littledale and Dyce respectively. Arden of Feversham has been carefully
edited by Mr. Bullen, and, independently, by the indefatigable German scholars,
Warnke and Proescholdt, to whom we owe also editions of Edward III, The
Merry Devil of Edmonton, The Birth of Merlin, Fair Em, and Mucedorus.

The value of the texts by Warnke and Proescholdt differs considerably.
The earliest, that of Mucedorus, cannot be accepted as a critical edition at all,
though well provided with apparatus criticus and laboriously prepared. Of the
many quartos only the eighth has been consulted at first hand, and the editors
have made the fatal mistake of adopting, as the readings of the first and third *
quartos respectively, what are in reality the silent emendations of Hazlitt and
Collier.

Fair Em, the second of the plays edited by Warnke and Proescholdt, is better

1 Edward III, i. i. 10G. 2 I. i. 238. 3 iv. v. 115-16.

* This so-called third quarto of Collier's probably never existed ; cf. p. xxiv.

hi THK SHAKRSPKAKE APOCRYPHA

done. The spelling is not modernized, as in their text of Mucedorus, and the two
old quartos have really been collated. Yet numberless small corrections are
required to render this edition at all authoritative. In some way, which it would
be difficult to explain, the orthography and variant readings of the two quartos
have been so mixed that the resultant text gives no faithful representation of
either. The editors appear to have profited by experience, for they have had
much more success with the other four plays published by them ; namely, The
Merry Devil of Edmonton, Edward III, The Birth of Merlin, and Arden of Fever-
sham. In these editions the text of the earliest quarto is in each case pretty
faithfully preserved, while the list of variant readings is full and, on the whole,
exact. As might be expected, in transcribing from the originals a good many
unintentional deviations in spelling have been made, and occasional errors in
more important matters require correction. It is to be regretted that conjectural
emendations by Professor Elze and other modern critics have so frequently been
admitted into the text without absolute necessity. On the whole, however, these
editions deserve the favourable opinions they have received on many hands.

ADDENDA

To No. IV of the Bibliography should be added the following :

44* (p. 451) GAUD, W. S., The Authorship of Locrine, Modern Philology, vol. i,
pp. 409-22.

Peele's authorship defended.

63* (p. 452) NEUBXER, ALFRED, Misftaclrtete Shakcspeare-Dramen. Eine literar-
hisiorisch-kriiische Untersnchung, Berlin, 1907.

General discussion of the doubtful plays and of others.

t AMENTA

<BLE

GEDIEOF M.

DEN OF FEFERSHAM.
IN KENT.

Who was moftyeickgdlye murdered , by

tfic meanes of his difloyall and wanton

Wyf e > wbofor the lone foe bare to one

Mofbie, hyred two defperat ruf-

fins Blackwill andShakba?,

...... e*

to ktU htm.

Wherin is (hewed the great mal-

lice and difcimulation of a wicked worn

rnaa,thc vnfaci able defire of filthic lull

and the Oiamefull end of all

rnutdcrcrs.

London for Sdward

White, dwelling at the ly tdc Norch
dore of Paules Church at
the flgne of the
Gun.

Q 1 = Quarto of 1592
Q 2 = 1599
Q 3 = 1633
J = Jacob, 1770
T = Tyrrell, 1851
D = Delius, 1855
Bull. = Bullen, 1887
WP = Warnke and Proescholdt, 1888
Bayne = Temple Dramatists edition, 1897
pr, ed. = present editor

THE TRAGEDY OF
M. ARDEN OF FEVE(R)SHAME

(PERSONS REPRESENTED.

j Mr. ARDEN, of Feversham.
L FRANCKLIN, his friend.

ii CLARKE, a Painter.

ADAM FOWLE, Landlord of the Flower -de-Luce.

BRADSHAW, a Goldsmith.
IMicHAELL, ARDEN'S Servant.
[GREENE.

RICHARD REEDE, a Sartor.

BLACK WILL ) ,. ,

SHAKBAG j Murderers

A Prentice.

A Ferryman.

LORD CHEINY, and his Men.

Mayor of Feversham, and Watch.

ALICE, Arden's Wife.
SUSAN, Mosbie's Sister.

The Scene : FEVERSHAM, LONDON, and there between.}

(ACT I.

A Room in Arden's House.}
Enter Arden, and Francklin.
Franklin. Arden, cheere vp thy spirits and

droup no more:

i vf y gratious Lord, the Duke of Sommerset,
lath frely giuen to thee and to thy heyres,
1 ?y letters patents from his Maiesty,
; ill the lands of the Abby of Feuershame. 5
leer are the deedes,
Sealed and subscribed with his name and the

kings:

lead them, and leaue this melancholy moode.
Arden. Francklin, thy loue prolongs my

weary lyfe ;

ind but for thee how odious were this lyfe, 10
'hat showes me nothing but torments my

soule,

Lnd those foule obiects that offend myne eies!
Vhich makes me wish that for this vale of

Heauen

'he earth hungouer my heede and couerd mee.
ioue letters past twixt Mosbie and my Wyfe, 15
nd they haue preuie meetings in the Towne:
fay, on his finger did I spy the Ring
Vhich at our Marriage day the Freest put on.
an any greefe be halfe so great as this?
Fran. Comfort thy selfe, sweete freend:
it is not strange 20

'hat women will be false and wauering.

Arden. I, but to doat on such a one as hee
3 monstrous, Francklin, and intolerable.

Dm ni. Pfraniinr first in T Act I. . . House add. T
7 One line (jq 15 past Qq : pass null, 18 day

Francklin. Why, what is he?

Arden. A Botcher, and no better at the

first; 25

Who, by base brocage getting some small

stock,

Crept into seruice of a noble man,
And by his seruile flattery and fawning
Is now become the steward of his house,
And brauely lets it in his silken gowne. 30
Fran. No noble man will countnaunce such

a pesant.
Arden. Yes, the Lord Clifford, he that loues

not mee.
But through his fauour let not him grow

proude;

For were he by the Lord Protector backt,
He should not make me to be pointed at. 35
I am by birth a gentle man of bloode,
And that injurious riball, that attempts
To vyolate my deare wyues chastitie,
(For deare I holde hir loue, as deare as heauen
Shall on the bed which he thinks to defile 40
See his disseuered ioints and sinewes torne,
Whylst on the planchers pants his weary body,
Smeard in the channels of his lustfull bloode.
Fran. Be patient, gentle freend, and learne

of me

To ease thy grief e and saue her chastitye: 45
Intreat her faire; sweete words are fittest

engines

To race the flint walles of a womans breast.
In any case be not too Jelyouse,
Nor make no question of her loue to thee;
But, as securely, presently take horse, 5
And ly with me at London all this tearme;
49 no] a />

ACT I.

THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

For women, when they may, will not,

But, beeing kept back, straight grow out-.

ragious.
Arden. Though this abhorres from reason,

yet ile try it,

And call her foorth and presently take leaue.ss
Howl Ales!

Heere ente(r}s ales.
Ales. Husband, what meane you to get vp

so earely?
Sommer nights are short, and yet you ryse ere

day.

Had I beene wake, you had not risen so soone.

Ard. Sweet loue, thou knowst that we two,

Ouidlike, 6o

Haue often chid the morning when it gan to

peepe,
And often wisht that darke nights purblind

steedes

Would pull her by the purple mantle back,
And cast her in the Ocean to her loue.
But this night, sweete Ales, thou hast kild my
hart: 65

I heard thee cal on Mosbie in thy sleepe.
Ales. Tis lyke I was asleepe when I nanvd

him,
For beeing awake he comes not in my

thoughts.

Arden. I, but you started vp and suddenly,

In steede of him, caught me about the necke. 70

Ales. In steede of him? why, who was

there but you?

And where but one is, how can I mistake?
Fran. Arden, leaue to urdge her ouer-

farre.
Arden. Nay, loue, there is no credit in a

dreame;

Let it suffice I know thou louest me well. 75
Ales. Now I remember where vpon it came :
Had we no talke of Mosbie yesternight?
Fra. Mistres Ales, I hard you name him

once or twice.
Ales. And thereof came it, and therefore

blame not me.

Arden. I know it did, and therefore let it
passe. 80

I must to London, sweete Ales, presently.
Ales. But tell me, do you meane to stay

there long?
Ardzn. No longer there till my affaires be

done.

Fran. He will not stay aboue a month at
most.

55-6 0t Inlf Qn
Gl Hanp rhid Bull.
09

57 pot vp] rise .9
67 when nain'il Q "

50 riso
08 inl

Ales. A moneth? aye me! Sweete Arden,

come againe 85

Within a day or two, or els I die.

Arden. I cannot long be from thee, gentle

Ales.

Whilest Michel fetch our horses from the field,
Franklin and I will down vnto the key;
For I haue certaine goods there to vnload. 90
Meanewhile prepare our breakfast, gentle Ales;
For yet ere noone wele take horse and away.
[Exeunt Arden & Francklin.
Ales. Ere noone he meanes to take horse

and away!
Sweete newes is this. Oh that some ayrie

spirit

Would in the shape and liknes of a horse 95
Gallope with Arden crosse the Ocean,
And throw him from his backe into the wauesl
Sweete Mosbie is the man that hath my hart:
And he vsurpes it, having nought but this,
That I am tyed to him by marriage. i oo

Loue is a God, and manage is but words;
And therefore Mosbies title is the best.
Tushe! whether it be or no, he shall be mine,
In spight of him, of Hymen, and of rytes.

Here enters Adam of the Flourdeluce.
And here comes Adam of the flourdeluce: 105
I hope he brings me tydings of my loue.
How now, Adam, what is the newes with

you?

Be not affraid: my husband is now from home.
Adam. He whome you wot of, Mosbie,

Mistres Ales,

Is come to towne, and sends you word by mee
In any case you may not visit him. 1 1 1

Ales. Not visit him?
Adam. No, nor take no knowledge of his

beeing heere.

Ales. But tell me, is he angree or dis
pleased?

Adam. Should seeme so, for he is won
drous sad. i '5
Ales. Were he as mad as rauing Hercules,
He see him, I, and were thy house of force,
These hands of mine should race it to the

ground,

Vnles that thou wouldst bring me to my loue.

Adam. Nay, and you be so impatient, lie

be gone. ' 20

Ales. Stay, Adam, stay; thou wert wont to

be my trend.

Aske Mosbie how I haue incurred his wrath;
Beare him from me these paire of siluer dice,
With which we plaid for kisses many a tyme,
And when I lost, I wan, and so did hee 1 25
(Such winning and such losing Joue send me);

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

Aci I.

And bid him, if his loue doo not decline,
(Ho} come this morning but along my dore,
And as a stranger but salute me there:
This may he doo without suspect or feare. 1 30

Adam. De tell him what you say, and so
farewell. [Exit Adam.

Ales. Doo, and one day lie make amends

for all.

I know he loues me well, but dares not come,
Because my husband is so Jelious, 134

And these my narro-.v prying neighbours blab
Hinder our meetings when we would conferre.
But, if I Hue, that block shall be remoued,
And, Mosbie, thou that comes to me by stelth,
Shalt neither feare the biting speach of men
Nor Ardens lookes: as surely shall he die 140
As I abhorre him and loue onely tb.ee.

Here enters Michaell.
How now, Michaell, whether are you going?

Michael. To fetch my masters nagge.
I hope youle thinke on mee.

Ales. I; but, Michaell, see you keepe your
oath, i 45

And be as secret as you are resolute.
Michaell. He see he shall not Hue aboue a

weeke.
Ales. On that condition, Michaell, here is

my hand:

None shall haue Mosbies sister but thy selfe.
Michaell. I vnderstand, the Painter heere
hard by 150

Hath made reporte that he and Sue is sure.
Ales. There's no such matter, Michaell;

beleeue it not.
Michael. But he hath sent a dagger sticking

in a hart,
With a verse or two stollen from a painted

cloath,

The which I heere the wench keepes in her
chest. 155

Well, let her kepe it: I shall finde a fellow
That can both write and read and make rime

too.

And if I doo well, I say no more:
He send from London such a taunting letter
As 'she) shall eat the hart he sent with salt
And fling the dagger at the Painters head. 1 61
Ales. What needes all this? I say that

Susan's thine.
Michaell. Why, then I say that I will kill

my master,

Or anything that you will haue me doo.
Ales. But, Michaell, see you doo it cun
ningly. 165

128 To add. Q:} IX, narrow] marrow Ql 141
onely] none but Q 2 160 she add. D

Michaell. Why, say I should be tooke, ile

nere confesse
That you know any thing; and Susan, being

a Maide,

May begge me from the gallous of the Shriefe.
Ales. Truste not to that, Michaell.
Michaell You can not tell me, I haue

seene it, I. z 70

But, mistres, tell her, whether I Hue or die,
lie make her more woorth then twenty Pain-

ters can;

For I will rid myne elder brother away,
And then the farme of Bolton is mine owne.
Who would not venture vpon house and land,
When he may haue it for a right downe blowe?

Here enters Mosbie.

Aleif. Yonder comes Mosbie. Michaell, get
thee gone, 177

And let not him nor any knowe thy drifts.

[Exit Michaell.
Mosbie, my loue!

Mosbie. Away, I say, and talke not to me

now. 1 80

Ales. A word or two, sweete hart, and

then I will.

Tis yet but early daies, thou needest not feare.
Mosbie. Where is your husband?
Ales. Tis now high water, and he is at the

key.

Mos. There let him be; hence forward know

me not. 1 85

Ales. Is this the end of all thy solemne

oathes?

Is this the frute thy reconcilement buds?
Haue I for this giuen thee so many fauours,
Incurd my husbands hate, and, out alas,
Made shipwrack of myne honour for thy
sake, 190

And doest thou say ' hence forward know me

not'?

Remember, when I lockt the in my closet,
What were thy words and mine; did we not

both

Decree to murder Arden in the night?
The heauens can witnes, and the world can
tell, 1 95

Before I saw that falshoode looke of thine,
Fore I was tangled with thy tysing speach,
Arden to me was dearer then my soule,
And shall be still: base pesant, get thee gone,
And boast not of thy conquest ouer me, 200
Gotten by witch-craft and meere sorcery!
For what hast thou to countenaunce my loue,
Beeing discended of a noble house,
And matcht already with a gentleman
174 Bocton J 187 this om. Q3

ACT I.

THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Whose seruant thou maist be ? and so
farewell. 205

Mos. Vngentle and vnkinde Ales, now I see
That which I euer feard, and finde too trew:
A womans loue is as the lightning flame, 208
Which euen in bursting forth consumes it selfe.
To trye thy constancie haue I beene strange:
Would I had neuer tryed, but liued in hope!
Ales. What needs thou try me whom thou

neuer found false?

Mos. Yet pardon me, for loue is Jelious.
Ales. So list the Sailer to the Marmaids

song,

So lookes the trauellour to the Basiliske: 215 ;
I am content for to be reconcilde,
And that, I know, will be mine ouerthrow.
Mos. Thine ouerthrow? first let the world

dissolue.
Ales. Nay, Mosbie, let me still inioye thy

loue,

And happen what will, I am resolute. 220

My sauing husband hoordes vp bagges of

gould

To make our children rich, and now is hee
Oone to vnload the goods that shall be thine,
And he and Francklin will to London straight.
Mos. To London, Ales? if thoult de rui.de
by mee, 225

Weele make him sure enough for comming

there.

Ales. Ah, would we could.
Mos. I happend on a Painter yesternight,
The onely cunning man of Christendoome;
For he can temper poyson with his oyle, 230
That who so lookes vpon the worke he drawes
Shall, with the beames that issue from his

sight,

Suck vennome to his breast and slay him selfe.
Sweete Ales, he shall draw thy counterfet,
That Arden may by gaizing on it perish. 235

Alex. I, but, Mosbie, that is dangerous,
For thou, or I, or any other els,
Comming into the Chamber where it hangs,
May die.

Mos. I, but weele haue it couered with a
cloath 240

And hung vp in the studie for himselfe.

Ales. It may not be, for when the pictur's

drawne,

Arden, I know, will come and shew it me.
Mos. Feare not; weele haue that shall serve

the turne.

This is the painters house: He call him foorth.
Ales. But, Mosbie, lie haue no such pic
ture, I. 246

2H lists Q:J 219 me] him OS 238-0 Om line in ' 247-8 Otic lin< Q</ 2s2 to] fur
W. ! Q3 281 it OH). C'-V

Mos. I pray thee leaue it to my discretion.
How! Clarke!

Here enters Clarke.
0, you are an honest man of your word! you

serud me wel.

Clark. Why, sir, ile do it for you at any time,
Prouided, as you haue giuen your worde, 251
I may haue Susan Mosbie to my wife.
For, as sharpe witted Poets, whose sweete

verse
Make heauenly gods break of their Nector

draughts

And lay their eares down to the lowly earth,
Vse humble promise to their sacred Muse, 256
So we that are the Poets fauorits
Must haue a loue; I, Loue is the Painters Muse,
That makes him frame a speaking counte-

naunce,

A weeping eye that witnesses hartes griefe.

Then tell me, Master Mosbie, shall I haue hir?

Ales. Tis pittie but he should; heele vse her

well. 262

Mosbie. Clarke, beers my hand: my sister

shall be thine.

CZa. Then, brother, to requite this curtesie,

You shall command my lyfe, my skill, and all.

Ales. Ah, that thou couldst be secret. 266

Mosbie. Feare him not; leaue, I haue talkt

sufficient.

Cla. You know not me that ask such ques
tions.

Let it suffice I know you loue him well,
And faine would haue your husband made
away: 270

Wherein, trust me, you shew a noble minde,
That rather then youle liue with him you hate
Youle venture lyfe, and die with him you loue.
The like will I do for my Susans sake.

Ales. Yet nothing could inforce me to the
deed 275

But Mosbies loue. Might I without controll
Inioy thee still, then Arden should not die:
But seeing I cannot, therefore let him die.
Mos. Enough, sweete Ales; thy kinde words

makes me melt.

Your tricke of poysoned pictures we dislyke;
Some other poyson would do better farre. 281
Ales. I, such as might be put into his broth,
And yet in taste not to be found at all.

Clarke. I know your minde, and here I

haue it for you.

Put but a dram of this into his drinke, 285
Or any kinde of broth that he shall eat,
And he shall die within an houre after.

271 slicw] btare

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

Ac-r I.

Ales. As I am a gentle -woman, Clarke,

next day

Thou and Susan shall be marled.
Mos. And ile mak her dowry more then ile

talk of, Clark. 290

Clarke. Tender's your husband. Mosbie, ile

be gone.

Here enters Arden and Francklin.
Ales. In good time see where my husband

comes.

Maister Mosbie, aske him the question your
selfe. [Exit Clarke.

Mos. Maiater Arden, being at London y es
ter night,

The Abby lands, whereof you are now possest,
Were off red me, on some occasion, 296

By Greene, one of sir Antony Agers men:
I pray you, sir, tell me, are not the lands yours?
Hath any other interest herein?
Arden. Mosby, that question wele decyde
anon. 300

Ales, make ready my brekfast, I must hence.

[Exit Ales.

As for the lands, mosbie, they are mine
By letters patents from his Maiesty.
But I must haue a Mandat for my wyfe;
They say you seeke to robbe me of her loue:
Villaine, what makes thou in her company? 306
Shees no companion for so base a groome.
Mosbie. Arden, I thought not on her, I

came to thee;

But rather then I pocket vp this wrong
Francklin. What will you doo, sir? 310
Mos. Reuenge it on the proudest of you
both.

[Then Arden drawes forth Mosbies sword.
Arden. So, sirha; you may not weare a

sword,

The statute makes against artificers;
I warrand that I doo. Now vse your bodkin,
Your Spanish needle, and your pressing Iron,
For this shall go with me; and marke my
words, 316

You goodman botcher, tis to you I speake:
The next time that I take thee neare my

house,

In steede of Legs lie make thee crall on stumps.
Mos. Ah, maister Arden, you have iniurde
mee: 320

I doo appeale to God and to the world.

Fran. Why, canst thou deny thou wert a

botcher once?

Mos. Measure me what I am, not what
I was.

2W therein Q :J
314 doo, now (J 1

COS from] of Q 3 :JO'J 1 1 ut Q 3

AT. Why, what art thou now but a Veluet

drudge,

A cheating steward, and base minded pesant?
Mos. Arden, now thou hast belcht and
vomited 326

The rancorous venome of thy mis-swolne hart,
Heare me but speake: as I intend to line
With God and his elected saints in heauen,
I neuer meant more to solicit her; 330

And that she knowes, and all the world shall

see.

I loued her once, sweete Arden, pardon me,
I could not chuse, her beauty fyred my hearte;
But time hath quench't these ouerraging coles:
And, Arden, though I now frequent thy house,
Tis for my sisters sake, her waiting maid, 336
And not for hers. Maiest thou enioy her long:
Hell fyre and wrathfull vengeance light on me,
If I dishonor her or iniure thee.

Ard. Mosbie, with these thy protestations
The deadly hatred of my hart is appeased, 341
And thou and Be be freends, if this proue trew.
As for the base tearmes I gaue thee late,
Forget them, Mosbie: I had cause to speake,
When all the Knights and gentlemen of Kent
Make common table talke of her and thee. 346
Mos. Who liues that is not toucht with

slaunderous tongues?
Fra. Then, Mosbie, to eschew the speache

of men,

Upon whose generall brute all honor hangs,
Forbeare his house. 350

Ard. Forbeare itl nay, rather frequent it

The worlde shall see that I distrust her not.
To warne him on the sudden from my house
Were too confirme the rumour that is growne.
Mos. By my faith, sir, you say trew, 355
And therefore will I soiourne here a while,
Untill our enemies haue talkt their fill;
And then, I hope, theile cease, and at last

confesse
How causeles they haue iniurde her and me.

Ard. And I will ly at London all this tearme
To let them see how light I wey their words. 361

Here enters Ales.
Ales. Husband, sit down; your brekfast

will be could.
Ard. Come, Maister) Mosbie, will you sit

with vs?

Mos. I can not eat, but ile sit for company.

Ard. Sirra Michaell, see our horse be ready.

Ales. Husband, why pause ye? why eat

you not? 366

335 now o>. Q3 337 hers, maiest Ql 355 By faith
my sir Qq S. D. ncic scene T 365 our] your Q S, 3
I 366 you] yc Q :j

ACT I.

THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Ard. I am not well; there something in

this broth

That is not holesome: didst thou make it, Ales?
Ales. I did, and thats the cause it likes not
you.

Then she throwes down the broth

on the grounde.

There nothing that I do can please your taste:
You were best to say I would haue poysoned
you. 37i

I cannot speak or cast aside my eye,
But he Imagines I haue stept awry.
Heres he that you cast in my teeth so oft:
Now will I be conuinced or purge my selfe. 375
I charge thee speake to this mistrustfull man,
Thou that wouldst see me hange, thou,

Mosbye, thou:

What fauour hast thou had more then a kisse
At comming or departing from the Towne ?
Mos. You wrong your selfe and me to cast
these douts : 38

Your louing husband is not Jelious.

Ard. Why, gentle mistres Ales, cannot I
Be ill, but youle accuse your selfe?
Franckline, thou, haste ! a boxe of Methri-

date :

He take a lytle to preuent the worst. 385

Fran. Do so, and let vs presently take

horse:

My lyfe for yours, ye shall do well enough.
Ales. Giue me a spoone, He eat of it my

selfe:

Would it were full of poyson to the brim,
Then should my cares and troubles haue an
end. 390

Was euer silly woman so tormented?
Arden. Be patient, sweete loue; I mistrust

not thee.
Ales. God will reuenge it, Arden, if thou

doest;

For neuer woman lou'd her husband better
Then I do thee. 395

Ard. I know it, sweete Ales; cease to com -

plaine,

Least that in teares I answer thee againe.
Fran. Come, leaue this dallying, and let vs

away.
Ales. Forbeare to wound me with that

bitter word;

Arden shall go to London in my armes. 400
Arden. Loth am I to depart, yet I must go.
Ales. Wilt thou to London, then, and leaue

me here?

Ah, if thou loue me, gentle Arden, stay:
Yet, if thy busines be of great Import,
Go if thou wilt, He beare it as I may; 405
382 tndy ill (dd. 394-5 One line Qq 400 mine Q3

But write from London to me euery weeke,
Nay, euery day, and stay no longer there
Then thou must nedes, least that I die for

sorrow.

Arden. He write vnto thee euery other tide:
And so farewell, sweete Ales, till we meete next. '
Ales. Farewell, Husband, seeing youle haue
it so; 411

And, M(aister) Francklin, seeing you take

him hence,

In hope youle hasten him home, He giue you
this.

and then she kisseth him.
Fran. And if he stay, the fault shall not be

mine.

Mosbie, farewell, and see you keepe your oath.
Mosbie. I hope he is not Jelious of me
now. 416

Arden. No, Mosbie, no: hereafter thinke

of me
As of your dearest frend, and so farewell.

[Exeunt Arden, Franklin, & Michaell.
Ales. I am glad he is gone ; he was about

to stay,

But did you marke me then how I brake of?
Mosbie. I, Ales, and it was cunningly per
formed. 421
But what a villain e is this painter Clarke!
Ales. Was it not a goodly poyson that he

gaue?

Why, he's as well now as he was before.
It should haue bene some fine confection 425
That might haue giuen the broth some daintie^

taste:

This powder was to grosse and populos.
Mosbie. But had he eaten but three spoone-

fulles more,

Then had he died and our loue continued.
Ales. Why, so it shall, Mosbie, albeit he
liue. 43

Mosbie. It is vnpossible, for I haue sworne
Neuer hereafter to solicite thee,
Or, whylest he liues, once .more importune

thee.

Ales. Thou shalt not neede, I will impor
tune thee.

What? shall an oath make thee forsake my
loue? 435

As if I haue not sworne as much my selfe
And giuen my hand vnto him in the church!
Tush, Mosbie; oathes are wordes, and words

is winde,

And winde is mutable: then, I conclude,
Tis childishnes to stand vpon an oath. 4 4

409 other om. <?3 417 of] on QV 418 of .>. </:t
427 populos] palpable D, later retracted 430 so . .
shall 01/1. Q3

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSttAME

ACT I

Mos. Well, proued, Mistres Ales; yet by

your leaue

He keepe mine vnbroken whilest he Hues.
Ales. I, doo, and spare not, his time is but

short;

For if thou beest as resolute as I,
Weele haue him murdered as he walkes the

streets. 445

In London many alehouse Ruffins keepe,
Which, as I heare, will murther men for gould.
They shall be soundly feed to pay him home.

Here enters Greene.

Mos. Ales, whats he that comes yonder?

knowest thou him?

Ales. Mosbie, be gone: I hope tis one that
comes 450

To put in practise our intended drifts.

[Exit Mosbie.

Gre. Mistres Arden, you are well met.
I am sorry that your husband is from home,
When as my purposed iourney was to him:
Yet all my labour is not spent in vaine, 455
For I suppose that you can full discourse
And flat resolue me of the thing I seeke.
Ales. What is it, maister Greene? If that

I may
Or can with safety, I will answer you.

Greene. I heard your husband hath the
grant of late, 460

Confirmed by letters patents from the king,
Of all the lands of the Abby of Feuershame,
Generally intitled, so that all former grants
Are cut of; whereof I my selfe had one,
But now my interest by that is void. 465

This is all, mistres Arden; is it trew or no?
Ales. Trew, maister Greene; the lands are

his in state,

And whatsoeuer leases were before
Are void for tearme of Maister Ardens lyfe;
He hath the grant vnder the Chancery seale.
Gre. Pardon me, mistres Arden, I must
speake, 471

For I am toucht. Your husband doth me wrong
To wring me from the little land I haue:
My liuing is my lyfe, onely that
Resteth remainder of my portion. 475

Desyre of welth is endles in his minde,
And he is gredy gaping still for gaine,
Nor cares he though young gentlemen do

begge,

So he may scrape and hoorde vp in his poutche.
But, seeing he hath taken my lands, lie value
lyfe 480

As careles as he is carefull for to get:

400 had CM ;>, :j 400

448ie<l Qq 449 him ow. <J :i
r] iior Q 1 408 were om. fy :i

And tell him this from me, De be reuenged,
And so as he shall wishe the Abby lands
Had rested still within their former state.

Ales. Alas, poore gentleman, I pittie you,
And wo is me that any man should want; 486
God knowes tis not my fault: but wonder not
Though he be harde to others, when to me,
Ah, maister Greene, God knowes how I am

vsde.
Gre. Why, mistres Arden, can the crabbed

churle 490

Vse you vnkindely? respects he not your birth,
Your honorable freends, nor what you

brought?
Why, all Kent knowes your parentage and

what you are.
Ales. Ah, M(aister) Greene, be it spoken in

secret heere,

I neuer liue good day with him alone: 495
When hee is at home, then haue I froward

lookes,
Hard words and blowes, to mend the match

withall;

And though I might content as good a man,
Yet doth he keepe in euery corner trull es;
And, weary with his trugges at home, sod
Then rydes he straight to London; there, for

sooth,

He reuelles it among such filthie ones
As counsels him to make away his wyfe.
Thus liue I dayly in continuall feare,
In sorrow, so dispairing of redres 505

As euery day I wish with harty prayer
That he or I were taken forth the worlde.
Gre. Now trust me, mistres Ales, it greeueth

So faire a creature should be so abused.
Why, who would haue thought the ciuill sir

so sollen? 510

He lookes so smoothly: now, rye vpon him,

Churle I

And if he liue a day, he liues too long.
But frolick, woman, I shall be the man
Shall set you free from all this discontent;
And if the Churle deny my intereste S'S

And will not yelde my lease into my hand,
De paye him home, what euer hap to me.
Ales. But speake you as you thinke?
Gre. I, Gods my witnes, I meane plaine

dealing,

For I had rather die then lose my land. 5 2
Ales. Then, maister Greene, be counsailed

by me:

Indaunger not your selfe for such a Churle,
But hyre some Cutter for to cut him short,
And beer's ten pound to wager them withall;

603 counsell Q 3
9 63

ACT I.

THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

When he is dead, you shall haue twenty more,
And the lands whereof my husband is possest
Shall be intytled as they were before. 527

Gre. Will you keepe promise with me?

Ales. Or count me false and periurde whilst
I line.

Gre. Then heeres my hand, He haue him
so dispatcht. 53

He vp to London straight, He thether poast,
And neuer rest til I haue compast it:
Till then farewell.

Ales. Good Fortune follow all your forward
thoughts, [Exit Grene.

And whosoeuer doth attempt the deede, 535
A happie hand I wish, and so farewell.
All this goes well: Mosbie, I long for thee
To let thee know all that I haue contriued.

Here enters Mosbie & Clarke.
Mos. How now, Ales, whats the newes?
Ales. Such as wUl content thee well, sweete
hart. 540

Mos. Well, let them passe a while, and tell^

me, Ales,
How haue you dealt and tempered with my

sister?
What, will she haue my neighbour Clarke, or

no?
Ales. What, M;aister) Mosbie! let him

wooe him self:

Thinke you that maides looke not for faire

wordes? 545

Go to her, Clarke; shees all alone within;

Michaell my man is cleane out of her bookes.

Clarke. I thanke you, mistres Arden, I will

in;

And if faire Susan and I can make a gree,
You shall command me to the vttermost, 550
As farre as either goods or lyfe may streatch.

[Exit Clark.

Mos. Now, Ales, lets heare thy newes.
Ales. They be so good that I must laugh

for ioy,
Before I can begin to tell my tale.

Mos. Lets heare them, that I may laugh

for company. 555

Ales. This morning, M ^aister) Greene, dick

greene I meane,

From whome my husband had the Abby land,
Came hethcr, railing, for to know the trueth
Whether my husband had the lands by grant.
I tould him all, where at he stormd amaine
And swore he would cry quittance with the
Churle, 561

And, if he did denye his enterest,
Stabbe him, whatsoeuer did befall him selfe.
549 make agree Q 3

When as I sawe his choller thus to rise,
I whetted on the gentleman with words; 565
And, to conclude, Mosbie, at last we grew
To composition for my husbands death.
I gaue him ten pound to hire knaues,
By some deuise to make away the Churle;
When he is dead, he should haue twenty more
And repossesse his former lands againe. 571
On this we greed, and he is ridden straight
To London, to bring his death about.

Mos. But call you this good newes?

Ales. I, sweete hart, be they not? 575

Mos. Twere cherefull newes to hear the

churle wer dead;

But trust me, Ales, I take it passing ill
You would be so forgetfull of our state
To make recount of it to euery groome.
What? to acquaint each stranger with our
drifts, 580

Cheefely in case of murther, why, tis the way
To make it open vnto Ardens selfe
And bring thy selfe and me to ruine both.
Forewarnde, forearmde: who threats hia
enemye, 585

Lends him a sword to guarde himself e with all.

Ales. I did it for the best.

Mos. Well, seing tis don, cherely let it pas.
You know this Greene: is he not religious,
A man, I gesse, of great deuotion?

Ales. He is. 590

Mos. Then, sweete Ales, let it pas : I

haue a dryft
Will quyet all, what euer is amis.

Here enters Clarke and Susan.
Ales. How now, Clarke? haue you found

me false?

Did I not plead the matter hard for you?
Clarke. You did. 595

M os. And what? Wilt be a match?
Clarke. A match, I faith, sir: I, the day is

mine.

The Painter layes his cullours to the lyfe,
His pensel draws no shadowes in his loue.
Susan is mine. 600

Ales. You make her bluslie.
Mos. What, sister, is it Clarke must be the

man?
S. It resteth in your graunt; some words

are past,

And happely we be growne vnto a match,
If you be willing that it shall be so. 605

Mos. Ah, maister Clarke, it resteth at my

grant:

You see my sister's yet at my dispose.
But, so youle graunt me one thing I shall aske,

687 cheerefully Q3 691 sweete Ales om. (j u
10

M. AKDEX OF PEVEKSHAME

ACT II, Sc. I.

I am content my sister shall be yours.

Clark. What is it, M aister) Mosbie? 610

Mos. I doo remember once in secret talke

You tould me how you could compound by

Arte

A crucifix impoysoned,

That who so looke vpon it should waxe blinde
And with the sent be stif eled, that ere long 61 5
He should dye poysond that did view it wel.
I would haue you make me such a crucifix,
And then lie grant my sister shall be yours.
Cla. Though I am loath, because it touch-

eth lyfe,

Yet, rather or lie leaue sweete Susans loue,
He do it, and with all the haste I may. 621
But for whome is it?

Ales. Leaue that to vs. Why, Clarke, is it

possible
That you should paint and draw it out your

selfe,

The cullours beeing balefull and impoysoned,
And no waies preiudice your selfe with all? 626
Mos. Well questioned, Ales: Clarke, how

answer you that?

Clarke. Very easily: He tell you straight
How I doo worke of these Impoysoned drugs.
I fasten on my spectacles so close 630

As nothing can any way offend my sight;
Then, as I put a leafe within my nose,
So put I rubarbe to auoid the smell,
And softly as another worke I paint.
Mos. Tis very well; but against when shall
I haue it? 635

Cla. Within this ten dayes.
Mos. Twdl serue the turne.

Now, Ales, lets in and see what cheere you

keepe.

I hope, now M(aister) Arden is from home,
Youle giue me leaue to play your husbands

part.

Ales. Mosbie, you know, whose maister of
my hart, 640

He well may be the master of the house.

[E(x]eant.

(ACT H.
SCENE I.

Country between Fevcrsham and London.}
Here enters Greene and Bradshaw.

Brad. See you them that corns yonder,
M ^aister) Greene?

Gren. I, very well: doo you know them?
Here enters Blacke Will and Shakebagge.

Wo 11,.] I Q3 (>25 TIIO 1 1 in.-- <,>',, dit. (if In- Ales 036
Tiro lines <Jq Act II. tic. add. I

Brad. The one I khowe not, but he seemes

a knaue

| Cheefly for bearing the other company;
| For such a slaue, so vile a roge as he, 5

I Lyues not againe vppon the earth.
Black-will is his name. I tell you, M(aister

Greene,

At Bulloine he and I were fellow souldiers,
WhereTie plaid such prankes,
As all the Campe feard him for his villany: 10
I warrant you he beares so bad a minde
That for a croune heele murther any man.

Ore. The fitter is he for my purpose,
mary.

Witt. How now, fellow Bradshaw? Whe
ther away so earely?

Brad. Will, times are changed: no fel
lows now, 15
Though we were once together in the field;
Yet thy freend to doo thee any good I can.

Will. Why, Bradshawe, was not thou and
I Fellow -souldiers at Bulloine, wher I was a
corporall and thou but a base mercenarye
groome? No fellowes now! because you are
a gouldsmith and haue a lytle plate in your
shoppe! You were gladde to call me ' fellow
Will ', and with a cursy to the earth ' One
snatch, good corporall ', when I stole the half e
Oxe from John the vitler, and domineer'd with
it amongst good feiiowes in one night. ^^

Brad. I, Will, those dayes are past with me.

Will. I, but they be not past with me, for
I kepe that same honorable mind still. Good
neighbour Bradshaw, you are too proude to
be my fellow; but were it not that I see more
company comming down the hill, I would be
fellowes with you once more, and share
Crownes with you to. But let that pas, and
tell me whether you goe. 3 6

Brad. To London, Will, about a peece of

seruice,
Wherein happely thou maist pleasure me.

Witt. What is it?

Brad. Of late Lord Cheiny lost some plate,
Which one did bring and soulde it at my shoppe,
Saying he serued sir Antony Cooke. 42

A search was made, the plate was found with

me,

And I am bound to answer at the syse.
Now, Lord Cheiny solemnly vowes, 45

If law will serue him, hele hang me for his

plate.

Now I am going to London vpon hope
To finde the fellow. Now, Will, I know
Thou art acquainted with such companions.

14 Tim Itiits (Jq 18-27 Ytrtse tyq, con: W

ACT II, St. I. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Will. What manner of man was he? 50
Brad. A leane faced writhen knaue,
Hauke nosde and verye hollow eied,
With mighty e furrowes in his stormye browes;
Long haire down his shoulders curled; 54
His Chinne was bare, but on his vpper lippe
A mutchado, which he wound about his eare.
WOL What appareU had he?
Brad. A watchet sattin doublet all to torne,
The inner side did beare the greater show;
A paire of threed-bare Veluet hose, seame rent,
A wosted stockin rent aboue the shoe, 61

A liuery cloake, but all the lace was of;
Twas bad, but yet it serued to hide the plate.
Will. Sirra Shakebagge, canst thou remem -
ber since we trould the boule at Sittingburgh,
where I broke the Tapsters head of the Lyon
with a Cudgill-sticke? 67

Shak. I, very well, Will.
Will. Why, it was with the money that the
plate was sould for. Sirra Bradshaw, what
wilt thou giue him that can telle thee who
soulde thy plate? 72

Brad. Who, I pray thee, good Will?
Will. Why, twas one Jacke Fitten. He's
now in Newgate for stealing a horse, and shall
be arrainde the next sise. 76

Brad. Why, then let Lord Cheiny seek Jack

Fitten forth,
For He backe and tell him who robbed him of

his plate.
This cheer es my hart; M aister, Greene, He

leaue you,
For I must to the lie of Sheppy with speede. 80

Greene. Before you go, let me intreat you
To carry this letter to mistres Arden of Feuers-

hame

And humbly recommend me to her self e.
Brad. That will I, M(aister) Grene, and so
farewell. 84

Heere, Will, theres a Crowne for thy good
newes. [Exit Bradshawe.

W.iU. Farewell, Bradshaw; Be drinke no
water for thy sake whilest this lasts. Now,
gentleman, shall we haue your company to
London?

Gre. Nay, stay, sirs: 90

A lytle more I needs muste vse your helpe,
And in a matter of great consequence,
Wherein if youle be secret and profound,
He giue you twenty Angels for your paines. 94
Will. How? twenty Angells? giue my fel
low George shakbag and me twenty Angels?
And if thoult haue thy owne father slaine,

53 his om. Q3 54 his] to his 03 64-7, 69-72. 74-f>.
86-9, 95-9 Verse Qri 65 Sittiugburne 03 etc. 66 of]
at y 3 78 He] lie goe Q 3 90-1 One line Qq

that thou mayst inherit his land, weele kill
him.

Shak. I, thy Mother, thy sister, thy brother,
or all thy kin. 100

Gre. Well, this it is: Arden of Feuershame
Hath highly wrongd me about the Abby land,
That no reuendge but death will serue the

turne.
Will you two kill him? heeres the Angels

downe,
And I will lay the platforme of his death. 105

Will. Plat me no platform es; giue me the
money, and ile stab him as he stands pissing
against a wall but He kill him.

Sha. Where is he?

Greene. He is now at London, in Aldersgate
streete. no

Shak. He's dead as if he had beene con
demned by an act of parliament, if once Black
Will and I sweare his death.

Gre. Here is ten pound, and when he is

dead,
Ye shall haue twenty more. 1 1 5

Will. My fingers itches to be at the pesant.
Ah, that I might be set a worke thus through
the yeere, and that murther would grow to an
occupation, that a man might without daunger
of law : zounds, I warrant I should be
warden of the company. Come, let vs be
going, and wele bate at Rochester, where Ile
! giue thee a gallon of Sack to hansell the match
with all. [Exeunt.

(SCENE n.

London. A Street near St. Pauls.}
Here enters Michael.

Mich. I haue gotten suche a letter as will
touche the Painter: and thus it is:

Here enters Arden and Francklin and heares

Michaell read this letter.
" My duetye remembred, Mistres Susan, hop
ing in God you be in good health, as / Michaell
was at the making heereof. This is to certifte
you that as the Turtle true, when she hath lost
her mate, sitleth alone, so /, mourning for your-
absence, do walk vp and down Poules til one
day 1 fell a sleepe and lost my maisters Panto-
phelles. Ah, mistres Susan, abbolishe that
paltry Painter, cut him off by the shinnes with
a frowning looke of your crabed countenance,
& think vpon Michaell, who, druncke with the
dregges of your fauour, wil cleaue as fast to

117 a] at QH

106-8. 111-13. 116-24 Vtrite Qq
Scene II. etc. add. T 1, 2 Vtrse Qq

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

ACT II, Sc. II.

your lone as a plaster of Pitch to a guld horse
back. Thus hoping you will let my passions
penetrate, or rather impetrate mercy of your
meeke hands, I end.

Yours, Michaell, or els not Michaell.

Ard. Why, you paltrie knaue, 20

Stand you here loytering, knowing my affaires,
What haste my busines craues to send to Kent?

Fran. Faith, frend Michaell, this is very

ill,

Knowing your maister hath no more but you,
And do ye slacke his busines for your owne? 25

Ard. Where is the letter, sirra? let me see
it.

Then he giues him the letter.
See, maister Francklin, heres proper stuff e:
Susan my maid, the Painter, and my man,
A crue of harlots, all in loue, forsooth;
Sirra, let me heare no more of this. 30

Now for thy lyfe once write to her a wordel

Here enters Grene, Will, and Shakebag.
, Wilt thou be married to so base a trull?
Tis Mosbies sister: come I once at home,
He rouse her from remaining in my house.
Now, M(aister) Francklin, let vs go walke in
Paules; 35

. Come but a turne or two, and then away.

[Exeunt.

Gre. The first is Arden, and thats his man,
ie other is Francklin, Ardens dearest freend.
Will. Zounds, He kill them all three.
Gre. Nay, sirs, touch not his man in any
case; 4

But stand close, and take you fittest standing,
And at his comming foorth speede him:
To the Nages head, ther' is this cowards haunt.
, But now He leaue you till the deed be don.

[Exit Greene.

Sha. If he be not paid his owne, nere trust
shakebagge. 45

Wil. Sirra Shakbag, at his comming foorth
le runne him through, and then to the black -

freers,

Ind there take water and away.
Sha. Why, thats the best; but see thou

misse him not.

Wil. How can I misse him, when I thinke
on the forty e Angels I must haue more? 51

Here enters a prentise.
Prentise. Tis very late; I were best shute

vp my stall,
For heerc will be ould filching, when the presse
^omes foorth of Paules.

Then lettes he downs his window, and it breaks

Black Wils head.

Wil. Zounds, draw, Shakbag, draw, I am
almost kild. 55

Pren. Wele tame you, I warrant.
Wil. Zounds, I am tame enough already.

Here enters Arden, Fran., & Michael.
Ard. What trublesome fray or mutany is

this?
Fran. 'Tis nothing but some brabling paltry

fray,

Deuised to pick mens pockets in the throng. 60

Ard. 1st nothing els? come, Franklin, let

TS away. [Exeunt.

Wil. What mends shal I haue for my

broken head?

Pren. Mary, this mends, that if you get
you not away all the sooner, you shall be well
beaten and sent to the counter. 65

[Exit prentise.

Wil. Well, He be gone, but looke to your
signes, for He pull them down all. Shakbag,
my broken head greeues me not so much as
by this meanes Arden hath escaped.

Here enters Greene.

I had a glimse of him and his companion. 70
Gre. Why, sirs, Arden's as wel as I; I met
him and Francklin going merrilly to the ordi
nary. What, dare you not do it? 73
Wil. Yes, sir, we dare do it; but, were my
consent to giue againe, we would not do it
vnder ten pound more. I value euery drop of
I my blood at a french Crowne. I haue had ten
! pound to steale a dogge, and we have no more
i heere to kill a man; but that a bargane is a'
bargane, and so foorth, you should do it your
1 selfe. 8 1
Gre. I pray thee, how came thy head broke?
Witt. Why, thou seest it is broke, dost thou
! not?

Sha. Standing against a staule, watching
Ardens comming, a boy let down his shop-
window and broke his head; wherevpon arose
a braul, and in the tumult Arden escapt vs
and past by vnthought on. But forberance is
no acquittance; another time wele do it, I
warrant thee. 9 1

Gre. I pray thee, will, make cleane thy

bloodie brow,

And let vs bethink vs on some other place
Where Arden may be met with handsomly.
Remember how deuoutly thou hast sworne 95
To kill the villaine; thinke vpon thyne oath.

25 for o>. <?.? :U Xow O.y : Nor Jdr. S4 from] .Vi draw, I] I Q3 63-91 Verse
for Q!} 41 you] your Q.I 43 this om. Qi} Q3

74 Yes, sir, sir

ACT II, Sc. II. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OK

Will. Tush, I haue broken fiue hundred

oathesl

But wouldst thou charme me to effect this dede,
Tell me of gould, my resolutions fee;
Say thou seest Mosbie kneeling at my knees,
Off ring me seruice for my high attempt, 101
And sweete Ales Arden, with a lap of crownes,
Comes with a lowly cursy to the earth,
Saying ' take this but for thy quarterige,
Such yeerely tribute will I answer thee.' 105 '
Why, this would steale soft metled cowardice,
With which black Will was neuer tainted with.
I tell thee, Greene, the forlorne trauailer,
Whose lips are glewed with sommers parching

heat,

Nere longd so much to see a running brooke
As I to finish Ardens Tragedy. m

Seest thou this goare that cleaueth to my face?
From hence nere will I wash this bloody staine,
Til Ardens hart be panting in my hand.

Gre. Why, thats wel said; but what saith

shakbag? "5

Shak. I cannot paint my valour out with

words:

But, giue me place and opportunitie,
Such mercy as the stamen Lyones,
When she is dry suckt of her eager young,
Showes to the pray that next encounters her,
On Arden so much pitty would I take. 1 21
Gre. So should it faire with men of firme

resolue.

And now, sirs, seeing this accident
Of meeting him in Paules hath no successe,
Let vs bethinke vs on some other place 125
Whose earth may swallow vp this Ardens

bloode.

Here enters Michaell.

Se, yonder comes his man: and wat you what?
The foolish knaue is in loue with Mosbies

sister,

And for her sake, whose loue he cannot get
Unlesse Mosbie solicit his sute, 130

The villaine hath sworne the slaughter of his

maister.
Weele question him, for he may stead vs

muche.
How now, Michael, whether are you going?

Mic. My maister hath new supt,
And I am going to prepare his chamber. 135
Gre. Where supt M Bister) Arden?
Mic. At the Nages head, at the 18 pence
ordinarye. How now, M(aister) Shakbag?
what, Black Wil! Gods deere lady, how
chaunce your face is so bloody? 1 40

107 tainted "with Qq: tainted yet J tic. 119 her
om. Q3 125 on Q

Wil. Go too, sirra, there is a chaunce in it:

This sawcines in you wil make you be knockt.

Mic. Nay, and you be offended, ile be gone.

Gre. Stay, michael, you may not scape vs

so.

Michael, I knowe you loue your M'aister) wel.

Mic. Why, so I dt>; but wherefore vrdge

you that? 146

Gre. Because I thinke you loue your mistres

better.
(Mic.) So think not I; but say, yfaith,

what, if I should?
Shak. Come to the purpose, Michael; we

heare

You haue a pretty loue in Feuershame. 130
Mic. Why, haue I two or three, whats that

to thee?
Wil. You deale to mildely with the pesant.

Thus it is:

Tis knowne to vs you loue mosbies sister;
We know besides that you haue tane your oath
To further Mosbie to your mistres bed, 1 55
And kill your M(aister) for his sisters sake.
Now, sir, a poorer coward then your selfe
Was neuer fostered in the coast of Kent:
How comes it then that such a knaue as you
Dare sweare a matter of such consequence?
Gre. Ah, will 161

Will. Tush, giue me leaue, thers no more

but this:

Sith thou hast sworne, we dare discouer all;
And hadst thou or shouldst thou vtter it,
We haue deuised a complat vnder hand, 165
What euer shall betide to any of vs,
To send thee roundly to the diuell of hell.
And therefore thus: I am the very man,
Markt in my birth howre by the destynies,
To giue an end to Ardens lyf e on earth; 1 70
Thou but a member but to whet the knife
Whose edge must search the closet of hia

breast:

Thy office is but to appoint the place
And traine thy M aister/ to his tragedy;
Myne to performe it when occasion serues. 175
Then be not nice, but here deuise with vs
How and what way we may conclude his

death.
Sha. So shalt thou purchase Mosbie for thy

frend,
And by his frendship gaine his sisters loue.

Gre. So shal thy mistres be thy fauorer, 180

And thou disburdned of the oath thou made.

Mic. Wel, gentlemen, I cannot but con-

iesse,
Sith you haue vrdged me so aparantly,

142 be OIH. Q , .9 148 CHrfn to Grftm in (> 1 M
feewaeQ.1 l. thenow. Q3

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAMK

ACT III, Sc. I.

That I haue vowed my M(aister) Ardens

death ;

And he whose kindly loue and liberall hand 185
Doth challenge naught but good deserts of me,
I wil delyuer ouer to your hands.
This night come to his house at Aldersgate:

And cooch dishonor as dishonor buds, 5

Might ioyne repentaunce in her wanton

thoughts,

No question then but she would turn the leafe
And sorrow for her desolution;
But she is rooted in her wickednes, 9

The dores He leaue vnldckt against you come. Peruerse and stobburne, not to be reclaimde;

No sooner shall ye enter through the latch, 190
Ouer the thresholds to the inner court,
But on your left hand shall you see the staires
That leads directly to my M aisters chamber :
There take him and dispose him as ye please.
Now it were good we parted company; 195
What I haue promised, I will performe.

Wil. Should you deceiue vs, twould go
wrong with you.

Mic. I will accomplish al I haue reuealde.

Wil. Come, let's go drinke: choller makes
me as drye as a dog. 200

Exeunt Will, Ore., and Shak. Manet Michaell.

Mic. Thus feedes the Lambe securely on

the downe,

Whilst through the thicket of an arber brake'
The hunger bitten Woulfe orepryes his hant
And takes aduantage to eat him vp.
Ah, harmeles Arden, how, how hast thou mis -

done, 205

That thus thy gentle lyfe is leueld at?
The many good turnes that thou hast don to

me,

Now must I quitance with betraying thee.
I that should take the weapon in my hand
And buckler thee from ill intending foes, 210
Do lead thee with a wicked fraudfull smile,
As vnsuspected, to the slaughterhouse.
So haue I sworne to Mosby and my mistres,
So haue I promised to the slaughtermen;
And should I not deale currently with them, 2 1 5
Their lawles rage would take reuenge on me.
Tush, I will spurne at mercy for this once:
Let pittie lodge where feeble women ly,
I am resolued, and Arden needs must die.

[Exit Michaell.

(ACT m.

SCENE I.

A Room in Francklin's House, at Aldersgate.}

Here enters Arden & Fran.
Arden. No, Francklin, no: if feare or

stormy threts,

If loue of me or care of womanhoode,
If feare of God or common speach of men,
Who mangle credit with their wounding words,

Good counsell is to her as raine to weedes,
And reprehension makes her vice to grow
As Hydraes head that flourisht by decay.
Her faults, me thinks, are painted in my face,
For euery searching eye to ouerreede; 15

And Mosbies name, a scandale vnto myne,
Is deeply trenched in my blushing brow.
Ah, Francklin, Francklin, when I think on

this,

My harts greefe rends my other powers 19
Worse then the conflict at the houre of death.

Fran. Gentle Arden, leaue this sad lament:
She will amend, and so your greefes will cease;
Or els shele die, and so your sorrows end.
If neither of these two do happely fall,
Yet let your comfort be that others beare 25
Your woes, twice doubled all, with patience.

Ard. My house is irksome, there I cannot
rest.

Fra. Then stay with me in London, go not
home.

Ard. Then that base Mosbie doth vsurpe

my roome

And makes his triumphe of my beeing thence.
At home or not at home, where ere I be, 31
Heere, heere it lyes, ah Francklin, here it lyes
That wil not out till wretched Arden dies.

Here enters Michaell.

Fra. Forget your greefes a while; heer
corns your man.

Ard. What a Clock ist, sirra? 35

Mic. Almost ten.

Ard. See, see, how runnes away the weary

time!

Come, M'^aister) Franklin, shal we go to bed?
\Exeunt Arden & Michaell.
[Manet Francklin.

Fran. I pray you, go before : Defollow you .
Ah, what a hell is fretfull Jelousiel 40
What pitty mouing words, what deepe fetcht

sigb.es,

What greeuous grones and ouerlading woes
Accompanies this gentle gentleman!
Now will he shake his care oppressed head,
Then fix his sad eis on the sollen earth, 45'
Ashamed to gaze vpon the open world;

204 to] for to T 207 that oni. 3
M.QS Act III. etc. add. T

5 couch 3 : crop D
211 wicked ! (?</: plenisht WP
moiling Q 1

13 flourisht cnnj. D : perisht
14 think Ql: thinke Q3 41

ACT III, Sc. I. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Now will he cast his eyes vp towards the hea-

uens,

Looking that waies for redresse of wrong:
Some times he seeketh to beguile his griefe
And tels a story with his carefull tongue; 50
Then comes his wiues dishonor in his thoughts
And in the middle cutteth of his tale,
Powring fresh sorrow on his weary lima.
So woe begone, so inlye charged with woe,
Was neuer any lyued and bare it so. 55

Here enters Michaell.

M ic. My M(aister) would desire you come
to bed.

Fra. Is he himselfe already in his bed?

[Exit Fran. Manet Mic.

Mic. He is, and faine would haue the light

away.

Conflicting thoughts, incamped in my brest,
Awake me with the Echo of their strokes, 60
And I, a iudge to censure either side,
Can giue to neither wished victory.
My masters kindnes pleads to me for lyfe
With iust demaund, and I must grant it him:
My mistres she hath forced me with an oath, 65
For Susans sake, the which I may not breake,
For that is nearer then a masters loue:
That grim faced fellow, pittiles black Will,
And Shakebag, stearne in bloody stratageme,
Two Ruffer Ruffins neuer liued in Kent, 70
Haue sworne my death, if I inf rindge my vow,
A dreadfull thing to be considred of.
Me thinks I see them with their bolstred haire
Staring and grinning in thy gentle face,
And in their ruthles hands their clagers drawne,
Insulting ore thee with a peck of oathes, 76
Whitest thou submissiue, pleading for releefe,
Art mangled by their irefull instruments.
Me thinks I heare them aske where Michaell is,
And pittiles black Will cryes: ' Stab the slauq!
The Pesant will detect the Tragedy 1 ' OT

The wrincles in his f owle death threatning face
Gapes open wide, lyke graues to swallow men.
My death to him is but a merryment,
And he will murther me to make him sport.
He comes, he comes! ah, M(aister) Francklin,
helpe! 86

Call vp the neighbors, or we are but dead!

Here enters Fran. & Arden.

Fran. What dismall outcry cals me from

my rest?
Ard. What hath occasiond such a fearefull

crye?

Speake, Michaell : hath any iniurde thee? 90

Mic. Nothing, sir; but as I fell asleepe,

70 thee Q 3 : there Q 1, 86 ah om. (} :i

Vpon the thresholde leaning to the staires,
I had a fearefull dreame that troubled me,
And in my slumber thought I was beset 94 ;
With murtherer theeues that came to rifle me.
My trembling ioints witnes my inward feare: j
I craue your pardons for disturbing you.
Ard. So great a cry for nothing I nere

heard.
What? are the doores fast lockt and al things

safe?
Mic. I cannot tel; I think I lockt the i

doores. 100

Ard. I like not this, but He go see my !

selfe.

Nere trust me but the dores were all vnlockt:
This negligence not half e contenteth me.
Get you to bed, and, if you loue my f auour,
Let me haue no more such pranckes as these.
Come, M(aister) Francklin, let vs go to bed.

Fran. I, by my faith; the aire is very colde.

Michaell, farewell; I pray thee dreame no

more. [Exeunt.

(SCENE n.

Outside Francklin's House.}
Here enters Will, Gre., <fe Shak.
Shakebag. Black night hath hid the plea
sure of ye day,

And sheting darknesse ouerhangs the earth
And with the black folde of her cloudy robe
Obscures vs from the eiesight of the worlde,
In which swete silence such as we triumph. 5
The laysie minuts linger on their time,
Loth to giue due audit to the howre,
Til in the watch our purpose be complete
And Arden sent to euerlasting night. 9

Greene, get you gone and linger here about,
And at some houre hence come to vs againe,
Where we will giue you instance of his death.
Gre. Speede to my wish, whose wil so ere

sayes no;
And so ile leaue you for an howre or two.

[Exit Gre.

Witt. I tel thee, Shakebag, would this
thing wer don: 15

I am so heauy that I can scarse go;
This drowsines in me bods little good.

Shake. How now, Will? become a pre-

cissian?

Nay, then lets go sleepe, when buges and feares

Shall kill our courages with their fancies

worke. 20

Witt. Why, Shakbagge, thou mistakes me

much,

02 leading D 102 were Q 1 : are Q ?. .? 107 by
({ :i. he Q 1 Scene II. (tr. mW. T S, 1). Mere. .Shak.
follows line 1 in Q 1 4 Obscures Q3 : Obscure (fl, ?

M. ARDEX OF FEVERSHAMK

ACT III. Sc. III.

And wrongs me to in telling me of feare.
Wert not a serious thing we go about,
It should be slipt til I had fought with thee,
To let thee know I am no coward, I. 25

I tel thee, Shakbag, thou abusest me.
Sha. Why, thy speach bewraied an inlye

kind of feare,

And sauourd of a weak relenting spirit.
Go forward now in that we haue begonne,
And afterwards attempt me when thou darest.
Wil. And if I do not, heauen cut me of! 31
But let that passe, and show me to this

house,

Where thou shalt see He do as much as Shak
bag.
Sha. This is the doore ; but soft, me thinks

tis shut.

The villaine Michaell hath deceiued vs. 35 !
Wil. Soft, let me see ; shakbag, tis shut

indeed.
Knock with thy sword, perhaps the slaue will

heare.

Shu. It wil not be ; the white liuerd pesant
Is gon to bed, and laughs vs both to scorne.
Wil. And he shall by his mirriment as

deare 4

As euer coistrell bought so little sport:
Nere let this sworde assist me when I neede,
But rust and canker after I haue sworne,
If I, the next time that I mete the hind,
Loppe not away his leg, his arme, or both. 45
Sha. And let me neuer draw a sword

againe,

Nor prosper in the twilight, cockshut light,
When I would fleece the welthie passenger,
But ly and languish in a loathsome den,
Hated and spit at by the goers by, 50

And in that death may die vnpittied,
If I, the next time that I meete the slaue,
Cut not the nose from of the cowards face
And trample on it for this villany.
Wil. Come, lets go seeke out Green; I know

hele swetr. 55

Sha. He were a villane, and he would not

sweare.
Twould make a pesant sweare amongst his

boyes,

That nere durst say before but yea and no,
To be thus flouted of a coysterel.

Will. Shakbag, lets seeke out Green, & in

the morning 60

At the Alehouse butting Ardens house
Watch thee out comming of that prick card cur,
And then let me alone to handle him.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE in.

Room in Francklin's House as before.}

Here enters Ard., Fra., & Michaell.

Ard. Sirra, get you back to billensgate

And learne what time the tide will serue our

turne;

Come to vs in Paules. First go make the bed,
And afterwards go barken for the floude.

[Exit Michaell.
Come, M(aiater) Francklin, you shall go with

me. 5

This night I dreamd that, beeing in a parke,
A toyle was picht to ouerthrow the deare,
And I vppon a little rysing hill
Stoode whistely watching for the herds ap-

proch.
Euen there, me thought, a gentle slumber

tooke me, 10

And sommond all my parts to sweete repose;
But in the pleasure of this golden rest
An ill thewd foster had remoued the toyle,
And rounded me with that beguyling home
Which late, me thought, was pitcht to cast

the deare. v 15

With that he blew an euill sounding home,
And at the noise an other heardman came,
With Fauchon drawn, and bent it at my brest,
Crying aloud ' Thou art the game we seeke ! '
With this I wakt and trembled euery ioynt, 20
Lyke one oscured in a lytle bushe,
That sees a lyon foraging about,
And, when the dreadfull forest King is gone,
He pryes about with timerous suspect
Throughout the thorny casements of the

brake, 25

And will not think his person daungerles,
But quakes and shewers, though the cause be

gone:

So, trust me, Francklin, when I did awake,
I stoode in doubt whether I waked or no: 29
Such great impression tooke this fond surprise.
God graunt this vision bedeeme me any good.
Fran. This fantassie doeth rise from

Michaels feare,

Who being awaked with the noyse he made,
His troubled sences yet could take no rest; 34
And this, I warant you, procured your dreame.
Ard. It may be so, God frame it to the best:
But often times my dreames presage to trew.
Fran. To such as note their nightly fan-

Some one in twenty may incurre belief e;
But vse it not, tis but a mockery.

38 Li, if r,nl< bed Qg .V! of oat. Q-1 ">4 this] his Scene I1F. dr. add. T
> ?. -V (._> thee Q 1 : tin- V -V slieiiers (^ ? : shiners Q 3

19 thoughts Ql, ?

ACT III, Sc. III. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Ard. Come, M aister"
now walke in Paules
And dyne togeather at the ordinary,
And by my mans direction draw to the key,
And with the tyde go down to Feuershame.
Say, M(aister) Francklin, shall it not be so?
Francklin. At your good pleasure, sir; lie
beare you companye. 46

[Exeunt.

(SCENE IV.
Aldersgate.}

Here enters Michaell at one doore

Here enters Grene, Will, and Shakebag at

another doore.

Wil. Draw, Shakbag, for heers that vil-

laine Michael.

Gre. First, Will, lets heare what he can say.
Wil. Speak, milkesope slaue, & neuer after

speake.
Mic. For Gods sake, sirs, let me excuse my

selfe:

For hearc I sweare, by heauen and earth and
all, 5

I did perf orme the outmost of my task,
And left the doores vnbolted and vnlockt.
But see the chaunce: Francklin and my

master

Were very late conferring in the porch,
And Francklin left his napkin where he s>at 10
With certain gould knit in it, as he said.
Being in bed, he did bethinke himselfe,
And com m ing down he found the dores vnshut:
He lockt the gates, and brought away the

keyes,

For which offence my master rated me. 5
But now I am going to see what floode it is,
For with the tyde my M aister will away;
Where you may frons him well on Raynum

downe,
A place well fitting such a stratageme.

\V il. Tour excuse hath somewhat molyfied

my choller. 20

Why now, Greene, tis better now nor ere it

was.

Gre. But Michaell, is this trew?
Mic. As trew as I report it to be trew.
Shak. Then, Michaell, this shall be your

pennance,

To feast vs all at the Salutation, 25

Where we wil plat our purpose throughly.
Gre. And, Michael, you shal bear no
newes of this tide,

4C Tiro liars Qq. (lie. aftir sir Scene IV. ttf. nj,l.
T 2 Will o. 99 18 frons 07,: front Q -9 22
thU]it <?-9

Francklin ; wele Because they two may be in Raynum down
Before your M( aister ).

Mic. Why, lie agree to any thing youle
haue me, 3

So you will accept of my company. [Exeunt.

(SCENE V.
Arden's House at Feversham.}

Here enters Mosby.
Mos. Disturbed thoughts dryues me from

company

And dryes my marrow with their watchfulnes;
Continuall trouble of my moody braine
Feebles my body by excesse of drinke,
And nippes me as the bitter Northeast wind 5
Doeth check the tender blosoms in the spring.
Well fares the man, how ere his cate? do taste,
That tables not with foule suspition;
And he but pines amongst his delicats,
Whose troubled minde is stuft with discontent.
My goulden time was when I had no gould ; 1 1
Though then I wanted, yet I slept secure;
My dayly toyle begat me nights repose,
My nights repose made daylight fresh to me.
But since I climbd the toppe bough of the tree
And sought to build my nest among the clouds,
Each gentle stary gaile doth shake my bed,
And makes me dread my downfall to the earth.
But whether doeth contemplation carry me?
The way I seeke to finde, where pleasure dwels,
Is hedged behinde me that I cannot back, 21
But needs must on, although to dangers gate.
Then, Arden, perish thou by that dec re;
For Greene doth erre the land and weede the^

To make my haruest nothing but pure corne. 25
And for his paines He heaue him vp a while,
And after smother him to haue his waxe:
Such bees as Greene must neuer liue to sting.
Then is there Michael and the Painter to,
Cheefe actors to Ardens ouerthrow; " 3

Who when they shall see me sit in Arden? seat,
They wil insult vpon me for my mede,
Or fright me by detecting of his end.
He none of that, for I can cast a bone
To make these curres pluck out each others

throat, 35

And then am I sole ruler of mine owne.
Yet mistres Arden Hues; but she's my selfe,
And holy Church rites makes vs two but one.
But what for that ? I may not trust you, Ales:
You haue supplanted Arden for my sake, 40
You will extirpen me to plant another.

28-9 Otif lint Qq 31 accept Q.I: except QJ

Scene V. WP : AY ir net T S. D. Anien's dr. nM. T
12 Thought 1 24 erre] he yre Q .? 20 hive D
:U shall nm. Q3

M. ARDKN' OF FKVKRSHAM1.

ACT III, Sc. V.

Tis feareful sleeping in a serpents bed,
And I wil cleanely rid my hands of her.

Here enters A(l"es.

But here she comes and I must flatter her.
How now, Ales? what, sad and passionat?
Make me pertaker of thy pensiuenes: 46

Fyre deuided burnes with lesser force.
Ales. But I will damne that fire in my

breast

Till by the force therof my part consume.
Ah, Mosbie! 50

Mas. Such depe pathaires lyke to a cannons

burst

Dischargde against a ruinated wall,
Breakes my relenting hart in thousand pieces.
Vngentle Ales, thy sorrow is my sore;
Thou knowst it wel, and tis thy pollicy 55
To forge distressefull looks to wound a breast
Where lyes a hart that dies when them art sad.
It is not loue that loues to anger loue.

Ales. It is not loue that loues to murther

loue.

Mas. How meane you that? 60

Ales. Thou knowest how dearly Arden

loued me.
Mos. And then?
Ales. And then conceale the rest, for

tis too bad,

Least that my words be carried with the wind,
And publisht in the world to both our
shames. 65

I pray thee, Mosbye, let our springtime wither;
Our haruest els will yeald but lothsome weedes.
Forget, I pray thee, what hath past betwix vs,
For now I blushe and tremble at the thoughts.
Mos. What? are you changde? 70

Ales. I, to my former happy lyfe againe,
From tytle of an odious strumpets name
To honest Ardens wife, not Ardens honest

wife.

Ha, Mosbye, tis thou hast rifled me of that
And made me slaundrous to all my kin; 75
Euen in my forehead is thy name ingrauen,
A meane Artifiecer, that lowe borne name.
I was bewitched: woe worth the haples howre
And all the causes that inchaunted me!
Mos. Nay, if thou ban, let me breath curses
forth, 80

And if you stand so nicely at your fame,
Let me repent the credit I haue lost.
I haue neglected matters of import
That would haue stated me aboue thy state,
Forslowde aduantages, and spurnd at time: 85

I, Fortunes right hand Mosbie hath forsooke
To take a wanton giglote by the left.
I left the Manage of an honest maid,
Whose dowry would haue weyed down all thy

wealth,
Whose beauty and demianor farre exceeded

thee: 90

This certaine good I lost for changing bad,
And wrapt my credit in thy company.
I was bewitcht, that is no theame of thine,
* And thou vnhallowed hast enchaunted me.
But I will breake thy spels and excir-

si a mes 95

And put another sight vpon these eyes
That shewed my hart a rauen for a doue.
Thou art not faire, I vieud thee not till now;
Thou art not kinde, till now I knew the not;
And now the raine hath beaten of thy gilt, i oo
Thy worthies copper showes thee counterfet.
It grieues me not to see how foull thou art,
But maddes me that euer I thought thee faire.
Go, get thee gone, a copesmate for thy hyndes;
I am too good to be thy fauorite. 105

Ales. I, now I see, and too soone find it

trew,
Which often hath beene tould me by my

freends,

That Mosbie loues me not but for my wealth,
Which too incredulus I nere beleeued.
Nay, heare me speake, Mosbie, a word or

two; no

He byte my tongue if it speake bitterly.
Looke on me, Mosby, or He kill my selfe:
Nothing shall hide me from thy stormy looke.
If thou cry war re, there is no peace for me;
I will do pennance for offending thee, 1 1 5

And burne this prayer booke, where I here

vse

The holy word that had conuerted me.
See, Mosbie, I will teare away the leaues,
And al the leaues, and in this golden couer
Shall thy sweete phrases and thy letters dwell;
And thereon will I chiefly meditate, 1 21

And hould no other sect but such deuotion.
Wilt thou not looke? is all thy loue ouer-

whelmde?
Wilt thou not heare? what malice stopes thine

eares?
Why speaks thou not ? what silence ties thy

tongue? '2S

Thou hast bene sighted as the eagle is,
And heard as quickly as the fearefull hare,
And spoke as smoothly as an orator,
When I haue bid thee heare or see or speak,

49-C.O Out line Qq 51 depe rathairea] deep-fet airs 94 hast Q 1. .? : has V,'P 9"> exeirsimes 01 : excr-
7).:.depe-fetsighs WP CO now 1 : Now WP cismes Q.I 97 dowe Ql : Dove QS 99 the Q 1 :

74 has \\'P SO thou] vou WJ' ' thee Q 3 107 me om. Q 8 112 or] or else Q 3

ACT III, Sc. V. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

And art thou sensible in none of these? 1 30
Waigh all thy good turns with this little

fault,

And I deserue not Mosbies muddy lookes.
A fence of trouble is not thickned still:
Be cleare againe, He nere more trouble thee.

Mas. O no, I am a base artificer; 135

My winges are f eathred for a lowly flight.
Mosby? fy! no, not for a thousand pound.
Make loue to you? why, 'tis vnpardonable;
We beggers must not breath where gentiles

are. 139

Ales. Swete Mosbie is as gentle as a King,
And I too blinde to iudge him otherwise.
Flowres do some times spring in fallow

lands,

Weedes in gardens, Roses grow on thornes;
So, what so ere my Mosbies father was,
Himself e (is) valued gentle by his worth. 145
Mos. Ah, how you women can insinuate,
And cleare a trespasse with your sweete set

tongue!

I will forget this quarrel, gentle Ales,
Prouided He be tempted so no more.

Here enters Bradshaw.

Al. Then with thy lips seale vp this new

made match. 150

M os. Soft, Ales, for here comes some body.

Ales. How now, Bradshaw, whats the news

with you?

Brad. I haue little news, but heres a letter
That M(aister) Greene importuned me to giue

you.

Ales. Go in, Bradshaw; call for a cuppe of
beare; 155

Tis almost suppertime, thou shalt stay with vs.
[Exit (Bradshaw.
Then she reades the Letter.
' We haue mist of our purpose at London, but
shall perform it by the waye. We thanke our
neighbour Bradshaw.

Yours, Richard Greene.'
How lykes my loue the tennor of this letter?
Mos. Well, were his date compleat and
expired. t6i

Ales. Ah, would it were! Then come? my

happy howre :

Till then my blisse is mixt with bitter gall.
Come, let vs in to shun suspition.

Mosb. I, to the gates of death to follow
thee. !6s

[Exeunt.

131 thy] my J 135 0] 0. fie Q3 136 fight Qj
142 doom. Q-8 145 is odd. ./ 151 for o'm. }\'P

S. D. exit iif/tr l."j Q 1 1C2 Tito lines Oq dn: were
165 Prefix Mosb Q 3 : Ales Q 7J

(SCENE VI.

Country near Rochester.")

Here enters Greene, Will, & Shakbag.

Shak. Come, Will, see thy tooles be in a

redynes:
Is not thy Powder dancke, or will thy flint

stryke fyre?
Witt. Then aske me if my nose be on my

face,

Or whether my toung be frosen in my mouth.
Zounds, heres a coyle! 5

Tou were best sweare me on the intergatories
How many pistols I haue tooke in hand,
Or whether I loue the smell of gunne powder,
Or dare abide the noise the dagge will make,
Or will not wincke at flashing of the fire. 10
I pray thee, shackbag, let this answer thee,
That I haue tooke more purses in this down
Then ere thou handledst pistols in thy life.
Shu. I, happely thou hast pickt more in a
throng: 1 4

But, should I bragge what booties I haue tooke,
I think the ouerplus thats more then thine
Would mount to a greater somme of money
Then either thou or all thy kinne are worth.
Zounds, I hate them as I hate a toade
That cary a muscado in their tongue, 20

And scarce a hurting weapon in their hand.

Wil. Greene, intolerable!
It is not for mine honor to beare this.
Why, shakbag, I did serue the King at Bul-

loyne,

And thou canst bragge of nothing that thou
hast done. 25

Shuk. Why, so can Jack of Feuershame,
That sounded for a phillope on the nose,
When he that gaue it him hollowed in his eare,
And he supposed a Cannon bullet hit him.

Then they fight.

Grene. I pray you, sirs, list to Esopstalk: 30
Whilest two stout dogs were striuing for a bone,
There comes a cur and stole it from them both ;
So, while you stand striuing on these termes of

manhoode,

Arden escapes vs, and deceaueV) vs al.
Shake. Why, he begun.
Will. And thou shalt finde He end; 35

I doo but slip it vntil better time:
But, if I do forget
Then hee kneeles downe and houldes vp his

hands to heauen.

Grene. Wei, take your fittest standings,
& once more

Scene VI. etc. odd. T 2 Tiro li(*. Qq dh: danckf
5-7 Prone Q 1 25 that on>. Q .9 34 escape Q .1 : de-
ceaue Ql ; deceive Q3

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

ACT 111, Sc. VI.

Lime your twigs to catch this wary bird.
He leaue you, and at your dags discharge 40
Make towards, lyke the longing water dog
That coucheth til the fowling peece be of,
Then ceazeth on the pray with eager moode.
Ah, might I see him stretching foorth his

limmes,

As I haue seene them beat their wings ere now!
Shak. Why, that thou shalt see, if he come

this way. 46

Cre. Yes, that he doth, shakbag, I warrant

thee:

But braul not when I am gone in any case.
But, sirs, be sure to speede him when he comes,
And in that hope lie leaue you for an houre. 50

[Exit Gre.

Here enters Arden, Fran., & Mic.
Mic. Twere best that I went back to

Rochester:

The horse halts downright; it were not good
He trauailed in such paine to feuershame;
Remouing of a shoe may happely help it.
Ard. Well, get you back to Rochester; but,
sirra, see 55

Yeouertake vs ere we come to Raynum down,
For it will be very late ere we get home.
Mic. I, God he knowes, & so doth Will

and shakebagge,
That thou shalt neuer go further then that

downe;

And therefore haue I prickt the horse on pur
pose, 60
Because I would not view the massacar.

[Exit Michaell.

Arden. Come, M(aister) Francklin, on
wards with your tale.
Fran. I assure you, sir, you taske me much :
A heauy bloode is gathered at my hart,
And on the sudden is my winde so short 65
As hindereth the passage of my speach;
So f erse a qualme yet neere assayled me.
Ard. Come, M(aister) Francklin, let vs

go on softly:

The anoyance of the dust or els some meat
You eat at dinner cannot brooke with you. 70
I haue bene often so, and soone amended.
Fra. Do you remember where my tale did

leaue?
Ard. I, where the gentleman did chek his

wife.

Fran. She being reprehended for the fact,
Witnes produced that tooke her with the deed,
Her gloue broght in which there she left
behind, 76

39 wavy J : weary Qq 55-6 Prose Q 1 67 i'crsc]
fierce Q 3 70 with add. Q a

And many other assured Arguments,
Her husband askt her whether it were not so.
Ard. Her answer then? I wonder how she

lookt,
Hauing forsworne it with such vehement

oathes, 80

And at the instant so approued vppon her.
Fra. First did she cast her eyes down to the

earth,
Watching the drops that fell amaine from

thence;

Then softly drawes she foorth her handkercher,
And modestly she wypes her teare staind face ;
Then hemd she out, to cleare her voice, should

seeme, 86

And with a maiesty addrest her selfe
To encounter all their accusations.
Pardon me, M(aister) Arden, I can no more ;
This fighting at my hart makes shorte my

wynde. go

Ard. Come, we are almost now at Raynum

downe:

Your pretty tale beguiles the weary way;
I would you were in state to tell it out.

Shak. Stand close, Will, I heare them cum -

ming. 94

Here enters Lord Cheiny with his men.
Wil. Stand to it, Shakbag, and be resolute.
Lord Che. Is it so neere night as it seemes
Or wil this black faced euening haue a showre?
What, M(aister) Arden? you are well met,
I haue longd this fortnights day to speake

with you:

You are a stranger, man, in the ile of Sheppy.

Ard. Your honors alwayes: bound to do

you seruice. 101

Lord Che. Come you from London, & nere

a man with you?

Ard. My man's comming after, but her's
My honest freend that came along with me.
Lord Che. My Lord protectors man I take
you to bee. 105

Fran. I, my good Lord, and highly bound

to you.
Lord Che. You & your frend come home &

sup with me.

Ard. I beseech your honor pardon me;
I haue made a promise to a gentleman,
My honest freend, to meete him at my house ;
The occasion is great, or els would I wait on
you. i i i

Lord C. Will you come to morrow & dyne

with me,

And bring your honest frend along with you ?
I haue dyuers matters to talke with you about.
100 Shepny Q 1 103-4 Die. after Q q

ACT III, Sc. VI. THE LAMENTABLE AND TUVE TRAGEDY OF

Arden. To morrow wele waite vpon your

honor. "5

_Lord C. One of you staye my horse at the

top of the hil.

WhatI black Will? for whose purse wait you?
Thou wilt be hanged in Kent, when all is done.

Wil. Not hanged, God saue your honor;
I am your bedesman, bound to pray for you. 1 20
Lord C. I think thou nere saidest prayer in

all thy lyfe.

One of you giue him a crowne:
And, sirra, leaue this kinde of lyfe;
If thou beest tainted for a penny matter, 124
And come in question, surely, thou wilt trusse.
Come, M(aister) Arden, let vs be going;"
Youre way and mine lyes foure myle togeather.
[Exeunt. Manet Black Wil & Shakbag.
Wil. The Deuill break all your necks at 4

myles end!

Zounds, I could kill my selfe for very anger!
His Lordship chops me in, euen when 130

My dagge was leaueld at his hart.
I would his crowne were molten down his

throat.

Sha. Arden, thou hast wondrous holye luck.
Did euer man escape as thou hast done?
Well, lie discharge my pistoll at the skye, 135
For by this bullet Arden might not die.

Here enters Greene.

Gre. What, is he down? is he dispatcht?
Sho. I, in health towards Feuershame, to

shame vs all.
Gre. The Deuill he is! why, sirs, how escapt

he?

shak. When we were ready to shoote, 140

Comes my Lord Cheiny to preuent his death.

Grene. The Lord of heauen hath preserued

him.

Will. Preserued a figge! The L^ord)
Cheiny hath perserued him, 143

And bids him to a feast to his house at shorlow.
But by the way once more lie meete with him,
And, if all the Cheinies in the world say no,
lie haue a bullet in his breast to morrow.
Therefore come, Greene, and let vs to Feuer-

shame.
Gre. I, and excuse our selues to mistres

Arden:

0, how shele chafe when she heares of this!
sha. Why, ile warrant you shel think we
dare not do it. 151

Wil. Why, then let vs go, & tell her all the

matter,

And plat the newes to cut him of to morrow.
..* [Exeunt.

124 uj one Qy LKJ-1 Lie. in U7'

iv.

SCENE I.

Arden's House at Feversham.}
Here enters Arden and his wife, Francklin, and

Michaell.
Ard. See how the howrs, the gardcant of

heauens gate,
Haue by their toyle remoued the darksome

cloudes,

That Soil may wel deserne the trampled pace

Wherein he wount to guide his golden car:

The season fits; come, Francklin, let's away.

Ales. I thought you did pretend some

speciall hunt, 6

That made you thus cut shorte the time of

rest.
Ard. It was no chase that made me rise so

early,

But, as I tould thee yesternight, to go
To the Ile of Sheppy, there to dine with my
Lord Cheiny; 10

For so his honor late commanded me.

Ales. I, such kinde husbands seldome want

excuses;

Home is a wilde Cat to a wandring wit.
The time hath bene, would God it were not

past,

That honors ty tie nor a Lords command 1 5
Could once haue drawne you from these armes

of mine.

But my deserts or your desires decay,
Or both; yet if trew loue may seeme desert,
I merite stil to haue thy company.

Fran. Why, I pray you, sir, let her go along
with vs; 20

I am sure his honor wil welcome her
And vs the more for bringing her along.
Ard. Content; sirra, saddle your mistres

nagge.

Ales. No, begde fauor merits little thankes;
If I should go, our house would runne away, 25
Or els be stolne; therefore Ile stay behind.
Ard. Nay, see how mistaking you are!
I pray thee, goe.

Ales. No, no, not now.

Ard. Then let me leaue thee satisfied in

this,

That time nor place nor persons alter me, 30
But that I hould thee dearer then my life.
Ales. That will be scene by your quick
returne.

Act IV. d<: mid. T 1 gardeant] guard at Q3 '-\
descrnc 117': deserue 01 : discerne 0.9 pace] rath
117'. l,i, f rf. .V. K. J>. 9-10 ZiV, Sbeppy 0| 17
117' : dctserues Qq

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

ACT IV, St. II.

Ard. And that shall be ere night, and if I

Hue. 33

Farewell, sweetc Ales, we mind to sup with

thee. [Exit Al.

Fra. Come, Michaell, are our horses ready ?

Michaell. I, your horse are ready, but I am

not ready, for I haue lost my purse, with six

and thirtie shillinges in it, with taking vp of

my M^aisters/ Nagge.

Mic. What, with a dagger made of a pen-
sell? Faith, tis too weake, and therefore thou
to weak to winne susan. 80

Cla. Would susans loue lay vppon this
stroke.

Then he breakes Michaels head.

Here enters Mosby, Greene, & Ales.
Ales. He lay my lyfe, this is for susans loue.

Fra. Why, I pray you, let vs go before, 40 , Stayd you behinde your M aister to this end?
Whitest he stayes behind to seeke his purse. j Haue you no other time to brable in 85

Ard. Go too, sirra, see you follow vs to ; But now when serious matters are in hand?

Say, Clarke, hast thou done the thing thou

promised?

Cla. I, heare it is; the very touch is death.
Ales. Then this, I hope, if all the rest do

faile,

Wil catch M^aister) Arden, <?o

And make him wise in death that liued a foolc.
Why should he thrust his sickle in our corne,
Or what hath he to do with thee, my loue,
Or gouerne me that am to rule my selfe? 94
Forsooth, for credit sake, I must leaue thee:
Nay, he must leaue to liue that we may loue,
May Hue, may loue; for what is lyfe but loue?
And loue shall last as long as lyfe remaines,
And lyfe shall end before my loue depart.
Mas. Why, whats loue without true con
stancy? 100
Lyke to a piller built of many stones,
Yet neither with good morter well compact
Nor cement to fasten it in the ioynts,
But that it shakes with euery blast of winde,
And, being toucht, straight falles vnto the
earth, 105
And buries all his haughty pride in dust.
No, let our loue be rockes of Addamant,
Which time nor place nor tempest can asunder.

Gre. Mosbie, leaue protestations now,
And let vs bethinke vs what we haue to doo.
Black Will and shakebag I haue placed

the ile of sheppye

To my Lord Cheynyes, where we meane to
dine. 43

[Exeunt Arden & Francklin.
[Manet Michaell.

Mic. So, fairo weather after you, for before
you lyes black Will and shakebag in the
broome close, to close for you: theyle be your
ferrymen to long home.

Here enters the Painter.
But who is this? the Painter, my corriual, that
would nedes winne M jstris Susan.

Clark. How now, Michael? how doth rriy
Mistresse and all at home? 51

Mic. Who? susan Mosbye? she is your
Mistres, too?

Cla. I, how doth she and all the rest?

Mic. ATs well but susan; she is sicke. 55

Cla. Sick? 01 what disease?

Mic. Of a great feare.

CZa. A feare of what?

M ic. A great feuer.

Cla. A feuer? God forbidde! 60

Mic. Yes, faith, and of a lordaine too, as
bigge as your selfe.

Cla. 0, Michael, the spleane prickles you.
Go too, you carry an eye ouer mistres susan.

Mic. I, faith, to keepe her from the Painter.

Cla. Why more from a Painter then from In the broome close, watching Ardens com-

a seruing creature like your selfe?

ming;

Mic. Because you Painters make but a Lets to them, and see what they haue done.

painting table of a pretty wench, and spoile
her beauty with blotting. 70

Cla. What meane you by that?

M ic. Why, that you Painters paint lambes
in the lyning of, wenches peticots, and we
seruingmen put homes to them to make them
become sheepe. 75

Cla. Such another word wil cost you a cuffe
or a knock.

33 be OIH. Q 3 30 horses 3 30-9 Vtrne Qq : con:
D 38 of out. Q3 39 M. Q 1 : mistris Q 3 42 sec]
sec that Q 3 44 weather] whether Q 1 44-9, 61-4 j 78-80 Thru- re.
Verse Q< { 49 M. Q 1 : mistris 03 57 feuer D 72-5 \0 J, 2 112 bn
Two terse lines Qq ' T 2-3 Verse Q

[Exeunt.

(SCENE H.
The Kentish Coast opposite the Isle of Sheppey.]

Here enters Ard. & Fra.
Ard. Oh, ferryman, where art thou?

Here enters the Ferriman.
Fer. Here, here, goe before to the boat, and
I will follow you.

8-80 Tli n i- rci-Kf // Q<i 103 cement Q 3 : scuicll
" " 'n-ooni, close J etc. Scene II. &. add.
ft

ACT IV, St. II. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Ard. We haue great haste; I pray thee,
come away.

Fer. Fy, what a mist is here I 5

Ard. This mist, my frend, is misticall,
Lyke to a good companions smoaky braine,
That was halfe dround with new ale ouer
night.

Fer. Twere pitty but his scull were opened
to make more Chimny roome. 10

Fran. Freend, whats thy opinion of this
mist?

Fer. I think tis lyke to a curst wife in a
lytle house, that neuer leaues her husband till
she haue driuen him out at doores with a wet
paire of eyes; then looker he as if his house
were a fire, or some of his f reends dead. 1 6

Ard. Speaks thou this of thine owne expe
rience?

Fer. Perhaps, I; perhaps, no: For my wyfe
is as other women are, that is to say, gouerned
by the Moone.

Fran. By the Moone? how, I pray thee?

Fer. Na, thereby lyes a bargane, and you
shall not haue it fresh and fasting.

Ard. Yes, I pray thee, good ferryman.

Fer. Then for this once; let it be midsom-
mer Moone, but yet my wyfe has another
moone. 27

Fran. Another Moone?

Fer. I, and it hath influences and Eclipses.

Ard. Why, then, by this reconing you som-
times play the man in the Moone? 31

Fer. I, but you had not best to meddle with
that moone, least I scratch you by the face
with my bramble bush.

Ard. I am almost stifled with this fog;
come, lets away. 36

Fran. And, sirra, as we go, let vs haue som
more of your bolde yeomandry.

Fer. Nay, by my troth, sir, but flat knauery.

[Exeunt.
(SCENE HI.

Another place on the Coast.}

Here enters Will at one doore, and Shakbag at

another.

Sha. Oh, Will, where art thou?

Wil. Here, shakbag, almost in hels mouth,
where I can not see my way for smoake.

Sha. I pray thee speake still that we may
mete by the sound, for I shall fall into some
ditche or other, vnles my feete see better then
my eies. 7

Wil. Didest thou euer see better weather to

0-10, 12-16, 22-3, 25-7, 30-4 Yo-sc

> Of] 2C has 0.9:

as QI, i> 32 not best] l>obt not 1V> Scene III.
tic. add. }\'P 2-U Vim (ft 5 for] or Q3

runne away with another mans wife, or play
with a wenche at potfinger ? i o

shak. No; this were a fine world for chand
lers, if this weather would last; for then a
man should neuer dyne nor sup without can
dle light. But, sirra Will, what horses are
those that past? 15

Wil. Why, didst thou heare any?

Sha. I, that I did.

Will. My life for thine, twas Arden, and
his companion, and then all our labour's lost.

Sha. Nay, say not so, for if it be they, they
may happely loose their way as we haue done,
and then we may chaunce meete with them.

Wil. Come, let vs go on lyke a couple cf
blind pilgrims.

Then Shakebag jalles into a ditch.

Sha. Helpe, Will, help! I am almost
drownd. 25

Here enters the ferryman.

Fer. Whose that that calles for help?

Wil. Twas none heere, twas thou thy selfe.

Fer. I came to help him that cald for help.
Why, how now? who is this thats in the ditch?
You are well enough serued to goe without a
guyde such weather as this. 31

Wil. Sirra, what companyes hath past your
ferry this morning?

Fer. None but a cupple of gentlemen, that
went to dyne at my Lord cheyneis. 35

Wil. Shakbag, did not I tell thee as much?

Fer. Why, sir, will you haue any letters
caried to them?

Wil. No, sir; get you gone.

Fer. Did you euer see such a mist as this?

Wil. No, nor such a foole as will rather be
bought then get his way. 4*

Fer. Why, sir, this is no hough munday;
you ar deceiud. Whats his name, I pray you,
sir? 45

Sha. His name is black will.

Fer. I hope to see him one day hangd vpon
a hill. [Exit Ferriman.

Sha. See how the Sunne hath cleard the

foggy mist,
Now we haue mist the marke of our intent.

Here enters Grene, Mosbye, and Ales.
Mos. Black Will and Shakbag, what make
you heer? 5

What, is the deed don? is Arden dead?

Wil. What could a blynded man performe

in armes?

Saw you not how till now the sky was darke,
That neither horse nor man could be decerned?

11-1.-.. 1S-0. 2S-:i
thats] that Iks ^J

', / w ''/ ]i; t lion 0111. Q
43 though iluuday <j y

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

ACT IV, St. IV,

Yet did we heare their horses as they past. 55
Ore. Haue they escapt you, then, and past

the ferry?
Sha. I, for a while; but here we two will

stay,
\nd at their comming back meete with them

once more.
Zounds, I was nere so toylde in all my lyfe
n following so slight a taske as this. 60

Mos. How camst thou so beraide?
Wil. With making false footing in the

dark;

le needs would follow them without a guide.
Ales. Here's to pay for a fire and good

cheere:

Jet you to Feuershame to the flowre de luce, 65
tad rest your selues vntil some other time.
Gre. Let me alone; it most concernes my

state.
Witt. I, mistres Arden, this wil serue the

turne,
n case we fal into a second fog.

[Exeunt Grene, Will, and Shak.

Mos. These knaues wil neuer do it, let vs

giue it ouer. 70

Ales. First tell me how you like my new

deuice:

loone, when my husband is returning back,
fou and I both marching arme in arme,
>yke louing frends, wele meete him on the
way, 74

Ind boldly beard and braue him to his teeth.
iVhen words grow hot and blowes beginne to

ryse,
le call those cutters foorth your tenement,

o, in a manner to take vp the fray,
Shall wound my husband hornesbie to the
death. 79

Mos. Ah, fine deuisel why, this deserues a
kisse. [Exeunt.

(SCENE IV.

The Open Country.}

Here enters Dicke Reede and a Sailer.

Sayler. Faith, Dick Rede, it is to lytle end:

lis conscience is too liberal!, and he too

nigardly

?o parte from any thing may doo thee good.
Rede. He is coming from Shorlow as I

vnderstand;

lere ile intercept him, for at his house 5

le neuer will vouchafe to speake with me.
f prayers and faire intreaties will not serue,
)r make no battry in his flintye breast,

Here enters Fra., Ard., and Michaell.

Ile cursse the carle, and see what that wil doo.
Se where he comes to further my intent I 10
M aister Arden, I am now bound to the sea;
My comming to you was about the plat
Of ground which wrongfully you detaine from

me:

Although the rent of it be very small,
Yet will it helpe my wife and children, 15
Which here I leaue in Feuershame, God

knowes,
Needy and bare: for Christs sake, let them

haue it!
Ard. Francklin, hearest thou this fellow

speake?

That which he craues I dearely bought of him,
Although the rent of it was euer mine. 20
Sirra, you that aske these questions,
If with thy clamarous impeaching tongue
Thou raile on me, as I haue heard thou dost,
Ile lay thee vp so close a twelue months day,
As thou shalt neither see the Sonne nor Moone.
Looke to it, for, as surely as I Hue, 26

Ile banish pittie if thou vse me thus.

Rede. What, wilt thou do me wrong &

threat me, too?
Nay, then, Ile tempt thee, Arden, doo thy

worst.

God, I beseech thee, show some miracle 30
On thee or thine, in plaguing thee for this.
That plot of ground which thou detaines from

me,

I speake it in an agony of spirite,
Be ruinous and fa tall vnto thee!
Either there be butcherd by thy dearest

freends, 35

Or els be brought for men to wonder at,
Or thou or thine miscary in that place,
Or there runne mad and end thy cursed dayes!
Fra. Fy, bitter knaue, brydle thine enuious

tongue;

For curses are like arrowes shot vpright, 40

Which falling doun light on the s h uters head.

Rede. Light where they will! Were I

vppon the sea,

As oft I haue in many a bitter storme,
And saw a dreadfull suthern flaw at hand,
The Pylate quaking at the doubtfull storme, 45
And all the saylers praying on their knees,
Euen in that fearefull time would I fall down,
And aske of God, what ere betide of me,
Vengeance on Arden or some misevent
To shewe the world what wrong the carle hath

done. 5

76 blowes] words @ 3 79 Hornbeast WP 80 Ah] 1-J onJ.i ground (fa 27 thou] you Q3 31 plauging
\CP J-mie IV. iti: mkl. T 3 thee] him Q:j Qi 41 sutors QJ, -2 : shooters Q3

ACT IV, Sc. IV. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

This charge lie leaue with my distresfull wife,
My children shall be taught such praiers as

these:

And thus I go, but leaue my cursse with thee.

[Exeunt Rede & Sayler.

Ard. It is the raylingest knaue in christen -

dome,

And oftentimes the villaine will be mad; 55
It greatly matters not what he sayes,
But I assure you I nere did him wrong.
Fra. I think so, M(aister) Arden.
Ard. Now that our horses are gone home

before,

My wife may hapely mete me on the way. 60
For God knowes she is growne passing kinde

of late,

And greatly chaunged from the oulde
Humor of her wounted frowardnes,
And seekes by faire meanes to redeeme ould

faults.
Fra. Happy the change that alters for the

best! 65

But see in any case you make no speache
Of the cheare we had at my Lord Cheineis,
Although most bounteous and liberal!,
For that will make her think her selfe more

wrongd,

In that we did not carry her along; 70

For sure she greeued that she was left behinde.

Ard. Come, Francklin, let vs strain to mend

our pace,
And take her vna wares playing the cooke;

Here enters Ales and Mosbie.
For I beleeue sheele stryue to mend our

cheere.

Fran. Why, thers no better creaturs in the

world, 75

Then women are when they are in good

humors.
Ard. Who is that? Mosbie? what, so

familiare?

Iniurious strumpet, and thou ribald knaue,
Vntwyne those armes.

Ales. I, with a sugred kisse let them

vntwine. 80

Ard. Ah, Mosbie! periurde beast! beare

this and all!
Mos. And yet no horned beast; the homes

are thine.
Fran. monstrous! Nay, then tis time to

draw.

Ales. Helpe, helpe! they murther my hus
band.

Here enters Will and Shak.
Sha. Zounds, who iniures M(aister) Mos
bie? 85
Help, Wil! I am hurt.

Mos. I may thank you, Mistres arden, for
this wound.

[Exeunt Mosby, Will, and Shakbag.

Ales. Ah, Arden, what folly blinded thee?

Ah, Jelious harebraine man, what hast thou

don!

When we, to welcome thy intended sport, 90
Came louingly to mete thee on thy way,
Thou drewst thy sword, inraged with Jelousy,
And hurte thy freende whose thoughts were

free from harme;

All for a woorthles kisse and ioyning armes,
Both don but mirrely to try thy patience. 95
And me vnhappy that deuysed the Jest,
Which, though begonne in sporte, yet ends in

bloode!
Fran. Mary, God defend me from such a

Jeast!
Ales. Couldst thou not see vs frendly smyle

on thee,

When we ioynd armes, and when I kist his
cheeke? 100

Hast thou not lately found me ouer kinde?
Didst thou not heare me cry, they murther thee ?
Cald I not helpe to set my husband free?
No, eares and all were witcht; ah me accurst
To lincke in lyking with a frantick man! 105
Hence foorthlle be thyslaue, no more thy wife,
For with that name I neuer shall content thee.
If I be merry, thou straight waies thinks me

light;

If sad, thou saiest the sullens trouble me;
If well attyred, thou thinks I will be gadding;
If homely, I seeme sluttish in thine eye: i "
Thus am I still, and shall be till I die,
Poore wench, abused by thy misgouernment!
Ard. But is it for trueth that neither thou

nor he

Entendedst malice in your misdemeanor? 115
Ales. The heauens can witnes of our har ra
les thoghts.
Ard. Then pardon me, sweete Ales, and

forgiue this faulte:

Forget but this and neuer see the lyke.
Impose me pennance, and I will performe it,
For in thy discontent I finde a death, 1 20
A death tormenting more then death it selfe.
Ales. Nay, hadst thou loued me as thou
doest pretend,

51my]wy^7 60 me cm. Q 3 62 fml* humor 90 thy] thee with W/' 9:1 THU lima <<'/ ''"';
om/> 78ber<HR.O toplay<?.2 75 creature freende 112 till] whill (j 1 : while Q '). tt<;
82 horne-beast # tico lints Q 1, ?, dit. beast 1 Two lines Qq, dit. Alt 1 *

M. ARDEX OF FEVERSHAME

ACT V, Sc. I.

Thou wouldst haue markt the speaches of thy

trend,

Who going wounded from the place, he said
His skinne was peirst only through my deuise ;
And if sad sorrow taint thee for this fait, 1 26
Thou wouldst haue followed him, and sene

him drest,
And cryde him mercy whome thou hast mis-

done:

Nere shall my hart be eased till this be done.
Arden. Content thee, sweete Ales, thou
shalt haue thy wil, 1 30

What ere it be. For that I iniurde thee,
And wrongd my frend, shame scourgeth my

offence;

Come thou thy selfe, and go along with me,
And be a mediator twixt vs two.
Fran. Why, M(aister) Arden! know you
what you do? 1 35

Will you follow him that hath dishonourd you?
Ales. Why, canst thou proue I haue bene

disloyall?
Fran. Why, Mosbie taunts your husband

with the horn.

Ales. I, after he had reuyled him
By the iniuryous name of periurde beast: 1 40
He knew no wrong could spyte an Jelious man
More then the hatef ull naming of the borne.

Fran. Suppose tis trew; yet is it dangerous
To follow him whome he hath lately hurt.
Ales. A fault confessed is more then halfe
amends; 145

But men of such ill spirite as your selfe
Worke crosses and debates twixt man and wife.
Ard. I pray the, gentle Francklin, holde

thy peace:

I know my wife counsels me for the best.

He seeke out mosby where his wound is drest,

And salue his haples quarrell if I may. 151

[Exeunt Arden <fe Ales.

Fran. He whome the diuel driues must go

perforce.

Poore gentleman, how sone he is bewitcht!
And yet, because his wife is the instrument,
His frends must not be lauish in their speach.

[Exit Fran.

(ACT V.
SCENE I.

A street in Feversham.}
Here enters Will, shakabage, & Greene.
Wil. Sirra Greene, when was I so long in
killing a man?

138 taunts your (} .? : troiuit you ^ 1 : taunted your
I> 141 an] a (j_ :j 149 me om. 3 150 Prefix Ard.

"j * Y * *^w tin* i///f . Y *> i<^v j. i r/ut- Alii*

repeated More this lint Q 1 151 bis] this D Act V.

Gre. I think we shall neuer do it; let vs
giue it ouer.

Sha. Nay, Zounds! wele kill him, though
we be hangd at his dore for our labour. 6

Wil. Thou knowest, Greene, that I haue
liued in London this twelue yeers, where I
haue made some go vppon wodden legges for
taking the wall on me; dyuers with siluer
noses for saying ' There goes black will! ' I haue
crackt as many blades as thou hast done Nutes.

Gre. monstrous lye! 13

Will. Faith, in a maner I haue. The
bawdie houses haue paid me tribute; there
durst not a whore set vp, vnlesse she haue
aggreed with me first for opning her shoppe
windowes. For a crosse worde of a Tapster
I haue pearced one barrell after another with
my dager, and held him by the eares till all
his beare hath run out. In Temes streete a
brewers carte was lyke to haue runne ouer
me: I made no more ado, but went to the dark
I and cut all the natches of his tales and beat
! them about his head. I and my companye
haue taken the Constable from his watch, and
carried him about the fields on a coltstaffe.
I haue broken a Sariants head with his owne
mace, and baild whome I list with my sword
and buckler. All the tenpenny alehouses
would stand euery morning with a quart pot
in their hand, saying, ' will it please your wor
ship drinke?' He that had not doone so. had
beene sure to haue had his Signe puld down &
his latice borne away the next night. To con
clude, what haue I not done? yet cannot do
this; doubtles, he is preserued by Miracle. 37

Here enters Ales and Michael!.
Gre. Hence, Will! here comes M istris

Arden.
Ales. Ah, gentle michaell, art thou sure

thei'r frends?

Mic. Why, I saw them when they both
shoke hands. 40

When Mosbie bled, he euen wept for sorrow,
And raild on Francklin that was cause of

all.

No sooner came the Surgen in at doores,
But my M(aister) tooke to his purse and gaue

him money,

j And, to conclude, sent me to bring you word
[ That Mosbie, Francklin, Bradshaw, Adam
f owle, 4 6

With diuers of his neighbors and his frends,

3-37 Yaw Go 10 of ine 02, 3 12 done om. V'P
20 by QV-.beOl 24 all] off 03 21 him om. :}
30 men mM. J 32 their] his Q 1 34 Singne <j 1
38 M. ()1 : inistris <J3 44 to om. Q3

ACT V, St. I. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Will come and sup with you at our house this

night.

Ales. Ah, gentle Michael!, runne thou bak

againe, 49

And, when my husband walkes into the faire,

Bid Mosbie steale from him and come to me;

And this night shal thou and Susan be made

sure.

Mic. He go tell him.
Ales. And as thou goest, tell John cooke of

our guests,

And bid him lay it on, spare for no coast. 55

[Exit Michaell.

Wil. Nay, and there be such cheere, we

wil bid our selues.
Mistres Arden, Dick Greene & I do meane to

sup with you.

Ales. And welcome shall you be. Ah, gen
tlemen,

How mist you of your purpose yesternight?
Gre. Twas long of shakebag, that vnluckye
villaine. 60

Sha. Thou doest me wrong; I did as much

as any.
Wil. Nay then, M(istris) Ales, He tell you

how it was:

When he should haue lockt with both his hilts,
He in a brauery florisht ouer his head;
With that comes Francklin at him lustely, 65
And hurts the slaue; with that he slinks away.
Now his way had bene to haue come hand
and feete, one and two round, at his costerd:
he lyke a foole beares his sword point halfe a
yarde out of danger. I lye here for my lyfe;
if the deuill come, and he haue no more
strength then fence, he shall neuer beat me
from this warde.

He stand to it, a buckler in a skilfull hand
Is as good as a castell; nay, 75

Tis better then a sconce, for I haue trydc it.
Mosbie, perceiuing this, began to faint:
With that comes Arden with his arming sword,
And thrust him through the shoulder in a

tryce.

Ales. I, but I wonder why you both stoode

still. 80

Wil. Faith, I was so amazed, I could not

strike.
Ales. Ah, sirs, had he yesternight bene

slaine,

For euery drop of his detested bloode
I would haue cram'd in Angels in thy fist,
And kist thee, too, and hugd thee in my armes.

2 mistris Alice (J :i : M. Arden }\'J> (',7 haue out. \
OH C7-7:i lt*-\< ^ -. run: 1> 7-J tin-ill than I haue !
\\P 84 have cranfd y :j -. cramme OJ 85 mine
tfi', 3

Wil. Patient your selfe, we can not help it
now. 86

Greene and we two will dogge him through
the faire,

And stab him in the croud, and steale away.

Here enters Mosbye.

Ales. It is vnpossible; but here comes he

That will, I hope, inueut some surer meanes..

Swete Mosbie, hide thy arme, it kils my hart.

Mos. I, mistres Arden, this is your fauour.

Ales. Ah, say not so; for when I sawe thee

hurt,

I could haue toke the weapon thou letst fall,
And runne at Arden; for I haue sworne 95
That these mine eyes, offended with his sight,
Shall neuer close till Ardens be shut vp.
This night I rose and walkt about the chamber,
And twise or thrise I thought to haue murthred I

him.

Mos. What, in the night? then had we bene j
vndone. i oo

Ales. Why, how long shall he liue?
Mos. Faith, Ales, no longer then this

night.

Black Will and shakbag, will you two perf orme
The complot that I haue laid?

Will. I, or els think me a villaine. 105 j

Gre. And rather then you shall want, lie

helpe my selfe.
Mos. You, M'aister) Greene, shal single

Francklin foorth,
And hould him with a long tale of strange

newes,

That he may not come home till suppertime.
He fetch M aister , Arden home, & we like )
trends nc

Will play a game or two at tables here.
Ales. But what of all this? how shall he be

slaine?
Mosbie. Why, black Wil and shakebag locki

within the countinghouse
Shall at a certaine watchword giuen rush j

foorth.

Wil. What shall the watch word be? iif '
Mos. ' Now I take you ' that shall be the

word:

But come not forth before in any case.
Wil. I warrant you. But who shall loci

me in?
-Ales. That will I do; thou'st kepe the kej

thy selfe.

M os. Come, M aister x Greene, go you alonf .
with me. i z<

lo:J < W.v t wo (fr : r,n->: Wl' 105 a] as a <i 1 10.
Tin, I in,* (iij. iln. want 112 TH-O Hutu 0<], du: this
110 do 01,1. <>:i thoifst] thou'lt Q3

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAMK

ACT V, Sc. I.

See all things ready, Ales, against we come.
Ales. Take no care for that; send you him

home, [Exeunt Mosbie and Greene.

And if he ere go forth againe, blame me.
Come, blacke Will, that in mine eies art faire;
Next vnto Mosbie doe I honour thee; 1 25

Instead of faire wordes and large promises
My hands shall play you goulden harmonie :
How like you this? say, will you doe it, sirs?
Will. I, and that brauely too. Marke my

deuice:

Place Mosbie, being a stranger, in a chaire, 130
And let your husband sit vpon a stoole,
That I may come behind him cunninglie,
And with a towell pull him to the ground,
Then stab him till his flesh be as a siue;
That doone, beare him behind the Abby, 1 35
That those that finde him murthered may sup
pose

Some slaue or other kild him for his golde.
Ales. A fine deuice: you shall haue twenty

pound,

And when he is dead, you shalhaue forty more.
And, least you might be suspected staying

heere, 1 40

Michaell shall saddle you two lusty geldings;
Ryde whether you will, to Scotland, or to

Wales,

He see you shall not lacke, where ere you be.
Wil. Such wordes would make one kill

1000. men.

Giue me the key: which is the counting house?
Ales. Here would I stay and still encourage

you, 146

But that I know how resolute you are.
Sha. Tush, you are too faint harted; we

must do it.
Ales. But Mosbie will be there, whose very

lookes

Will ad vnwounted courage to my thought, 150
And make me the first that shall aduenture on

him.
Wil. Tush, get you gone; tis we must do

the deede.
When this doore oppens next, looke for his

death. (Exeunt Will and Shakebag.)
Ales. Ah, would he now were here that it

might oppen!

I shall no more be closed in Ardens armes, 155
That lyke the snakes of blacke Tisiphone
Sting me with their embraceings: mosbies

Armes

Shal compasse me, and, were I made a starre,
I would haue none other spheres but those.
There is no nector but in Mosbies lypes! 160

134 sive Q .? : sine Q I 153 ,?. D.

Had chast Diana kist him, she like me
Would grow loue sicke and from her watrie

bower

Fling down Endimion and snatch him vp:
Then blame not me that slay a silly man
Not halfe so louely as Endimion. 1 65

Here enters Michaell.
M ic. Mistres, my maister is comming hard

by.

Ales. Who comes with him?

Michaell. Nobody but mosbye.

Ales. Thats well, michaell. Fetch in the

tables,
And when thou hast done, stand before the

countinghouse doore. 170

Mic. Why so?
Ales. Black will is lockt within to do the

deede.

Mic. What? shall he die to night?
Ales. I, michaell.

Mic. But shall not susan know it? 175
Ales. Yes, for Shele be as secreete as our

selues.

Mic. Thats braue. lie go fetch the tables.
Ales. But, michaell, hearke to me a word

or two:
When my husband is come in, lock the streete

doore; 179

He shall be murthred, or the guests come in.

[Exit mic.

Here enters Arden & Mosbie.
Husband, what meane you to bring mosby

home?

Although I wisht you to be reconciled,
Twas more for feare of you then loue of him.
Black Will and Greene are his companions,
And they are cutters, and may cut you shorte:
Therefore I thought it good to make you f rends.
But wherefore do you bring him hether now?
You haue giuen me my supper with his sight.
Mos. M(aister) Arden, me thinks your wife

would haue me gone.

Arden. No, good M^aister; Mosbie; women
will be prating. 1 90

Ales, bid him welcome; he and I are f rends.

Ales. You may inforce me to it, if you will;
But I had rather die then bid him welcome.
His company hath purchest me ill frends,
And therefore wil I nere frequent it more. 1 95
Mos. Oh, how cunningly she can dissem -

ble!

Ard. Now he is here, you wil not serue
me so.

124 my 05
add. WP

103 snatli 1
132 Althought (j

180 or Q J : ere Q 3 : or e'er J
190 prattling Q 3

ACT V, Sc. I. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

Ales. I pray you be not angree or dis-

He bid him welcome, seing youle haue it so.
You are welcome, M(aister) Mosbie; will you
sit down? 2\>o

Mos. I know I am welcome to your louing

husband;
But for your selfe, you speake not from your

hart.

Ales. And if I do not, sir, think I haue cause.
Mos. Pardon me, M(aister) Arden; He away.
Ard. No, good M(aister) Mosbie. 205

Ales. We shal haue guests enough, thogh

you go hence.
Mos. I pray you, M(aister) Arden, let me

Ard. I pray thee, Mosbie, let her prate her

fill.
Ale. The dores are open, sir, you may be

gone.

Mic. Nay, thats a lye, for I haue lockt the

dores. 210

Ard. Sirra, fetch me a cup of Wine, He

make them freends.
And, gentle M(istris) Ales, seeing you are so

stout,

You shal beginne: frowne not, He haue it so.
Ales. I pray you meddle with that you haue

to do.

Ard. Why, Ales! how can I do too much

for him 215

Whose lyf e I haue endaungered without cause?

Ale. Tis true; & seeing twas partly through

my means,

I am content to drinke to him for this once.
Here, M(aister) Mosbie! and I pray you,

henceforth

Be you as straunge to me as I to you. 2 20

Your company hath purchased me ill freends,
And I for you, God knowes, haue vndeserued
Beene ill spoken of in euery place;
Therefore hencefoorth frequent my house no

more.

Mos. He see your husband in dispight of
you. 225

Yet, Arden, I protest to thee by heauen,
Thou nere shalt see me more after this night.
He go to Roome rather then be forsworne.
Ar. Tush, He haue no such vowes made in

my house.

Ales. Yes, I pray you, husband, let him

sweare; 230

And, on that condition, Mosbie, pledge me

here.
Mos. I, as willingly as I meane to liue.

211 Tirn lines Qq, tJir. Wine 220 you as] as ft
231 Mosbie om. (j :i

Ard. Come, Ales, is our supper ready

yet?
Ales. It wil by then you haue plaid a game

at tables.
Ard. Come, M aister} Mosbie, what shall

we play for? 235

Mos. Three games for a french crowne,

sir, and please you.
Ard. Content.
Then they play at the Tables. (Enter Will

and Shakebag).
Wil. Can he not take him yet? what a

spight is that?
Ales. Not yet, Will; take hede he see thee

not.

tt" /7. I feare he will spy me as I am com
ing. 240
M ic. To preuent that, creepe betwixt my

legs.

Mos. One ace, or els I lose the game.
Ard. Mary, sir, theres two for fayling.
Mos. Ah, M aister) Arden, ' now I can

take you.'

Then Will pulles him down with a towett.
Ard. Mosbie! Michaell! Ales! what will you

do? 245

Witt. Nothing but take you vp, sir, nothing

els.
Mos. Thers for the pressing Iron you tould

me of. (Stabs him.}

Sha. And ther's for the ten pound in my

sleeue. (Stabs him.)

Ales. What! grones thou? nay, then giue

me the weapon! 249

Take this for hindring Mosbies loue and mine.
(She stabs him.}
Michaell. 0, Mistres!
Will. Ah, that villaine wil betray vs all.
Mos. Tush, feare him not; he will be

secrete.
Mic. Why, dost thou think I will betray my

selfe?
Sha. In South warke dwels a bonnie north -

erne lasse, 255

The widow Chambley; ile to her house now,
And if she will not giue me harborough,
He make bootie of the queane euen to her

smocke.
Witt. Shift for your selues; we two will

leaue you now.

Ales. First lay the bodie in the counting-
house. 260
Then they lay the body in the Countinghouse.

236 Tun liura Qq, dir. sir 237 X. It. lirarkfffd inwh
<1J. \\'P 238 vet otn. 03 247-50 S. fi. D. add. T
257 And] Ind Q 1

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

ACT V, Sc. I.

Will We haue our gould; mistris Ales,

adew;

losbie, farewell, and Michaell, farewell too.

[Exeunt.

Enter Susan.

Susan. Mistres, the guests are at the doores.

tear ken, they knocke: what, shall I let them

in? 264

Ales. Mosbie, go thou & beare them eom-

panie. [Exit M.

Lnd, susan, fetch water and wash away this

bloode.
Susan. The bloode cleaueth to the ground

& will not out.
Ales. But with my nailes ile scrape away

the blood;
lie more I striue, the more* the blood ap-

peares!

Susan. Whats the reason, M(istris), can
you tell? 270

Ales. Because I blush not at my husbands
death.

Here enters Mosbie.
Mos. How now? whats the matter? is all

well?

Ales. I, wel, if Arden were aliue againe.
n vaine we striue, for here his blood remains.
Mos. Why, strew rushes on it, can you

not? 275

'his wench doth nothing: fall vnto the worke.

Ales. Twas thou that made me murther

him.

Mos. What of that?
Ales. Nay, nothing, Mosbie, so it be not

known.
Mos. Keepe thou it close, and tis vnpos-

sible. 280

Ales. Ah, but I can not! was he not slaine

by me?

[y husbands death torments me at the hart.
Mos. It shall not long torment thee, gentle

Ales;
am thy husband, thinke no more of him.

Here enters Adam fowle and Brad.
Brad. How now, M(istris) Arden? what

ayle you weepe? 285

Mos. Because her husband is abroad so

late.

cupple of Ruffins threatned him yesternight,
nd she, poore soule, is affraid he should be

hurt.
Adam. 1st nothing -els? tush, hele be here

anone.

2?>1 Prefix Alice Q 3

Here enters Greene.
Gre. Now, M(istris) Arden, lacke you any

guests ? 290

Ales. Ah, M(aister) Greene, did you se

my husband lately ?
Gre. I saw him walking behinde the Abby

euen now.

Here enters Francklin.
Ales. I do not like this being out so late.
M(aister) Francklin, where did you leaue my

husband?

Fra. Beleeue me I saw him not since

Morning. 295

Feare you not, hele come anone; meane time

You may do well to bid his guests sit down.

Ales. I, so they shall; M' s aister) Bradshaw,

sit you there;

I pray you, be content, lie haue my will. 299

M(aister) Mosbie, sit you in my husbands seat.

Michaell. Susan, shall thou and I wait on

them?

Or, and thou saist the word, let vs sit down too.
Sa. Peace, we haue other matters now in

hand.

I feare me, Michael, al wilbe bewraied. 304
Mic. Tush, so it be knowne that I shal
marry thee in the morning, I care not though
I be hangde ere night.

But to preuent the worst, He by some rats bane.
Su. Why, Michael, wilt thou poyson thy

selfe?

M ic. No, but my mistres, for I feare shele

tell. 310

Su. Tush, Michel; feare not her, she's

wise enough.

Mos. Sirra Michell, giues a cup of beare.
M(istris) Arden, heers to your husband.
Ales. My husband!

Fra. What ailes you, woman, to crie so

suddenly? 315

Ales. Ah, neighbors, a sudden qualm

came ouer my hart;

My husbands being foorth torments my mynde.
I know some thing's amisse, he is not well;
Or els I should haue heard of him ere now.
Mo. She will vndo vs through her fool-
ishnes. 320

Gre. Feare not, M(istris) Arden, he's well

enough.

Ales. Tell not me; I know he is not well:
He was not wount for to stay thus late.
Good M(aister) Francklin, go and seeke him
foorth, 3 2 4

And if you finde him, send him home to mee,
305-7 Yo-se Qq, da: the 317 deing Q 1

ACT V, Sc. I. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

And tell him what a feare he hath put me in.
p ra. I lyke not this; I pray God all be well.
He seeke him out, and find him if I can.

[Exeunt Fra., Mos., & Ore.
Ales. Michaell, how shall I doo to rid the

rest away?

M ic. Leaue that to my charge, let me
alone. 33

Tis very late, M(aister) Bradshaw,
And there are many false knaues abroad,
And you haue many narrow lanes to pas.
Brad. Faith, frend Michaell, and thou

saiest trew.

Therefore I pray thee lights foorth and lends

a linck. 335

[Exeunt Brad., Adam, & Michael.

Ales. Michael, bring them to the dores, but

doo not stay;

You know I do not loue to be alone.
Go, Susan, and bid thy brother come:
But wherefore should he come? Heere is

nought but feare;

Stay, Susan, stay, and helpe to counsell me. 340
Susan. Alas, I counsell! feare frights away

my wits.
Then they open the countinghouse doore and

looke vppon Arden.
Ales. See, Susan, where thy quandam

Maister lyes,

Sweete Arden, smeard in bloode and filthy gore.
Susan. My brother, you, and I shall rue

this deede.

Ales. Come, susan, help to lift his body
forth, 345

And let our salt teares be his obsequies.

Here enters Mosbie and Greene.
Mos. How now, Ales, whether will you

beare him?
Ales. Sweete Mosbie, art thou come? Then

weepe that will:

I haue my wishe in that I ioy thy sight.
Gre. Well, it houes vs to be circumspect. 350
Mos. I, for Francklin thinks that we haue

murthred him.

Ales. I, but he can not proue it for his lyfe.
Wele spend this night in daliance and in sport.

Here enters Michaell.

Mic. mistres, the Maior and all the watch

Are comming towards our house with glaues

& billes. 355

Ales. Make the dore fast; let them not come

S. D. fylloivs 327 Qq 333 narrow om. Q .? 3.15
ighfs '. . lend's Q "J 34:1 filtliy ow. Q ff. .9 H48
rico lines Qq, rf/r. come 354 all om. Q :t

Mos. Tell me, swete Ales, how shal I

escape?
Ales. Out at the back dore, ouer the pyle

of woode,

And for one night ly at the floure de luce.
Mos. That is the next way to betray my
selfe. 360

Gre. Alas, M;istris) Arden, the watch will

take me here,

And cause suspition, where els would be none.
Ales. Why, take that way that M(aister)

Mosbie doeth;

But first conuey the body to the fields.
Then they beare the body into the fields.

Mos. Vntil to morrow, sweete Ales, now
farewel: 365

And see you confesse nothing in any case.
Gre. Be resolute, M(istris) Ales, betray vs

not,
But cleaue to vs as we wil stick to you.

[Exeunt Mosbie & Grene.

Ales. Now, let the iudge and iuries do their

worst: 3 6 9

My house is cleare, and now I feare them not.

Susan. As we went, it snowed al the way,

Which makes me feare our footesteps will be

spyed.
Ales. Peace, f oole, the snow wil couer them

againe.
Susan. But it had done before we came

back againe.

Ales. Hearke, hearke, they knocke! go,
Michaell, let them in. 375

Here enters the Maior and the Watch.
How now, M aister Maior, haue you brought

my husband home?
Maior. I sawe him come into your house

an hour agoe.

Ales. You are deceiued; it was a Londoner.
Maior. Mistres Arden, know you not one

that is called blacke Will?
Ales. I know none such: what meane
these questions? 380

Maior. I haue the counsels warrand to

aprehend him.

Ales. I am glad it is no worse.
Why, M(aister) maior, thinke you I harbour

any such?

Ma. We are informd that here he is;
And therefore pardon vs, for we must search.
Ales. I, search, and spare you not, through
euery roome: 3 86

Were my husband at home, you would not
offer this.

375 Tiro linrs Qq, (!:>. knooke

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

ACT V, St. III.

Here enters Francklin.
M(aister) Francklin, what meane you come so

sad?
Fra. Arden, thy husband and my freend,

is slaine.

Ales. Ah! by whome? M(aister) Francklin,
can you tell? 39 o

Fra. I know not; but behind the abby
There he lyes murthred in most pittious

case.
Mai. But, M(aister) Francklin, are you sure

tis he?
Fra. I am too sure; would God I were

deceiued.

Ales. Finde out the Murthrers, let them be

knowne. 395

Fran. I, so they shall; come you along with

vs.

Ales. Wherefore?
Fran. Know you this handtowel and this

knyfe?

Su. Ah, michael, through this thy negli
gence

u hast betraied and vndone vs all. 400
Mic. I was so affraide I knew not what I

did:
[ thought I had throwne them both into the

well.
Ales. It is the pigs bloode we had to

supper,
iut wherfore stay you? finde out the mur-

thrers.

Ma. I feare me youle proue one of them

your selfe. 405

Ales. I one of them? what meane such

questions"
Fra. I feare me he was murthred in this

house

id carried to the fields; for from that place
Backwards and forwards may you see
" le print of many feete within the snow. 410
id looke about this chamber where we are,
id you shall finde part of his giltles bloode;
'or in his slipshoe did I finde some rushes,
rrL ich argueth he was murthred in this roome.

Ales. Ah, M(aister) Francklin, God and

heauen can tell

I loued him more than all the world beside.
But bring me to him, let me see his body.
Fra. Bring that villaine and mosbies sister
too; 42S

And one of you go to the flowre de luce,
And seeke for mosbie, and apprehend him to.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE II.

An obscure street in London.)
Here enters shakebag solus.
Sh. The widdow chambly, in her husbands

I kept; and now he's dead, she is growne so

stout

She will not know her ould companions.
I came thither, thinking to haue had
Harbour as I was wount, 5

And she was ready to thrust me out at doores;
But whether she would or no, I got me vp,
And as she followed me, I spurnd her down

the staires,
And broke her neck, and cut her tapsters

throat,
And now I am going to fling them in the

Temes. 10

I haue the gould; what care I though it bd

knowne 1
lie crosse the water and take sanctuary.

[Exit shakbag.

(SCENE m.

Arden's House at Feversham.}
Here enters the Maior, Mosbie, Ales, Francklin,

Michaell, and Susan.
Maior. See, M(istris) Arden, where your

husband lyes;

Confesse this foule fault and be penitent.
Ales. Arden, sweete husband, what shall

I say?

The more I sound his name, the more he
uivu aiguem ue was muruireu in uns roome. bleedes;

Ma. Looke in the place where he was wont This bloode condemnes me, and in gushing
to sit. 415 foorth 5

. see! his blood! it is too manifest. j Speakes as it fallcs, and askes me why I did it.

Ales. It is a cup of Wine that michaell shed, j Forgiue me, Arden: I repent me nowe,

Fran. It is his bloode, which, strumpet,

thou hast shed.

lut if I liue, thou and thy complices 420

"hich haue conspired and wrought his death

shall rue it.
393 you o;n. 3 421 Two lines Qj, da: deatli

T. B.

And, would my death saue thine, thou shouldst

not dye.

Ryse vp, swete Arden, and enioy thy loue,
And frowne not on me when we mete in

heauen: 10

Scene II. etc. adtl. T 1 ends kept Qq 7 got]
goe3 Scene IIL etc. add. T

33 c

ACT V, Sc. III. THE LAMENTABLE AND TRVE TRAGEDY OF

In heauen I loue thee, though on earth I did

not.
Maior. Say, Mosby, what made thee mur-

ther him?
Fro. Study not for an answer; looke not

down:

His pursse and girdle found at thy beds head
Witnes sufficiently thou didst the deede; 15
It booties is to sweare thou didst it not.
Mos. I hyred black Will and Shakebagge,

Ruffynes both,

And they and I haue done this murthrous deed.
But wherefore stay we? Come and beare me

hence.

Fran. Those Ruffins shall not escape; I

will vp to London, 2

And get the counsels warrand to apprehend

them. [Exeunt.

(SCENE IV.
The Kentish Coast)

Here enters Will.

Will. Shakebag, I heare, hath taken sanc
tuary,

But I am so pursued with hues and cryes
For petty robberies that I haue done,
That I can come vnto no Sanctuary.
Therefore must I in some Oyster bote 5

At last be faine to go a boord some Hoye,
And so to Flushing. There is no staying here.
At Sittinburgh the watch was like to take me,
And had I not with my buckler couerd my

head,

And run full blanck at all aduentures, 10

I am sure I had nere gone further then that

place;

For the Constable had 20 warrands to appre
hend me;
Besides that, I robbed him and his Man once

at Gades hill.
Farewell, England; He to Flushing now.

[Exit WiU.

(SCENE V.

Justice-Room at Feversham.)
Here enters the Maior, Mosbye, Ales, Michaell,

Susan, and Bradshaw.
Maior. Come, make haste & bring away

the prisoners.

Brad. M(istris) Arden, you are now going
to God,

11 I] I'll T 17 ftro lines Qq 19 Tiro lints Qq
20 ends escape Qq Scene IV. etc. add. T 8 Sit-
tingburn J 91 not] not I OS, tic. Scene V.
ttc. add. T 2 M. Q 1 : Master Q3

And I am by the law condemned to die
About a letter I brought from M(aister)

Greene.

I pray you, M istris Arden, speak the
trueth : 5

Was I euer priuie to your intent or no.

Ales. What should I say? You brought me

such a letter,

But I dare sweare thou knewest not the con
tents.

Leaue now to trouble me with worldly things,

And let me meditate vpon my sauiour

Christ, 10

Whose bloode must saue me for the bloode I

shed.
Mos. How long shall I liue in this hell of

griefe?

Conuey me from the presence of that strumpet.
Ales. Ah, but for thee I had neuer beene

(a) strumpet.

What can not oathes and protestations doe, 15
When men haue opportunity to woe?
I was too young to sound thy villanies,
But now I finde it and repent too late.

Su. Ah, gentle brother, wherefore should

I die?

I knew not of it till the deed was don. 20

Mos. For thee I mourne more then for my

selfe;
But let it suffice, I can not saue thee now.

Mic. And if your brother and my Mistres
Had not promised me you in marriage,
I had nere giuen consent to this foule deede. 25

Maior. Leaue to accuse each other now
And Us ten to the sentence I shall giue:
Beare Mosbie and his sister to London straight,
Where they in smithfield must be executed;
Beare M(istris) Arden vnto Canterburye, 30
Where her sentence is she must be burnt;
Michaell and Bradshaw in Feuershame
Must suffer death.

Ales. Let my death make amends for all my

shines.

Mos. Fy vpon women! this shall be my

song; 35

But beare me hence, for I haue liued to

long.
Susan. Seing no hope on earth, in heauen

is my hope.
Mic. Faith, I care not, seeing I die with

Susan.

Bradshaw. My bloode be on his head that

gaue the sentence. 39

Maior. To speedy execution with them all I

[Exeunt.

7 Tiro lines Qq 14 a add. J 22 But 0111. J
32-3 Tiro lines (j:i : OIK tine QJ 34 siniu- <<*''

M. ARDEN OF FEVERSHAME

ACT V, EPILOGUE

(EPILOGUE.)
Heere enters Francklin.
Fran. Thus haue you scene the trueth of

Ardens death.

As for the Ruffins, Shakbag and blacke Will,
The one tooko Sanctuary, and, being sent for

out,

Was murthred in South wark as he past 4
To Greenewitch, where the Lord Protector lay.
Black Will was burnt in Flushing on a stage;
Greene was hanged at Osbridge in Kent;
The Painter fled & how he dyed we know not.

Epilogue : Scene VI WP
Osbringe J

6 at a stake J

But this aboue the rest is to be noted:

Arden lay murthred in that plot of ground 10

Which he by force and violence held from

Rede;

And in the grasse his bodyes print was seene
Two yeeres and more alter the deede was

doone.
Gentlemen, we hope youle pardon this naked

Tragedy,

Wherin no filed points are foisted in 1 5

To make it gratious to the eare or eye;
For simple trueth is gratious enough,
And needes no other points of glosing stufie.

FINIS.

THE

Lamentable Tragedie of

ari*r,the eldeft fonneof King Brutus -, difcour-

fing the warres of the Brita/nes^nd Httnncs,

with their difcomfiture:

The Britaines vitforie with their Accidents jnd the

death of Albanatf. NoleJJc (leaf a*t the*

profitable.

Newly fetfoorth, ouerfeenc andcorrcdted,
By vr. s.

LONDON

Printed by Thomas Creede.
i 5 9 f

Q = Quarto of 1595
F 1 = (Third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664
F 2 = (Fourth) 1685

R - Rowe, 1709

Pope = Supplement to Pope s Shakespeare, 1728
M = Malone, 1780
St = Steevens, ibid.
Th. = Theobald, ibid.
S = Simms, 1848
T = Tyrrell 1851
Haz. = Hazlitt, 1852
Mott. = Moltke, 1869
pr. ed. = present editor

THE ELDEST SONNE OF KING BRVTVS, DISCOVRSING

THE WARRES OF THE BRITAINES AND HVNNES,

WITH THEIR DISCOMFITVRE, THE BRITAINES

VICTORY WITH THEIR ACCIDENTS, AND

THE DEATH OF ALBANACT

(DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

BRUTUS, King of Britain.
LOCRINE,

CAMBER,
ALBANACT,

his Sons.

THRASIMACHUS, Corineius his Son.
DEBON, an old Officer.
HUMBER, King of the Scythians.
HUBBA, his Son.

THRASSIER, a Scythian Commander.
STRUMBO, \

TRUMP ART, (
>

OLIVER,
WILLIAM,

_ f

Clowns.

GUENDOLINE, Corineius his Daughter, married

to Locrine.

ESTRILD, Humber's Wife.
ATE, the Goddess of Revenge.

Ghosts of Albanact, and Corineius.)

The first Act. Prologue.

Enter Atey with thunder and lightning att in
black, with a burning torch in one hand,
and a bloodie swoord in the other hand, and
presently let there come foorth a Lion run
ning after a Beare or any other beast; then
come foorth an Archer who must kill the
Lion in a dumbe show, and then depart.
Remaine Atey.

Atey. In pcenam sectatur & Vmbra.
A Mightie Lion, ruler of the woods,
Of wondrous strength and great proportion,
With hideous noyse scarring the trembling

trees,

With yelling clamors shaking all the earth,
Trauerst the groues, and chast the wandring

beasts. 5

Long did he raunge amid the shadie trees,
And draue the silly beasts before his face,
When suddeinly from out a thornie bush,
A dreadfull Archer with his bow ybent,
Wounded the Lion with a dismall shaft. 10
So he him stroke that it drew forth the blood,
And fild his furious heart with fretting yre;
But all in vaine he threatneth teeth and pawes,
And sparkleth fire from forth his flaming

eies,

Drninatts Perxonm mW. Roice i>'. D. Prologue]
Scene 1 Q 11 strook //

For the sharpe shaft gaue him a mortall
wound. 15

So valiant Brute, the terror of the world,
Whose only lookes did scarre his enemies,
The Archer death brought to his latest end.
Oh what may long abide aboue this ground,
In state of blisse and healthfull happinesse. 20

[Exit.

The first Ad. Scene 1.
Enter Brutus carried in a chaire, Locrine,
Camber, Albanact, Corineius, Guendelin,
Assaracus, Debon, Thrasimachus.
Brutus. Most loyall Lords and faithful fol
lowers,

That haue with me, vnworthie Generall,
Passed the greedie gulfe of Ocean,
Leauing the confines of faire Italic,
Behold, your Brutus draweth nigh his end, 5
And I must leaue you, though against my

will.

My sinewes shrunke, my numbed sences faile,
A chilling cold possesseth all my bones;
Blacke vgly death, with visage pale and

wanne,

Presents himself e before my dazeled eies, 10
And with his dart prepared is to strike.
These armes my Lords, these neuer daunted
armes,
S. D. Scene 1] Scene 2 Q 7 shrink .V

ACT I, Sc. I.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

That oft haue queld the courage of my foes,
And eke dismayd my neighbours arrogancie,
Now yeeld to death, orelaid with crooked age,
Deuoyd of strength and of their proper force,
Euen as the lustie cedar worne with yeares, 1 7
That farre abroad her daintie odore throwes,
Mongst all the daughters of proud Lebanon.
This heart, my Lords, this neare appalled heart,
That was a terror to the bordring lands, 21
A dolefull scourge vnto my neighbor Kings,
Now by the weapons of vnpartiall death,
Is cloue asunder and bereft of life,
As when the sacred oake with thunderbolts,
Sent from the fiery circuit of the heauens, 26
Sliding along the aires celestiall valts,
Is rent and clouen to the verie rootes.
In vaine, therefore, I strangle with this foe;
Then welcome death, since God will haue it so.
Assar. Alasse, my Lord, we sorrow at your

case, 3 1

And greeue to see your person vexed thus;
But what so ere the fates determine! haue,
It lieth not in vs to disanull,
And he that would annihillate his minde, 35
Soaring with Icarus too neare the Sunne,
May catch a fall with yoong Bellerophon.
For when the fatall sisters haue decreed
To seperate vs from this earthly mould,
No mortall force can countermaund their

minds: 40

Then, worthie Lord, since ther's no way but

one,
Cease your laments, and leaue your grieuous

mone.
Corin. Your highnesse knows how many

victories,

How many trophees I erected haue
Tryumphantly in euery place we came. 45
The Grecian Monarke, warlike Pandrassus,
And all the crew of the Molossians;
Goffarius, the arme strong King of Gaules,
And all the borders of great Aquitane,
Haue Mt the force of our victorious armes,
And to their cost beheld our chiualrie. 51

Where ere Aurora, handmayd of the Sunne,
Where ere the Sun, bright gardiant of the

day,

Where ere the ioyfull day with chearfull light,
Where ere the light illuminates the world, 55
The Troyans glorie flies with golden wings,
Wings that do soare beyond fell enuies flight.
The fame of Brutus and his followers
Pearceth the skies, and with the skies the

throne

29 strangle Q : struggle Ff, etc. 35 their minds
JHf 49 om. Ff, etc. 52 Ancora Q 53 Sun-
bright Q 55 world] word Q 57 enuious Q, Ff

Of mightie loue, Commaunder of the world. 60
Then worthie Brutus, leaue these sad laments;
Comfort your selfe with this your great re-

nowne,

And feare not death though he seeme terrible.
Brutus. Nay, Corin(e)us, you mistake my

mynd

In construing wrong the cause of my com
plaints. 65
I feard to yeeld my selfe to fatall death!
God knowes it was the least of all my

thought(s) ;

A greater care torments my verie bones,
And makes me tremble at the thought of it,
And in you, Lordings, doth the substance

lie. 70

Th~asi. Most noble Lord, if ought your

loyall peers

Accomplish may, to ease your lingring grief,
I, in the name of all, protest to you,
That we will boldly enterprise the same,
Were it to enter to black Tartarus, 75

Where triple Cerberus with his venomous

throte,
Scarreth the ghoasts with high resounding

noyse.

Wele either rent the bowels of the earth,
Searching the entrailes of the brutish earth,
Or, with his Ixions ouerdaring sonne, 80

Be bound in chaines of euerduring steele.
Bru. Then barken to your soueraigns latest

words,

In which I will vnto you all vnfold
Our royall mind and resolute intent :
When golden Hebe, daughter to great lone,
Couered my manly cheeks with youthful

downe, 86

Th' vnhappie slaughter of my lucklesse sire,
Droue me and old Assar achus, mine eame,
As exiles from the bounds of Italy:
So that perforce we were constraind to flie 90
To Grcecias Monarke noble Pandrassus.
There I alone did vndertake your cause,
There I restord your antique libertie,
Though Grecia fround, and all Mollossia

stormd,

Though braue Antigonus, with martiall band,
In pitched field encountred me and mine, 9*
Though Pandrassus and his contributories,
With all the rout of their confederates,
Sought to deface our glorious memorie
And wipe the name of Troians from the

earth. 100

Him did I captiuate with this mine arme,
And by compulsion forest him to agree

67 thought nil alii. 80 son J/ : soone Q : soon
Ff 91 Graeeians Q, Ff

LOCRINE

ACT I, Sc. I.

To certain artickles which there we did pro
pound.

From Grcecia through the boisterous Helles
pont,

We came vnto the fields of Lestrigon, 105
Whereas our brother Corineius was.
Since when we passed the Cicillian gulfe,
And so transfretting the Illirian sea,
Arriued on the coasts of Aquitane,
Where with an armie of his barbarous Gunles
Goffarius and his brother Gathelus in

Encountring with our boast, sustaind the

foile.

And for your sakes my Turnus there I lost,
Turnus that slew six hundreth men at armes
All in an houre, with his sharpe battle-axe.
From thence vpon the strons of Albion 116
To Corus hauen happily we came,
And queld the giants, comme of Albions race,
With Gogmagog sonne to Samotheus,
The cursed Captaine of that damned crew. 1 20
And in that lie at length I placed you.
Now let me see if my laborious toiles,
If all my care, if all my greeuous wounds,
If all my diligence were well imploid.

Corin. When first I followed thee & thine,
braue king, 1 23

I hazarded my life and dearest blood,
To purchace fauour at your princely hands,
And for the same in daungerous attempts
In sundry conflicts and in diuers broiles,
I shewd the courage of my manly mind. 130
For this I combated with Gathelus,
The brother to Goffarius of Gaule;
For this I fought with furious Gogmagog,
A sauage captaine of a sauage crew; 134

And for these deeds braue Cornwale I receiu'd,
A grate full gift giuen by a gratious King;
And for this gift, this life and dearest blood,
Will Corineus spend for Brutus good.

Deb. And what my trend, braue prince,

hath voud to you,

The same wil Debon do vnto his end. 140

Bru. Then, loyall peeres, since you are all

agreed,

And resolute to follow Brutus hoasts,
Fauour my sonnes, fauour these Orphans,

Lords,
And shield them from the daungers of their

foes.

Locrine, the columne of my familie, 1 45

And onely piller of my weakned age,
Locrine, draw neare, draw neare vnto thy sire,
And take thy latest blessings at his hands:

10:5 which there out. M 107 Since M : Which Q, Ff
f.'ilician M 108 transfreighting Molt. Illician 0,

Ff 116 stronds Ff 118 conuie Q

142 hests Jf
41

And for thou art the eldest of my sonnes,
Be thou a captaine to thy bretheren, 159
And imitate thy aged fathers steps,
Which will conduct thee to true honors gate;
For if thou follow sacred vertues lore,
Thou shalt be crowned with a lawrell braunch,
And weare a wreath of sempiternall fame,
Sorted amongst the glorious happie ones. 150
Locrin. If Locrine do not follow your

aduise,

And beare himselfe in all things like a prince
That seekes to amplifie the great renowne
Left vnto him for an inheritage 160

By those that were his ancestors,
Let me be flung into the Ocean,
And swallowed in the bowels of the earth,
Or let the ruddie lightning of great loue
Descend vpon this my deuoted head. 165

Brutus (taking Guendoline by the hand).

But for I see you all to be in doubt,
Who shall be matched with our royall sonne,
Locrine, receiue this present at my hand,
A gift more rich then are the wcalihie mines
Found in the bowels of America. 170

Thou shalt be spoused to faire Guendoline;
Loue her, and take her, for she is thine

owne,

If so thy vnckle and her selfe do please.
Corin. And herein how your highnes honors

It cannot (now) be in my speech exprest ; 175
For carefull parents glorie not so much
At their honour and promotion,
As for to see the issue of their blood
Seated in honor and prosperitie.

Guend. And far be it from any maydens

thoughts i So

To contradict her aged fathers will.
Therefore, since he to whom I must obey
Hath giuen me now vnto your royall selfe,
I will not stand aloofe from off the lure,
Like craftie dames that most of all deny 185
That which they most desire to possesse.
Brutus (turning to Locrine. Locrine kneel-

ing). Then now, my sonne, thy part is

on the stage,
For thou must beare the person of a King.

[Puts the Crowne on his head.
Locrine, stand vp, and weare the regall

Crowne,

And thinke vpon the state of Maiestie, 190
That thou with honor well maist weare the

crown.
And if thou tendrest these my latest words,

161 his] his glorious M 165 denolted Q 175
now add. Ff 177 their] their own M 180 any

conj. Th : niy Q : my pure Ff Maiden Ff

c 3

ACT I, Sc. I.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

As thou requirst my soule to be at rest,
As thou desirest thine owne securitie,
Cherish and loue thy new betrothed wife. 195
Locrin. No longer let me wel enioy the

crowne,

Then I do (honour) peerlesse Gaendoline.
Brat. Camber.
Cam. My Lord.

Brat. The glorie of mine age,

And darling of thy mother Imogen,
Take thou the South for thy dominion. 200
From thes there shall proseed a royall race,
That shall maintains the honor of this land,
And sway the regall scepter with their hands.
[Turning to Albanact.
And Albanact, thy fathers onely ioy,
Yoongst in yeares, but not the yoongst in mind,
A perfect patterne of all chiualrie, 206

Take thou the North for thy dominion,
A country full of hills and ragged rockes,
Replenished with fearce vntamei beasts,
As correspondent to thy martial! thought?.
Liue long, my sonnes, with endlesse happi-

nesse, 211

And beare firme concordance amongst your

selues.

Obey the counsels of these fathers graue,
That you may better beare out violence.
But suddeinly, through weaknesse of my age,
And the defect of youthfull puissance, 216
My maladie increaseth more and more,
And cruell death hastneth hh quicknei pace,
To dispossesse me of my earthly shape.
Mine eies wax dimme, ouercast with clouds of

age, 220

The pangs of death compasse my crazed

bones ;

Thus to you all my blessings I bequeath,
And with my blessings, this my fleeting soule.
My glasse is runne, and all my miseries 224
Do end with life; death closet h vp mine eies,
My soule in haste flies to the Elisian fields.

[He dieth.
Loc. Accursed starres, damd and accursed

starres,

To abreuiate my noble fathers life!
Hard-harted gods, and too enuious fates,
Thus to cut off my fathers fatall thred! 230
Brutus, that was a glorie to vs all,
Brutus, that was a terror to his foes,
Alasse, too soone, by Demagorgons knife,
The martiall Brutus is bereft of life!

197 do honour peerlesse M: do peerlesse Ff-
do honour Hnz. 199 luno.ger 0, Ff: corr Th

203 And] That Q, Ff 204 onely] other conj. S

212 concordance firm among S 229 and re

too S

Corin. No sad complaints may moue iust

Aeacns, 235

No dreadfull threats can feare iudge Rho-

domanth.

Wert thou as strong as mightie Hercules,
That tamde the hugie monsters of the world,
Plaidst thou as sweet, on the sweet sounding

lute,

As did the spouse of faire Euridise, 240

That did enchant the waters with his noise,
And made stones, birds, and beasts, to lead a

dance,

Constraind the hillie trees to follow him,
Thou couldst not moue the iudge of Erebus,
Nor moue compassion in grimme Plutos

heart; 245

For fatall M ors expecteth all the world,
And euerie man must tread the way of death.
Braue Tantalus, the valiant Pelops sire,
Guest to the gods, suffred vntimely death,
And old Tithonus, husband to the morne, 250
And eke grim Minos, whom iust lupiter
Deigned to admit vnto his sacrifice.
The thundring trumpets of blood-thirstie Mars.
The fearfull rage of fell Tisiphone,
The boistrous waues of humid Ocean, 255
Are instruments and tooles of dismall death.
Then, noble cousin, cease to mourne his

chaunce,
Whose age & yeares were signes that he shuld

die.

It resteth now that we interre his bones,
That was a terror to his enemies. 260

Take vp the coarse, and, princes, hold him

dead,

Who while he liu'd, vpheld the Troyan state.
Sound drums and trumpets; march to Troi-

nouant,
There to prouide our chieftaines funerall.

(Exeunt.}

The first Act. Scene 2.

(The house of Strumbo.)

Enter Strumbo aboue in a gowne, with inke and

paper in his hand, saying:
Strum. Either the foure elements, the seuen
planets, and all the particuler starres of the
pole Antastick, are aduersatiue against me, or
e'se I was begotten and borne in the wane
of the Moone, when euerie thing as Lactantius
in his fourth booke of Constultations dooth
say, goeth asward. I, maisters, I, you may
laugh, but I must weepe; you may ioy, but I

2.15 Pnfjc Corin. prtctdts 236 in 1 acns Q. Ff
236 just Hnz. 2.38 lingest S 240 Etr idies Q

244 Ciebus 0, Ff S. D. Scene2]Peene 3 Q Brni-Mtd
word* add. 1 3 Antarctic T 5 as] as saith Q

LOCRINE

ACT I, Sc. II.

must sorrow; sheading salt teares from the
watrie fountaines oi my moste daintie faire
eies, along my comely and smooth cheeks, in
as great plentie as the water runneth from the
buckingtubbes, or red wine out of the hogs
heads: for trust me, gentlemen and my verie
good friends, and so foorth, the little god, nay
the desperate god Cuprit, with one of his ven-
gible birdbolts, hath shot me vnto the heele:
so not onlie, but also, oh fine phrase, I burne,
I burne, and I burne a, in loue, in loue, and in
loue a. Ah, Slrumbo, what hast thou seen? not
Dina with the Asse Tom? Yea, with these
eies thou hast seene her, and therefore pull
them out, for they will worke thy bale. Ah,
Strumbo, hast thou heard? not the voice of
the Nightingale, but a voice sweeter then hers.
Yea, with these eares hast thou heard it,
and therefore cut them off, for they haue
causde thy sorrow. Nay, Strumbo, kill thy
self e, drowne thy selfe, hang thy selfe, sterue
thy selfe. Oh, but then I shall leaue my sweet
heart. Oh my heart! Now, pate, for thy
maister! I will dite an aliquant loue-pistle to
her, and then she hearing the grand verbositie
of my scripture, will loue me presently. 34
[Let him write a litle and then read.
My penne is naught; gentlemen, lend me a
knife. I thinke the more haste the worst
speed. 37

[Then write againe, and after read.

So it is, mistresse Dorothie, and the sole
essence of my soule, that the little sparkles of
affection kindled in me towards your sweet selfe
hath now increased to a great flame, and will
ere it be long consume my poore heart, except
you, with the pleasant water of your secret foun-
taine, quench the furious heate of the same.
Alasse, I am a gentleman of good fame and
name, maiesticall, in parrell comely, in gate
portlie. Let not therefore your gentle heart be
so hard as to despise a proper tall, yoong man
of a handsome life, and by despising him, not
onlie, but also to kill him. Thus expecting time
and tide, I bid you farewell. Your seruant,
Signior Strumbo. 52

Oh wit! Oh pate! memorie! hand!
incke! paper! Well, now I will send it
away. Trompart, Trompart! what a villaine is
this? Why, sirra, come when your maister
calls you. Trompart!

Trompart, entring, saith;
Anon, sir.

Strumbo. Thou kncwest, my prettie boy,

what a good maister I haue bene to thee euer
since I tooke thee into my sendee. 61

Trom. I, sir.

Strum. And how I haue cherished thee
alwaies, as if you had bene the fruit of my
loines, flesh of my flesh, and bone of my
bone. 66

Trom. I, sir.

Strum. Then shew thy selfe herein a trustie

seruant, and carrie this letter to mistresse

Dorothie, and tell her 7 o

[Speaking in his eare. Exit Trompart.

Strum. Nay, maisters, you shall see a
marriage by and by. But here she comes.
Now must I frame my amorous passions.

Enter Dorothie and Trompart.

Doro. Signior Strumbo, well met. I re-
ceiued your letters by your man here, who told
mee a pittifull storie of your anguish, and so
vnderstanding your passions were so great, I
came hither speedily. 78

Strum. Oh my sweet and pigsney, the
fecunditie of my ingenie is not so great, that
may declare vnto you the sorrowful sobs and
broken sleeps, that I suffred for your sake;
and therefore I desire you to receiue me into
your familiaritie.

For your loue doth lie, 85

As neare and as nigh
Vnto my heart within,
As mine eye to my nose,
My legge vnto my hose,
And my flesh vnto my skin. 90
Dor. Truly, M(aister) Strumbo, you speake
too learnedly for mee to vnderstand the drift
of your mind, and therfore tell your tale
in plaine termes, and leaue off your darke
ridles. 95

Strum. Alasse, mistresse Dorothie, this is
my lucke, that when I most would, I cannot
be vnderstood; so that my great learning is
an inconuenience vnto me. But to speake in
plaine termes, I Icue you, mistresse Dorothie,
ii you like to accept me into your familiaritie.
Dor. If this be all, I am content. 102

Strum. Saist thou so, sweet wench; let
me lick thy toes. Farwell, mistresse.

[Turning to the people.]

If any of you be in loue, prouide ye a
capcase full of new coined wordes, and then
shall you soone haue the succado de labres, and
something else. [Exeunt.

IGCiipritow. H'.., Molt. 24 liast] what hast J/ (H you had] thou hadst Fj
20 it J/ : them Q, Ff 36 worse M 102 <?

104 S. D. after

ACT I, Sc. III.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIK OF

The first Act. Scene 3.

(An apartment in the palace.}

Enter Locrine, Guendoline, Camber, Albanact,

Corineus, Assaracus, Debon, Thrasimachus.

Locrine. Vncle, and princes of braue

Britany,

Since that our noble father is intombd,
As best beseemd so braue a prince as he,
If so you please, this day my loue and I,
Within the temple of Concordia, 5

Will solemnize our roiall marriage.

Thru. Right noble Lord, your subiects

euery one,
Must needs obey your highnesse at com-

maund;

Especially in such a cause as this,
That much concerns your highnesse great
content. 10

Locr. Then frolick, lor dings, to fair Con
cords wals,

Where we will passe the day in knightly sports,
The night in dauncing and in figured maskes,
And offer to God Risus all our sports. [Exeunt.

The 2. Ad. Prologue.

Enter Atey as before. After a litle lightning
and thundring, let there come forth this
show: Perseus and Andromeda, hand in
hand, and Cepheus also, with swords and
targets. Then let there come out of an
other doore, Phineus, all blacke in armour,
with Aethiopians after him, driuing in
Perseus, and hauing taken away Andro
meda, let them depart, Ate remaining,
saying:

Ate. Regit omnia numen.
When Perseus married faire Andromeda,
The onlie daughter of king Cepheus,
He thought he had establisht well his Crowne,
And that his kingdome should for aie endure.

The 1. Scene.

Enter Humber, Hubba, Estrild, Segar, and
their souldiers.

Hum. At length the snaile doth clime the

highest tops,

Ascending vp the stately castle walls;
At length the water with continual! drops,
Doth penetrate the hardest marble stone;
At length we are arriued in Albion. 5

Nor could the barbarous Dacian soueraigne,
Nor yet the ruler of braue Belgia,
Staie vs from cutting ouer to this lie,
Whereas I heare a troope of Phrigians
Vnder the conduct of Postumius sonne, 10
Haue pitched vp lordly pauillions,
And hope to prosper in this louely lie.
But I will frustrate all their foolish hope,
And teach them that the Scilhian Emperour
Leades fortune tied in a chaine of gold, 15
Constraining her to yeeld vnto his will,
And grace him with their regall diademe,
Which I will haue maugre their treble hoasts,
And all the power their pettie kings can make.

Hubba. If she that rules faire Rhamnis
golden gate 20

Graunt vs the honour of the victorie,
As hitherto she alwaies fauourd vs,
Right noble father, we will rule the land,
Enthronized in seates of Topace stones, 24
That Locrine and his brethren all may know,
None must be king but Humber and his sonne.

Hum. Courage, my sonne, fortune shall

fauour vs,

And yeeld to vs the coronet of bay,
That decketh none but noble conquerours.
But what saith Estrild to these regions? 30
How liketh she the temperature thereof?
Are they not pleasant in her gratious eies?

Estr. The plaines, my Lord, garnisht with
Floras welth,

But, , loe, proud Phineus with a band of men, 6 And ouerspred with party colored flowers,

Contriu'd of sun -burnt Aethiopians,
By force of armes the bride he tooke from him,
And turnd their ioy into a floud of teares.
So fares it with yoong Locrine and his loue, 10
He thinkes this marriage tendeth to his weale;
But this foule day, this foule accursed day,
Is the beginning of his miseries.
Behold where Humber and his Scithians
Approcheth nigh with all his warlike traine.
I need not, I, the sequel shall declare, 16

What tragicke chances fall out in this warre.

S. D. Scene 3] Scene 4 Q P.rncketfd words add. T
9 cause] case M 14 sports] tasks conj. M S V
Prologue] Scene 1 Q 1 Composed S 16 shall]

Do yeeld sweet contentation to my mind. 35
The aierie hills enclosd with shadie groues,
The groues replenisht with sweet chirping

birds,

The birds resounding heauenly melodic,
Are equall to the groues of Thessaly, 39

Where Phoebus with the learned Ladies nine,
Delight themselues with musicke harmonic,
And from the moisture of the mountaine tops,
The silent springs daunce downe with mur
muring streams, 43
And water al the ground with cristal waucs.
The gentle blasts of Eurus, modest winde,

The 2. Scene
I 41 musiek's 31

13 hopes o 33 Prrfix Astr.

LOCRIN'E

ACT II, Sc. II.

Mouing the pittering leaues of Siluanes woods,
Do equall it with Tempes paradice; 47

And thus consorted all to one effect,
Do make me thinke these are the happie lies,
Most fortunate, if Humber may them winne.
Hubba. Madam, where resolution leads the

way, 51

And courage followes with imboldened pace,
Fortune can neuer vse her tyrannic;
For valiantnesse is like vnto a rocke
That standeth in the waues of Ocean, 55

Which though the billowes beat on euery side,
And Boreas fell with his tempestuous stormes
Bloweth vpon it with a hideous clamour,
Yet it remaineth still vnmooueable.

Hum. Kingly resolu'd, thou glorie of thy

sire. 60

But, worthie Segar, what vncoth nouelties
Bringst thou vnto our royall maiestie?

Seg. My Lord, the yoongest of all Brutus

sonnes,

Stout Albunud, with millions of men,
Approcheth nigh, and meaneth, ere the

morne, 65

To trie your force by dint of fatall sword.
Hum. Tut, let him come with millions of

hostes;

He shall find entertainment good inough,
Yea, fit for those that are our enemies:
For weell receiue them at the launces points,
And massaker their bodies with our blades : 71
Yea, though they were in number infinit,
More then the mightie Babilonian queene,
Semiramis the ruler of the West,
Brought gainst the Emperour of the Sci-

thians; 75

Yet would we not start back one foote from

them:

That they might know we are inuincible.
Hub. Now, by great loue, the supreme

king of heauen,

And the immortall gods that Hue therein,
When as the morning shewes his chearfull

face, So

And Lucifer, mounted vpon his steed,
Brings in the chariot of the golden sunne,
He meet yoong Albanad in the open field,
And crack my launce vpon his burganet,
To trie the valour of his boyish strength. 85
There will I shew such ruthfull spectacles
And cause so great effusion of blood,
That all his boyes shall wonder at my strength:
As when the warlike queene of Amazon,
Penthisilea, armed with her launce, 90

Girt with a corslet of bright shining steele,

40 ].atteriiif,' T
Vj Ji 13oiT;is ij

Coupt vp the fainthart Grecians in the

campe.
Hum. Spoke like a warlike knight, my

noble son;

Nay, like a prince that seekes his fathers ioy.
Therefore, to morrow, ere faire Titan shine,
And bash full Eos, messenger of light, 96

Expells the liquid sleep from out mens eyes,
Thou shalt conduct the right wing of the hoste;
The left wing shall be vnder Segars charge,
The reareward shall be vnder me my selfe. 100
And lonely Estrild, faire and gratious,
If fortune fauour me in mine attempts,
Thou shalt be queene of louely Albion.
Fortune shall fauour me in mine attempts,
And make the Queene ofiouely Albion. 105
Come, let vs in and muster vp our traine,
And furnish vp our lustie souldiers,
That they may be a bullwarke to our state,
And bring our wished ioyes to perfect end.

The 2. Scene.

Enter Strumbo, Dorothie, Trompart, cabling
shooes and singing. To them enter Captain.}
Trum. We Coblers lead a merie life:
All. Dan, dan, dan, dan:
Strum. Void of all enuie and of strife:
All. Dan diddle dan.

Dcr. Our ease is great, our labour small: 5
All. Dan, dan, dan, dan.
Strum. And yet our gaines be much withall :
All. Dan diddle dan.
Dor. With this art so fine and faire:
All. Dan, dan, dan, dan. 10

Trum. No occupation may compare:
All. Dan diddle dan.
Dor. For merie pastime and ioyfull glee :

Dan, dan, dan, dan.
Strum. Most happie men we Coblers bee: 15

Dan diddle dan.
Trum. The can stands full of nappie ale:

Dan, dan, dan, dan:
Strum. In our shop still withouten faile:

Dan diddle dan. 20

Dor. This is our meate, this is our focde:

Dan, dan, dan, dan:
Trum. This brings vs to a mery mood:

Dan didle dan.
Strum. This makes vs worke for companie:

Dan, dan, dan, dan: 26

Dor. To pull the tankards cheerfully:

Dan didle dan.
Trum. Drinke to thy husband, Dorothie,

Dan, dan, dan, dan: 3

48 consortftl ;,' : comforted Q. :5 t-nnie (} IS Prejijc Strum. If/ore 13, Dor. If/ore
83 the uin. T SJ Amazon* M l.'j Q, /'/': on;-. M

ACT II, Sc. II.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

Dor. Why, then, my Strumbo, ther's to thee:
Dan didle dan:

Strum. Drinke thou the rest, Trumpart,

amaine:
Dan, dan, dan, dan.

Dor. When that is gone, weell flit againe:
Dan didle dan. 36

Cap. The poorest state is farthest from

annoy.

How merily he sitteth on his stoole!
But when he sees that needs In must be prest,
Heele turne his note and sing another tune. 40
Ho, by your leaue, maister Cobler.

Stru. You are welcom, gentleman. What
wil you? any olda shooes or buskins? or will
you haue your shooes clouted? I will do them
as well as any Cobler in Cathnes whatsoeuer.

Captaine, shewing him presse mony.
maister Cobler, you are farre deceiued in mee,
for don you see this? I come not to buy any
shooes, but to buy your selfe; come, sir, you
must be a souldier in the kings cause. 50

Strum. Why, but heare you, sir; has your
king any commission to take any man against
his will. I promise you, I can scant beleeue it;
or did hee giue you commission? 54

Cap. sir, ye neede not care for that; I
neede no commission. Hold, here: I com
mand you, in the name of our king Albanact,
to appeare to morrow in the towne -house of
Cathnes. 5 9

Strum. King Nactaball! I crie God
mercy! what haue we to doo with him, or he
with vs? But you, sir master capontaile, draw
your pastebourd, or else I promise you, He
giue you a canuasado with a bastinado ouer
your shoulders, and teach you to come hither
with your implements. 66

Cap. I pray thee, good fellow, be content;
I do the kings commaund.

Strum. Put me out of your booke, then.

Cap. I may not.

Strumbo, snatching vp a staffe. No! Well,
come, sir, will your stomacke serue you?
by gogs blew hood and haiidom, I will haue
a bout with you. 7 4

Fight both.

Enter Thrasimachus.
How now, what noyse, what sodain clamors

this?
How now, my captain and the cobler so hard

at it?
Sirs, what is your quarrell? 77

31 here's Molt. 48 don't X 60 Nactabell
F L. _ 62 capoutaile Q 64 bastinano Q 71 Well]
76 Tito lines, die. nfler now M

MBKV JTIUII. iO

62 capoutaile
? 74 about Q,F1

Cap. Nothing, sir, but that he will not take
presse mony.

Thra. Here, good fellow; take it at my

command,
Vnlesse you meane to be stretcht. 81

Strum. Truly, master gentleman, I lacke
no mony; if you please, I will resigne it to
one of these poore fellowes.

Thrasi. No such matter, 85

Looke you be at the common house to morrow.

[Exit Thrasimachus and the captaine.

Strum. O, wife, I haue spunne a faire
thredde! If I had bene quiet, I had not bene
prest, and therefore well may I wayment. But
come, sirrha, shut vp, for we must to the
warres. [Exeunt.

The 3. Scene.

(The camp of Albanact.)

Enter Albanact, Debon, Thrasimachus,

and the Lords.

Alba. Braue cauileres, princes of Albany,
Whose trenchant blades with our deceased sire,
Passing the frontiers of braue Grcecia,
Were bathed in our enemies lukewarme blood,
Now is the time to manifest your wills, 5

Your hautie mindes and resolutions.
Now opportunitie is off red
To trie your courage and your earnest zeale,
Which you alwaies protest to Albanact;
For at this time, yea, at this present time, 10
Stout fugitiues, come from the Scithians

bounds,

Haue pestred euerie place with mutinies.
But trust me, Lordings, I will neuer cease
To persecute the rascal! runnagates,
Till all the riuers, stained with their blood, 15
Shall fully shew their fatall ouerthrow.
Deb. So shal your highnes merit great

renowne,
And imitate your aged fathers steppes.

Alba. But tell me, cousin, camst thou

through the plaines?

And sawst thou there the faint heart fugitiues
Mustring their weather-beaten souldiers? 21
What order keep they in their marshalling?

Thra. After we past the groues of Caledone,
Where murmuring riuers slide with silent

streames,

We did behold the stragling Scithians campe,
Repleat with men, storde with munition; 26
There might we see the valiant minded knights
Fetching carreers along the spatious plaines.

S. D. Tlie 4. Scene Q lirnrkftfd teordvadd. T 28
carriers Q, Ff: con: in id. of 1728 and independently
lyM

LOCRIXE

.A- 1 1, St. IV.

Humber and Hubba arm'd in azure blew,
Mounted vpon their coursers white as snow, 30
Went to behold the pleasant flowring fields;
Hector and Troialus, Priamus louely sonnes,
Chasing the Graecians ouer Simoeis,
Were not to be compared to these two knights.
Alba. Well hast thou painted out in elo
quence 35
The portraiture of Humber and his sonne,
As fortunate as was PoUcrates;
Yet should they not escape our conquering

swords,
Or boast of ought but of our clemencie.

Enter Strumbo and Trompart, crying often;
Wilde fire and pitch, wilde fire and pitch, &c.
Thru. What, sirs ! what mean you by these
clamors made, 40

Those outcries raised in our stately court?
Strum. Wilde fire and pitch, wilde fire and

pitch.
Thra. Villaines, I say, tell vs the cause

hereof?

Strum. Wilde fire and pitch, &c.

. Thra. Tell me, you villaines, why you make

this noise, 45

Or with my launce I will prick your bowels out.

Al Where are your houses, wher's your

dwelling place?

Strum. Place? Ha, ha, ha! laugh a
moneth and a day at him. Place! I cry God
mercy: why, doo you think that such poore
honest men as we be, hold our habitacles in
kings pallaces? Ha, ha, ha! But because you
seeme to be an abhominable chieftaine, I wil
tel you our state. 54

From the top to the toe,
From the head to the shoe;
From the beginning to the ending,
From the building to the burning. 58

This honest fellow and I had our mansion

cottage in the suburbes of this citie, hard by

the temple of Mercury. And by the common

souldiers of the Shitens, the Scithians what

do you call them? with all the suburbes were

burnt to the ground, and the ashes are left

there, for the countrie wiues to wash buckes

withall. 66

And that which greeues me most,

My louing wife,

(0 cruell strife!)

The wicked flames did roast. 70

And therefore, captaine crust,

37 M thinks a line lifts beot lost 1#fore (his aixl sug
gests: But were they brave as Phtliia's arm-strong
chief 38 shall T 58 brenning coitj. Tit :

brending T 67-70 Prose in-Q, Ff -.con: M

We will continuallie crie,
Except you seeke a reniedie
Our houses to reedifie
Which now are burnt to dust. 75

Both cry: Wild fire and pitch, wild fire and

pitch.

Alba. Well, we must remedie these out
rages,

And throw reuenge vpon their hatefull heads.
And you, good fellowes, for your houses burnt,
We will remunerate you store of gold, 80
And build your houses by our pallace gate.

Strumbo. Gate! O pettie treason to my
person! nowhere else but by your backside?
Gate! Oh how I am vexed in my coller! Gate!
I crie God mercie! Doo you hear, master
king? If you mean to gratifie such poore men
as we bee, you must build our houses by the
Tauerne. 88

Alba. It shall be done, sir.
Strum. Neare the Tauerne, I! by ladie, sir,
it was spoken like a good fellow. Do you
heare, sir ? when our house is builded, if you
do chance to passe or repasse that way, we will
bestowe a quart of the best wine vpon you.

[Exit.

Alb. It greeues me, lordings, that my sub-
iects goods 95

Should thus be spoiled by the Scithians,
Who, as you see, with lightfoote forragers
Depopulate the places where they come.
But cursed Humber thou shalt rue the day
That ere thou camst vnto Cathnesia. too

[Exeunt.

The 2. Act. Scene 4.

(The camp of Humber.)

Enter Humber, Hubba, Segar, Trussier, and

their souldiers.
Hum. Hubba, go take a coronet of our

horse,

As many launders, and light armed knights
As may suffice for such an enterprise,
And place them in the groue of Caledon.
With these, when as the skirmish doth encrease,
Retire thou from the sheltiers of the wood, 6
And set vpon the weakened Troians backs,
For pollicie ioyned with chiualrie
Can neuer be put back from victorie.

[Exit.

Albanact enter and. say (clownes with him).
(Alb.', Thou base borne Hunne, how durst
thou be so bold 1

74 redifte Q 90 by our lady . 8. I). Scene 5
Q Bracketed worrfv add. T 6 shelters // 8. D.
Enter Albanact, Clownes with him Ff

Aci II, Sc. IV. THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

As once to menace warlike Albanact,
The great commander of these regions?
But thou shalt buy thy rashnesse with thy

death,

And rue too late thy ouer bold attempts;
For with this sword, this instrument of death,
That hath bene drenched in my foe-mens
blood, l6

De separate thy bodie from thy head,
And set that coward blood of thine abroach.
Strum. Nay, with this staffe, great Strum-
bos instrument,

lie crack thy cockscome, paltry Scithian. 20
Hum. Nor wreake I of thy threats, thou

princox boy,

Nor do I feare thy foolish insolencie;
And but thou better vse thy bragging blade,
Then thou doest rule thy ouerflowing toong,
Superbious Brittaine, thou shalt know too
soone 2 S

The force of Number and his Scithians.

Let them fight.

Humber and his sorildiers runne in.
Strum. O horrible, terrible.

(Exit.}

The 5. Scene.

(Another part of the field of battle.)

Sound the alarms.
Enter Humber and his souldiers.
Hum. How brauely this yoong Brittain,

Albanact,

Darteth abroad the thunderbolts of warre,
Beating downe millions with his furious

moode,

And in his glorie triumphs ouer all, 4

Mouing the massie squadrants of the ground;
Heape s hills on hills, to scale the starrie skie,
As when Briareus, armed with an hundreth

hands,
Floong forth an hundreth mountains at great

loue,

And when the monstrous giant Monichus
Hurld mount Olimpus at great Mars his targe,
And shot huge caedars at Mineruas shield, n
How doth he ouerlooke with hautie front
My fleeting hostes, and lifts his loftie face
Against vs all that now do feare his force,
Like as we see the wrathfull sea from farre,
In a great mountaine heapt, with hideous

noise, I( ,

With thousand billowes beat against the ships,
And tosse them in the waues like tennis balls.

21 reck M S. D. Exit add. M S. D. The sixt Act
Q : Scena Sexta Ff Bnicke /( d it ords add. T 5 squad
rons Off J/ 6 Heaps 31 7 As oni. Q 9 And] As M

Sound the alar me.

Humb. Ay me, I feare my Hubba is sur-
prisde.

Sound againe; Enter Albanact.
Alba. Follow me, souldiers, follow Alba
nact; 20
Pursue the Scithians flying through the field:
Let none of them escape with victorie;
That they may know the Brittains force is

Then al the power of the trembling Hunnes.
Thru. Forward, braue souldiers, forward!
keep the chase. 2 S

He that takes captiue Humber or his sonne
Shall be rewarded with a crowne of gold.

Sound alarme, then let them fight, Humber
glue backe, Hubba enter at their backs, and kill
Debon, let Strumbo fall downe, Albanact run
in, and afterwards enter wounded.

Alba. Iniurious fortune, hast thou crost me

thus?

Thus, in the morning of my victories,
Thus, in the prime of my felicitie, 30

To cut me off by such hard ouerthrow!
Hadst thou no time thy rancor to declare,
But in the spring of all my dignities?
Hadst thou no place to spit thy venome out,
But on the person of yoong Albanactl 35
I, that ere while did scare mine enemies,
And droue them almost to a shamefull flight,
I, that ere while full lion -like did fare
Amongst the dangers of the thick throngd

Must now depart most lamentably slaine 40
By Humbers trecheries and fortunes spights.
Curst be her charms, damned be her cursed

charms

1 That doth delude the waiward harts of men,
I Of men that trust vnto her fickle wheele, 44
j Which neuer leaueth turning vpside downe.
gods, heauens, allot me but the place
Where I may finde her hatefull mansion!
| lie passe the Alpes to watry Meroe,
i Where fierie Phvbus in his charriot, 49

' The wheels wherof are dect with Emeraldes,
: Casts such a heate, yea such a scorching heate,
! And spoileth Flora of her checquered grasse;
lie ouerrun the mountaine Caucusus,
Where fell Chimtera in her triple shape
Rolleth hot flames from out her monstrous
panch, 55

Scaring the beasts with issue of her gorge;
He passe the frozen Zone where ysie flakes,

42 her charms 11 : their charms 0, Ff 49

Fhoebus Q 51 Casts R : Cast Q, Ff 52 And] As
S 53 overturn Ff, ttc.

LOCKIXE

Act II, Sc. VI.

Stopping the passage of the fleeting shippes,
Do lie like mountaines in the congeald sea:
Where if I finde that hatefull house of hers, 60
He pull the fickle wheele from out her hands,
And tie her selfe in euerlasting bands.
But all in vaine I breath these threatnings;
The day is lost, the Hunnes are conquerors,
Debon is slaine, my men are done to death, 65
The currents swift swimme violently with

blood,

And last, that this last might so long last,
My selfe with woundes past all recouery
Must leaue my crowne for Humber to possesse.
Strum. Lord haue mercy vpon vs, masters,
I think this is a holie day; euerie man lies
sleeping in the fields, but, God knowes, full
sore against their wills. 73

Thru. Flie, noble Albanact, and saue thy

selfe.

The Scithians follow with great celeritie,
And ther's no way but flight, or speedie death;
Flie, noble Albanact, and saue thy selfe.

(Exit Thra/
Sound the alarme.
Alba. Nay, let them flie that feare to die

the death,

That tremble at the name of fatall more.
Neu'r shall proud Humber boast or brag him-
selfe 80

That he hath put yoong Albanact to flight;
And least he should triumph at my decay,
This sword shall reaue his maister of his life,
That oft hath sau'd his maisters doubtfull life:
But, oh, my brethren, if you care for me, 85
Reuenge my death vpon his traitorous head.
Et vos queis domus est nigrantis regia ditis,
Qui regitis rigido stigios moderamine lucos:
Nox cceci regina poli, furialis Erinnis, 89
Diique deceque omnes, Albanum tollite regem,
Tollite flumineis vndis rigidaque palude.
Nunc me fata vacant, hoc condam pectore
ferrmn.

[Thrust himselfe through.

Enter Trompart.
(TV.) 0, what hath he don? his nose bleeds.

But, oh, I smel a foxe:

Looke where my maister lies. Master, master.
Strum. Let me alone, I tell thee, for I am
dead. 95

Trum. Yet one word, good master.
Strum. I will not speake, for I am dead, I
tel thee.

07 might co><7. -V: niylit Q, Vf 70 flight 7?:
fight Q, Ff S. D. Exit Tina. <. .V % word
M : good Q, Ff

Trum. And is my master dead?
sticks and stones, brickbats and bones,

and is my master dead? 100

you cockatrices and you bablatrices,

that in the woods dwell:
You briers and brambles, you cookes shoppes
and shambles,

come howle and yell.

With howling & screeking, with wailing and
weeping, 105

come you to lament,
Colliers of Croyden, and rusticks of Royden,

and fishers of Kent;
For Strumbo the cobler, the fine mery cobler

of Cathnes towne: no

At this same stoure, at this very houre,

lies dead on the ground.
maister, theeues, theeues, theeues.

Strum. Where be they? cox me tunny,
bobekin! let me be rising. Begone; we shall
be robde by and by. | Exeunt.

The 6. Scene.
(The camp of the Huns.)
Enter Humber, Hubba, Segar, Thrassier,

Estrild, and the souldiers.
Hum. Thus from the dreadful shocks of

furious Mars,

Thundring alarmes, and Rhamnusias drum,
We are retyred with ioyfull victorie.
The slaughtered Troians, squeltring in their

blood,

Infect the aire with their carcasses, 5

And are a praie for euerie rauenous bird.

Estrild. So perish they that are our enemies !
So perish they that loue not Numbers weale,
And mightie loue, commander of the world,
Protect my loue from all false trecheries. 10
Hum. Thanks, louely Estrild, solace to my

soule.

But, valiant Hubba, for thy chiualrie,
Declarde against the men of Albany,
Loe, here a flowring garland wreath'd of bay,
As a reward for thy forward minde. 1 5

Set it on his head.

Hub. This vnexpected honor, noble sire,
Will prick my courage vnto brauer deeds,
And cause me to attempt such hard exploits,
That all the world shall sound of Hubbaes

name.

Hum. And now, braue souldiers, for this
good successe, 20

Carouse whole cups of Amazonian wine,

S. D. The 8. Act Q : Scena Octava Ff Bradittul
irordx (idil. T

ACT II, Sc. VI.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

Sweeter then Nectar or Ambrosia,
And cast away the clods of cursed care,
With goblets crownd with Semeleius gifts.
Now let vs martch to Abis siluer streames, 25
That clearly glide along the Champane fields,
And moist the grassie meades withjuunid drops.
Sound drummes & trumpets, sound vp cheer

fully,
Sith we returne with ioy and victorie.

(Exeunt.}

The 3. Act. Prologue.
Enter Ate as before. The dumb show.

A Crocadile sitting on a riuers banke, and

a little Snake stinging it. Then let both

of them fall into the water.
Ate. Scelera in authorem cadunt.
High on a banke by Nilus boystrous streames,
Fearfully sat the Aegiptian Crocodile,
Dreadfully grinding in her sharpe long teethe
The broken bowels of a silly fish. 5

His back was armde against the dint of speare,
With shields of brasse that shind like burniaht

gold;

And as he stretched forth his cruell pawes,
A subtill Adder, creeping closely neare,
Thrusting his forked sting into his clawes, 10
Priuily shead his poison through his bones;
Which made him swel, that there his bowels

burst,

That did so much in his owne greatnesse trust.
So Humber, hauing conquered Albanact,
Doth yeeld his glorie vnto Locrines sword. 15
Marke what ensues and you may easily see,
That all our life is but a Tragedie.

The 1. Scene.
(Troynovant. An apartment in the Royal

Palace.}
Enter Locrine, Guendoline, Corineus, Assara-

cus, Thrasimachus, Camber.
Locrine. And is this true? Is Albanactus

slaine?

Hath cursed Humber, with his stragling hoste,
With that his armie made of mungrell curres,
Brought our redoubted brother to his end?
O that I had the Thracian Orpheus harpe, 5
For to awake out of the infernall shade
Those ougly diuels of black Erebus,
That might torment the damned traitors soule!
that I had Amphions instrument,
To quicken with his vitall notes and tunes 10
The flintie ioynts of euerie stonie rocke,

23 clouds S S. D. Exeunt add. R

IQ ** The 2 - Scene

SI)

By which the Scithians might be punished!
For, by the lightening of almightie loue,
The H urine shall die, had he ten thousand liues:
And would to God he had ten thousand liues, 15
That I might with the arme -strong Hercules
Crop off so vile an Hidras hissing heads!
But say me, cousen, for I long to heare,
How Albanact came by vntimely death.
Thrasi. After the traitrous boast of

Scithians 20

Entred the field with martiall equipage,
Yoong Albanact, impatient of delaie,
Ledde forth his armie gainst the stragling

mates,
Whose multitude did daunt our souldiers

mindes.

Yet nothing could dismay the forward prince,
But with a courage most heroicall, 26

Like to a lion mongst a flock of lambes,
Made hauocke of the faintheart f ugitiues,
Hewing a passage through them with his

sword.

Yea, we had almost giuen them the repulse,
When suddeinly, from out the silent wood, 31
Hubba, with twentie thousand souldiers,
Cowardly came vpon our weakened backes,
And murthered all with fatall massacre.
Amongst the which old Debon, martiall knight,
With many wounds was brought vnto the

death, 36

And Albanact, opprest with multitude,
Whilst valiantly he feld his enemies,
Yeelded his life and honour to the dust.
He being dead, the souldiers fled amaine, 40
And I alone escaped them by flight,
To bring you tidings of these accidents.

Locr. Not aged Priam, King of stately Troy,
Graund Emperour of barbarous Asia,
When he beheld his noble minded sonnes 45
Slaine traitorously by all the Mermidorts,
Lamented more then I for Albanact.

Guen. Not Hecuba, the queene of Ilium,
When she beheld the towne of Pergamus, 49
Her pallace, burnt with all deuouring flames,
Her fiftie sonnes and daughters fresh of hue
Murthred by wicked Pirrhus bloodie sword,
Shed such sad teares as I for Albanact.
Cam. The griefe of Niobe, faire Athens

queene, 54

For her seuen sonnes, magnanimious in field,
For her seuen daughters, fairer then the fairest,
Is not to be comparde with my laments.
Cor. In vain you sorow for the slaughtred

prince,
In vain you sorrow for his ouerthrow;

18 my cousin M 26 But] He M : Who S 54
Athens] Auiphion's conj. M

LOCRINE

ACT III, Sc. II.

He loues not most that doth lament the most,
But he that seekes to venge the iniurie. 61
Thinke you to quell the enemies warlike

traine

With childish sobs and womannish laments?
Vnsheath your swords, vnsheath your con
quering swords,

And seek reuenge, the comfort for this sore. 65
In Cornwall, where I hold my regiment,
Euen iust tenne thousand valiant men at

armes

Hath Corineus readie at commaund:
All these and more, if need shall more re
quire,

Hath Corrineus readie at commaund. 70

Cam. And in the fields of martiall Cambria,

Close by the boystrous I scans siluer streames,

Where lightfoote faires skip from banke to

banke,
Full twentie thousand braue couragious

knights,

Well exercisde in feates of chiualrie, 75

In manly maner most inuincible,
Yoong Camber hath with gold and victual 1:
All these and more, if need shall more require,
I offer vp to venge my brothers death.

Loc. Thanks, louing vncle, and good bro
ther, too; 80
For this reuenge, for this sweete word, reuenge
Must ease and cease my wrongfull iniuries.
And by the sword of bloodie Mars, I sweare,
Nere shall sweete quiet enter this my front,
Till I be venged on his traiterous head 85
That slew my noble brother Albanad.
Sound drummes and trumpets; muster vp the

camp,
For we will straight march to Albania.

[Exeunt.
The 2. Scene.

(The banks of the river, afterward the Humber.';
Enter Humber, Estrild, Hubba, Trussier, and

the souldiers.

Hum. Thus are we come, victorious con
querors,

Vnto the flowing currents siluer streames,
Which, in memoriall of our victorie,
Shall be agnominated by our name,
And talked of by our posteritie: 5

For sure I hope before the golden sunne
Posteth his horses to faire Thetis plaines,
To see the water turned into blood,
And chaunge his blewish hue to rufull red,

C4 conquering sword 0, Ff: rnn: R 72 Isca's
Haz. 82 my] thy Q S. D. The 3. Scene
Bracketed irordu add" T 8 water M : waters Q, Ff
9 chaunge] ? chaunged pi: ed.

By reason of the fa tall massacre :o

Which shall be made vpon the virent plaines.

Enter the ghoast of Albanact.

(Ghost.} See how the traitor doth presage

his harme,

See how he glories at his owne decay,
See how he triumphs at his proper losse;

fortune vilde, vnstable, fickle, frailel 15
Hum. Me thinkes I see both armies in the

field:

The broken launces clime the cristall skies;
Some headlesse lie, some breathlesse on the

ground,

And euery place is straw'd with carcasses.
Behold I the grasse hath lost his pleasant

greene, 20

The sweetest sight that euer might be seene.
Ghost. I, traiterous Humber, thou shalt find

it so.

\ Yea, to thy cost thou shalt the same behold,
With anguish, sorrow, and with sad laments.
The grassie plaines, that now do please thine

eies, 25

Shall ere the night be coloured all with blood:

j The shadie groues which now inclose thy

campe

And yeeld sweet sauours to thy damned corps,
Shall ere the night be figured all with blood:
The profound streame, that passeth by thy

tents, 3

And with his moisture serueth all thy campe,
Shall ere the night conuerted be to blood,
Yea, with the blood of those thystragling boyes;
For now reuenge shall ease my lingring grief e,
And now reuenge shall glut my longing soule.
Hub. Let come what wil, I meane to beare

it out, 36

And either hue with glorious victorie,
Or die with fame renowmed for chiualrie.
He is not worthie of the honie combe,
That shuns the blues because the bees haue

stings: 40

{ That likes me best that is not got with ease,
| Which thousand daungers do accompany;
For nothing can dismay our regall minde,
Which aimes at nothing but a golden crowne,
The only vpshot of mine enterprises. 45

Were they inchanted in grimme Plutos court,
And kept for treasure mongst his hellish crue,

1 would either quell the triple Cerberus
And all the armie of his hatcfull hags,

Or roll the stone with wretched Sisiphos. 50

S. D. Almanact Q 12 Prefix odd. R 19 Anb Q
20 his] its T 38 renown'd t'f, etc. 46 M suggests
that a line lias 1xen tout after 45 inchanted] enchained
roiii. M 50 Sisiphon Q

ACT III, Sc. II,

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

Hum. Right martiall be thy thoughts my I scorne her, and you, and you. I, I scorne

noble sonne,
And all thy words sauour of chiualrie.

you all.

Oliu. You will not haue her then?

Strum. No, as I am a true gentleman.

Wil. Then wil we schoole you, ere you and
we part hence. 26

(They fight.}

(Enter Segar.)

But warlike Segar, what strange accidents
Makes you to leaue the warding of the campe.
Segar. To armes, my Lord, to honourable

armes! ,!,: t i n ff I Enter Margerie and snatch the staffe out of her

Take helme and targe in hand; the Bnttames JJg^ as ftg . g

come,

With greater multitude then erst the Greekes
Brought to the ports of Phrigian Tenidos.
Hum. But what saith Segar to these acci
dents?

What counsell giues he in extremities? 60
Seg. Why this, my Lord, experience

teacheth vs:

That resolution is a sole helpe at need.
And this, my Lord, our honour teacheth vs:
That we be bold in euerie enterprise.
Then since there is no way but fight or die,
Be resolute, my Lord, for victorie. 66

Hum. And resolute, Segar, I meane to

be.

Perhaps some blisfull starre will fauour vs,
And comfort bring to our perplexed state.
Come, let vs in and fortifie our campe, 70

So to withstand their strong inuasion.

[Exeunt.
The 3. Scene.

(Before the hut of a peasant.)
Enter Strumbo, Trumpart, Oliuer, and his

sonne William following them.

Strum. Nay, neighbour Oliuer, if you be so

whot, come, prepare your self e. You shall finde

two as stout fellowes of vs, as any in all the

North. 4

Oliu. No, by my dorth, neighbor Strumbo.

Strum. I, you come in pudding time, or else
I had drest them.

Mar. You, master sausebox, lobcock, cocks
comb, you slopsauce, lickfingers, will you not
heare? 3*

Strum. Who speake you too? me?

Mar. I, sir, to you, lohn lackhonestie, little
wit. Is it you that will haue none of me?

Strum. No, by my troth, mistresse nicebice.
How fine you can nickname me. I think you
were broght vp in the vniuersitie of bridewell;
you haue your rhetorick so ready at your
toongs end, as if you were neuer well warned
when your were yoong. 4

Mar. Why then, goodman cods -head, if
you wil haue none of me, farewell.

Strum. If you be so plaine, mistresse drigle
dragle, fare you well.

Mar. Nay, master Strumbo, ere you go from
hence, we must haue more words. You will
haue none of me? 47

They both fight.

Strum. Oh my head, my head! leaue,
leaue, leaue! I will, I will, I will!

Mar. Vpon that condition I let thee
alone. 50

Oliu. How now, master Strumbol hath my
daughter taught you a new lesson?

. . . Strum. I, but heare you, goodman Oliuer:

Ich zee dat you are a man of small zideration, it will not bee for my ease to haue my head

dat wil zeek to iniure your olde vreendes, one broken euerie day; therefore remedie this and

of your vamiliar guests; and derefore, zeeing we shall agree. 56

your pinion is to deale withouten reazon, iche ( OIL Well, zonne, well for you are my

and my zonne William will take dat course, zonne now all shall be remedied. Daughter,

dat shall be fardest vrom reason. How zay be friends with him. [Shake hands.

you, will you haue my daughter or no? 12 / Exeunt Oliver, William, and Margery.)

Strum. A verie hard question, neighbour, Strum. You are a sweet nut! The diuel

but I will solue it as I may. What reason haue crack you. Maisters, I thinke it be my lucke :

y *? d ^ maund it; of me? my first wife was a louing quiet wench, but this,

Wil. Marry, sir, what reason had you, when I thinke, would weary the diuell. I would she

my sister was in the barne, to tumble her vpon might be burnt as my other wife was. If not,

tnejiaie, and to fish her belly. l8 I mus t runne to the halter for help. codpeece,

Strum. Mas, thou saist" true. Well, but
would you haue me marry her therefore? No,

S. n. aid. It 62 a out. 8 8. D. The 4. Scene Q
Srackettd words add. T

thou hast done thy maister! this it is to be
medling with warme plackets. [Exeunt.

26 S.'l). adtl. M 59 S. D. JiracMcd irords add. .11
66 done Q, M : undone Ff, It, etc.

LOCRINE

ACT III, Sc. VI.

The 4. Scene.
(The camp of Locrine.)
Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineus, Thrasi
machus, Assarachus.

Loc. Now am I garded with an hoste of men,
Whose hautie courage is inuincible:
Now am I hembde with troupes of souldiers,
Such as might force Bellona to retire,
And make her tremble at their puissance: 5
Now sit I like the mightie god of warre,
When, armed with his coat of Adament,
Mounted his charriot drawne with mighty

bulls,

He droue the Argiues ouer Xanthus streames:
Now, cursed Humber, doth thy end draw nie.
Downe goes the glorie of thy victories, n
And all thy fame, and all thy high renowne
Shall in a moment yeeld to Locrines sword.
Thy bragging banners crost with argent

streames,

The ornaments of thy pauillions, 15

Shall all be captiuated with this hand,
And thou thy selfe, at Albanactus tombe,
Shalt offred be in satisfaction
Of all the wrongs thou didst him when he

hVd.

But canst thou tell me, braue Thrasimachus, 20

How farre we are distant from Humber s campe?

Thra. My Lord, within yon foule accursed

groue,

That beares the tokens of our ouerthrow,
This Humber hath intrencht his damned campe.
March on, my Lord, because I long to see 25
The trecherous Scithians squeltring in their

gore.
Locn'. Sweet fortune, fauour Locrine with

a smile,

That I may venge my noble brothers death;
And in the midst of stately Troinouant,
Ile build a temple to thy deitie 30

Of perfect marble and of lacinthe stones,
That it shall passe the high Pyramides,
Which with their top surmount the firmament.
Com. The armestrong offspring of the

doubled night,

Stout Hercules, Alcmenas mightie sonne, 35
That tamde the monsters of the threefold

world,

And rid the oppressed from the tyrants yokes,
Did neuer shew such valiantnesse in fight,
As I will now for noble Albanad.

X. 7*. The 5. Scene Q Bracketed icords add. T 8
his] ill's T 11 his T: thy old tdd. 12 his . . his
T : thy . . thy old edd. 21 we distant are Httz. 22
yon R : your Q, Ff 29 Troinonant Q 34 doubled
night ,V/. : doubted knight Q, Ff: 'doubted night T

Con'. Full foure score yeares hath Corineus
. liu'd, 4

Sometime in warre, sometime in quiet peace,
And yet I feele my selfe to be as strong
As erst I was in sommer of mine age,
Able to tosse this great vnwildie club
Which hath bin painted with my foemens
brains; 45

And with this club ile breake the strong arraie
Of Humber and his stragling souldiers,
Or loose my life amongst the thickest prease,
And die with honour in my latest daies.
Yet ere I die they all shall vnderstand 50
What force lies in stout Corineus hand.
Thra. And if Thrasimachus detract the

fight,

Either for weaknesse or for cowardise,
Let him not boast that Brutus was his eame,
Or that braue Corineus was his sire. 55

Loc. Then courage, souldiers, first for your

safetie,
Next for your peace, last for your victory.

[Exeunt.

(Scene V. The field of battle.}

Sound the alarme.
Enter Hubba and Segar at one doore, and

Corineus at the other.
Cori. Art thou that Humber, prince of

fugitiues,

That by thy treason slewst yoong Albanacil
Hub. I am his sonne that slew yoong

Albanad,

And if thou take not heed, proud Phrigian,
Ile send thy soule vnto the Stigian lake, 5
i There to complaine of Humbers iniuries.

Cori. You triumph, sir, before the victorie,
For Corineus is not so soone slaine.
i But, cursed Scithians, you shall rue the day
That ere you came into Albania. 10

So perish they that enuie Brittaines wealth,
So let them die with endlesse infamie;
And ha that seekes his soueraignes ouerthrow,
Would this my club might aggrauate his woe.
[Strikes them both downe with his club.

(Scene VI. Another part of the field.}

Enter Humber.
(Hum.} Where may I finde some desart

wildernesse,

Where I may breath out curses as I would,
And scare the earth with my condemning
voice;

,5. D. Scene V. add. M : place first indicated T 11 they
that ] that they Q S. D. Scene VI. add. M : place first
indicated T

ACT III, Sc. VI.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

Where euerie ecchoes repercussion
May helpe me to bewaile mine ouerthrow, 5
And aide me in iiiy sorrowfull laments?
Where may I finde some hollow vncoth rocke,
Where I may damne, condemne, and ban my

fill
The heauens, the hell, the earth, the aire, the

fire,

And vtter curses to the concaue skie, 10

Which may infect the aiery regions,
And light vpon the Brittain Locrines head?
You vgly sprites that in Cocilus mourne,
And gnash your teeth with dolorous laments:
You fearfull dogs that in black Lathe howle,
And scare the ghoasts with your wide open

throats : 16

You vgly ghoasts that, flying from these dogs,
Do plunge your selues in Puryflegiton :
Come, all of you, and with your shriking notes
Accompanie the Brittaines conquering hoast.
Come, fierce Erinnis, horrible with snakes; 21
Come, vgly Furies, armed with your whippes;
You threefold iudges of black Tartarus,
And all the armie of you hellish fiends,
With new found torments rack proud Locrins

bones! 25

gods, and starres ! damned be the gods &

starres

That did not drowne me in faire Thetis plainest
Curst be the sea, that with outragious waues,
With surging billowes did not riue my shippes
Against the rocks of high Cerannia, 30

Or swallow me into her watrie gulfe!
Would God we had arriu'd vpon the shore
Where Poliphemus and the Cyclops dwell,
Or where the bloodie Anthropophagie
With greedie iawes deuours the wandring

wights! 35

Enter the ghoast of Albanact.
But why comes Albanads bloodie ghoast,
To bring a corsiue to our miseries?
1st not inough to sutler shameful! flight,
But we must be tormented now with ghoasts,
With apparitions fearfull to behold? 40

Ghoast. Reuengel reuenge for blood!
Hum. So nought wil satisfie your wandring

ghost

But-dire reuenge, nothing but Humbers fall,
Because he conquerd you in Albany.
Now, by my soule, H umber would be con-
demn'd 4S

To Tantals hunger or Ixions wheele,

15 You] Yea Q 20 Aceompaie 24 your FS
30 Ceraunia M 31 swallow M : swallowed Ft
33 Poliphlemus Q 34 Anthropomphagie : An
thropophagites Pope 42 you >'

Or to the vultur of Prometheus,
Rather then that this murther were vndone.
When as I die ile dragge thy cursed ghoast
Through all the riuers of foule Erebus, 50
Through burning sulphur of the Limbo -lake,
To allaie the burning furie of that heate
That rageth in mine euerlasting soule.
Alba, ghost. Vindicta, vindicta. [Exeunt.

The 4. Ad. Prologue.

Enter Ate as before. Then let their follow
Omphale, daughter to the king of Lydia,
hauing a club in her hand, and a lions
skinne on her back, Hercules following
with a distaffe. Then let Omphale turn
about, and taking off her pantofle, strike
Hercules on the head; then let them depart,
Ate remaining, saying:
Quern non Argolici mandala seuera Tyranni,

Non potuit luno vincere, vicit amor.
Stout Hercules, the mirrour of the world,
Sonne to Alcmena and great lupiter,
After so many conquests wonne in field, 5
After so many monsters queld by force,
Yeelded his valiant heart to Omphale,
A fearfull woman voyd of manly strength.
She tooke the club, and ware the lions skinne;
He tooke the wheele, and maidenly gan spinne.
So martiall Locrine, cheerd with victorie, n
Falleth in loue with Humbers concubine,
And so forgetteth peerlesse Guendoline.
His vncle Corineus stormes at this,
And forceth Locrine for his grace to sue. 15
Loe here the summe, the processe doth ensue.

[Exit.

The 1. Scene.
(The camp of Locrine.)

Enter Locrine, Camber, Corineus, Assaraeus,

Thrasimachus, and the souldiers.
Loc. Thus from the fury of Bellonas broiles,
With sound of drumme and trumpets melodie,
The Brittaine king returnes triumphantly.
The Scithians slaine with great occision
Do aequalize the grasse in multitude, 5

And with their blood haue staind the streaming

brookes,

Offering their bodies and their dearest blood
As sacrifice to Albanactus ghoast.
Now, cursed Humber, hast thou payd thy due,
For thy deceits and craftie trecheries, 10
For all thy guiles and damned stratagems,
With losse of life, and euerduring shame.

Prologue] Scene 1 Q 9 wore Ff S. D. The
2. Scene Q Bracketed words add. T

LOCRINE

ACT IV, Sc. I.

Where are thy horses trapt with burnisht gold,
Thy trampling coursers rulde with f oming bits?
Where are thy souldiers, strong and number -

lesse, 15

Thy valiant captains and thy noble peeres?
Euen as the countrie clownes with sharpest

sithes
Do mowe the withered grasse from off the

earth,

Or as the ploughman with his piercing share
Renteth the bowels of the fertile fields, 20
And rippeth vp the rootes with razours keene:
So Locrine with his mightie curtleaxe
Hath cropped off the heads of all thy Hunnes;
So Locrines peeres haue daunted all thy peeres,
And droue thine hoast vnto confusion, 25
That thou maist suffer penance for thy fault,
And die for murdring valiant Albanact.
Cori. And thus, yea thus, shall all the rest

be seru'd

That seeko to enter Albion gainst our willes.
If the braue nation of the Troglodites, 30
If all the coleblacke Aethiopians,
If all the forces of the Amazons,
If all the hostes of the Barbarian lands,
Should dare to enter this our little world,
Soone should they rue their ouerbold attempts,
That after vs our progenie may say, 36

There lie the beasts that sought to vsurp our

land.
Loc. I, they are beasts that seeke to vsurp

our land,

And like to brutish beasts they shall be seru'd.
For mightie lone, the supreame king of

heauen, 40

That guides the concourse of the Meliors,
And rules the motion of the azure skie,
Fights alwaies for the Brittaines safetie.
But staie! mee thinkes I heare some shriking

noise,
That draweth neare to our pauillion. 45

Enter the souldiers leading in Estrild.
Estrild. What prince so ere, adornd with

golden (crowne,)

Doth sway the regall scepter in his hand,
And thinks no chance can euer throw him

downe,

Or that his state shall euer lasting stand:
Let him behold poore Estrild in this plight, 50
The perfect platforme of a troubled wight.
Once was I guarded with mauortiall bands,
Compast with princes of the noble blood;
Now am I fallen into my foemens hands,
And with my death must pacific their niood.

4(> crowne o>. Q : .tn/ipHal Ff
&2 niaiioi'tiall (J 53 noblest T

47 sceptler Q

life, the harbour of calamities! 56

death, the hauen of all miseries I

1 could compare my sorrowes to thy woe,
Thou wretched queen of wretched Pergamus,
But that thou viewdst thy enemies ouerthrow.
Nigh to the rocke of high Caphareus, 61
Thou sawst their death, and then departeds t

thence;

I must abide the victors insolence.
The gods that pittied thy continuall griefe
Transformd thy corps, and with thy corps thy

care; 65

Poore Estrild hues dispairing of reliefe,
For friends in trouble are but fewe and rare.
What, said I fewe? I ! fewe or none at all,
For cruell death made hauock of them all.
Thrice happie they whose fortune was so

good, 70

To end their Hues, and with their Hues their

woes!

Thrice haplesse I, whome fortune so with
stood,

That cruelly she gaue me to my foes I
Oh, souldiers, is there any miserie,
To be comparde to fortunes trecherie. 75

Loc. Camber, this same shuld be the

Scithian queen.
Cam. So may we iudge by her lamenting

words.
Loc. So faire a dame mine eies did neuer

see;
With floods of woes she seems orewhelmed to

bee.
Cam. Locrine, hath she not a cause for to

be sad? So

Locrine (at one side of the stage).
If she haue cause to weepe for Numbers death,
And shead sault teares for her ouerthrow,
Locrine may well bewaile his proper griefe,
Locrine may moue his owne peculiar woe.
He, being conquerd, died a speedie death, 85
And felt not long his lamentable smart;
I, being conqueror, Hue a lingring life,
And feele the force of Cupids suddaine stroke.
I gaue him cause to die a speedie death,
He left me cause to wish a speedie death. 90
Oh that sweete face painted with natures dye,
Those roseall cheeks mixt with a snowy white,
That decent necke surpassing yuorie,
Those comely brests which Venus well might

spite, 94

Are like to snares which wyHe fowlers wrought,
Wherein my yeelding heart is prisoner cought.
The golden tresses of her daintie haire,

80 Locrine nm. 31 82 her] his dread S: her own
Jfolf. 85 He] H limber fi 88 stroke] dart cow/.
Tli. for sake of rhyme 9J mizt ^

ACT IV, Sc. I.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

Which shine like rubies glittering with the
sunne, 98

Haue so entrapt poore Locrines louesick heart,
That from the same no way it can be wonne.
How true is that which oft I heard declard,
One dramme of ioy, must haue a pound of

care.
Eslr. Hard is their fall who, from a golden

crown,

Are cast into a sea of wretchednesse.
Loc. Hard is their thrall who by Cupids
frowne IO S

Are wrapt in waues of endlesse carefulnesse.
Eslr. Oh kingdome, obiect to all miseries.
Loc. Oh loue, the extreemst of all extremi
ties.

Lei him go Mo his chaire.
A sold. My Lord, in ransacking the Scithian

tents,

I found this Ladie, and to manifest no

That earnest zeale I beare vnto your grace,
I here present her to your maiestie.
Another sold. He lies, my Lord; I found the

Ladie first,
And here presort her to your maiestie.

1. Sold. Presumptuous villaine, wilt thou
take my prize? 115

2. Sold. Nay, rather thou depriuest me of
my right.

1. Sol. Resigne thy title, catiue, vnto me,
Or with my sword He pearce thy cowards

loines.

2. Sol. Soft words, good sir, tis not inogh to
speak;

A barking dog doth sildome strangers bite.
Loc. Vnreuerent villains, striue you in our
sight? 1 21

Take them hence, laylor, to the dungeon;
There let them lie and trie their quarrell out.
But thou, f aire princesse, be no whit dismayd,
But rather ioy that Locrine fauours thee. 1 25
Estr. How can he fauor me that slew my

spouse?
Loc. The chance of war, my loue, tooke

him from thee.
Est. But Locrine was the causer of his

death.

Loc. He was an enemy to Locrines state,
And slue my noble brother Albanact. 130
Estr. But he was linckt to me in marriage

bond,

And would you haue me loue his slaughterer?
Loc. Better to liue, then not to liue at all.
Estrild. Better to die renownd for chastitie,

101 declare S 105 by Cupido's M : still by

Cupid s T 107 object] subject S 133 Better

M t ~~j~~.,j U^MJ^^V tj *0 JDCbbd

to love conj. St.: Better to loue and Hue conj. pi: 7.

Then liue with shame and endlesse infamie.
What would the common sort report of me,
If I forget my loue, and cleaue to thee? 137

Loc. Kings need not feare the vulgar sen
tences.

Estr. But Ladies must regard their honest
name.

Loc. Is it a shame to liue in marriage bonds?

Estr. No, but to be a strumpet to a king.

Loc. If thou wilt yeeld to Locrines burning

loue,
Thou sbalt be queene of faire Albania.

Estr. But Gucndolinc will vndermine my
state.

Lo. Vpon mine honor, thou shalt haue no
harme. 1 45

Est. Then lo, braue Locrine, Estrild yeelds

to thee;

And by the gods whom thou doest inuocate,
By the dead ghoast of thy deceased sire,
By thy right hand and by thy burning loue,
Take pitie on poore Estrilds wretched thrall.

Cori. Hath Locrine then forgot his Guen-
doline, 151

That thus he courts the Scithians paramore?
What, are the words of Brute so soone forgot?
Are my deserts so quickly out of minde?
Haue I bene faithfull to thy sire now dead, 155
Haue I protected thee from Humbers hands,
And doest thou quite me with vngratitude?
Is this the guerdon for my greeuous wounds,
Is this the honour for my labors past?
Now, by my sword, Locrine, I sweare to thee,
This iniury of thine shall be repaide. 161

Loc. Vncle, scorne you your royall souer-

aigne,

As if we stood for cyphers in the court?
Vpbraid you me with those your benefits?
Why, it was a subiects dutie so to do. 165

What you haue done for our deceased sire,
We know, and all know you haue your reward.

Cori. Auaunt, proud princoxe; brau'st thou

me withall?

Assure thy self, though thou be Emperor,
Thou nere shalt carry this vnpunished. 170

Cam. Pardon my brother, noble Corineas;
Pardon this once and it shall be amended.

Assar. Cousin, remember Brutus latest

words,

How he desired you to cherish them;
Let not this fault so much incense your minde,
Which is not yet passed all remedie. 176

Cori. Then, Locrine, loe, I reconcile my

selfe;
But as thou lou'st thy life, so loue thy wife.

156 hand F2, tic.
tudc M

157 quit Ff, etc. ingruti-

LOCRINE

ACT IV, Sc. II.

But if them violate those promises,
Blood and reuenge shall light vpon thy head.
Come, let vs backe to stately Troinouant, 181
Where all these matters shall be setteled.
Locrine (to himself e). Millions of diuels wayt

vpon thy soule!

Legions of spirits vexe thy impious ghoast!
Ten thousand torments rack thy cursed bones!
Let euerie thing that hath the vse of breath 186
Be instruments and workers of thy death!

[Exeunt.

The 2. Scene.

(A forest.}
Enter Humber alone, his haire hanging oner

his shoulders, his armes all bloodie, and

a dart in one hand.
Hum. What basiliskt was hatched in this

place,

Where euerie thing consumed is to nought?
What fearefull Furie haunts these cursed

groues,

Where not a roote is left for Humbers meate?
Hath fell Alecto, with inuenomed blasts, 5
Breathed forth poyson in these tender plaines?
Hath triple Cerberus, with contagious fome,
Sowde Aconitum mongst these withered

hearbes?

Hath dreadfull Fames with her charming rods
Brought barreinnesse on euery fruitful! tree?
What, not a roote, no frute, no beast, no bird,
To nourish Humber in this wildernesse? 1 2
What would you more, you fiends of Erebus!
My verie intralls burne for want of drinke,
My bowels crie, Humber, giue vs some meate.
But wretched Humber can giue you no meate;
These foule accursed groues affoord no meat.
This fruitles soyle, this ground, brings forth no

meat. 1 8

The gods, hard harted gods, yeeld me no meat.
Then how can Humber giue you any meat?

Enter Strumbo with a pitchforke, and a scotch-
cap, saying:

How do you, maisters, how do you? how haue
you scaped hanging this long time? Yfaith,
I haue scapt many a scouring this yeare; but
I thanke God I haue past them all with a good
couragio, couragio, & my wife & I are in
great loue and charitie now, I thank my man
hood & my strength. For I wil tell you,
maisters: vpon a certain day at night I came
home, to say the verie truth, with my stomacke
full of wine, and ran vp into the chamber

ft. D. The 3. Scene Q bracketed icords add. S
6 in] on S 11 nor fruit, nor beast, nor bird S
24 good coraggio, and M

where my wife soberly sate rocking my little
babie, leaning her back against the bed, sing
ing lullabie. Now, when she saw me come
with my nose formost, thinking that I (had)
bin drunk, as I was indeed, (she) snatcht vp
a fagot stick in her hand, and came furiously
marching towards me with a bigge face, as
though shee would haue eaten mee at a bit;
thundering out these words vnto me: Thou
drunken knaue, where hast thou bin so long?
I shall teach thee how to benight mee an other
time; and so shee began to play knaues
trumps. Now, althogh I trembled, fearing she
would set her ten commandements in my face,
(I) ran within her, and taking her lustily by the
midle, I carried her valiantly to the bed, and
flinging her vpon it, flung my selfe vpon her ;
and there I delighted her so with the sport I
made, that euer after she wold call me sweet
husband, and so banisht brawling for euer.
And to see the good will of the wench! she
bought with her portion a yard of land, and
by that I am now become one of the richest
men in our parish. Well, masters, whats a
clocke? it is now breakfast time; you shall see
what meat I haue here for my breakfast. 56
[Let him sit down and putt out
his vittailes.
Hum. Was euer land so fruitlesse as this

land?

Was euer groue so gracelesse as this groue?
Was euer soyle so barrein as this soyle?
Oh no: the land where hungry Fames dwelt
May no wise equalize this cursed land; 61
No, euen the climat of the torrid zone
Brings forth more fruit then this accursed

groue.

Nere came sweet Ceres, nere came Venus here;
Triptolemus, the god of husbandmen, 65

Nere sowd his seed in this foule wildernesse.
The hunger -bitten dogs of Acheron,
Chast from the ninefold Pwiflegiton,
Haue set their footesteps in this damned

ground. 6 9

The yron harted Furies, arm'd with snakes,
Scattered huge Hidras ouer all the plaines,
Which haue consum'd the grasse, the herbes,

the trees;
Which haue drunke vp the flowing water

springs.

Strumbo, hearing his voice, shall start vp
and put meat in his pocket, seeking to
hide himselfe.
Hum. Thou great commander of the starry

skie, 7 4

C4 had OHI. Q 35 she add. M 45 I add. M

ACT IV, Sc. II.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

That guidst the life of euerie mortall wight,
From the inclosures of the fleeting clouds

His wrathfull eies, piercing like Linces eies,
Well haue I ouermatcht his subtiltie.

Raine downe some foode, or else I faint and Nigh Deurolitum, by the pleasant Lee,

die:
Powre downe some drinke, or else I faint and

die.

lupiter, hast thou sent Mercury
In clownish shape to minister some foode? 80
Some meate! some meate! some meate!

Strum. 0, alasse, sir, ye are deceiued. I
am not Mercury ; I am Strumbo.

Hum. Giue me som meat, vilain; giue me

som meat,
Or gainst this rock lie dash thy cursed braines,

Where brackish Thamis slides with siluer
streames, 20

Making a breach into the grassie downes,
A curious arch, of costly marble fraught,
Hath Locrine framed vnderneath the ground;
The walls whereof, garnisht with diamonds,
With ophirs, rubies, glistering emeralds, 25
And interlast with sun -bright carbuncles,
Lighten the roome with artificiall day:

And from the Lee with water -flowing pipes
The moisture is deriu'd into this arch,

And rent thy bowels with my bloodie hands. 8 6 Where I haue placed faire Eslrild secretly. 30
Giue me some meat, villaine ; giue me some Thither eftsoones, accompanied with my page,

meat!
Strum.

fellow, I had rather giue an whole oxe
then that thou shuldst serue me in that sort.
Dash out my braines? horrible! terrible!
I think el haue a quarry of stones in my pocket.

Let him make as though hee would giue

I couertly visit my harts desire,

By the faith of my bodie, good Without suspition of the meanest eie;

For loue aboundeth still with pollicie:
And thither still meanes Locrine to repaire,
Till Atropos cut off mine vncles life. 36

[Exit.
The 4. Scene.

him some, and as he pntteth out his (The entrance of a cave, near which runs the

hand, enter the ghoast of Albanact, and
strike him on the hand; and so Strumbo
runnes out, Humber following him.

[Exit. \
Alba, ghost. Loe, here the gift of fell |

ambition,
Of vsurpation and of trecherie! 94 !

river, afterward the Humber.}
Enter Humber alone, saying:
Hum. vita misero longa, foelici breuis,
Eheu! malorum fames exlremum

malum.
Long haue I liued in this desart caue,

Loe, here the harmes that wait vpon all those With e * tin & hawes and miserable rootes,

mi_ _ i i i i ,1 llPlirmrmcr laniiaa anH haaailir av/it>Am /**

That do intrude themselues in others lands,
Which are not vnder their dominion. [Exit.

The 3. Scene.
(.A chamber in the Royal Palace.}

Enter Locrine oZone.

Loe. Seuen yeares hath aged Corineus liu'd,
To Locrtnes griefe, and faire Estrildas woe,
And seuen yeares * "

Should he enioy the benefit of life?
Should he contemplate the radiant oumic ,
That makes my hfe equall to dreadfull death?

sunne,

rn- C , n " a ? this monster fro the earth,
That disobeieth thus thy sacred bests! 10
Cupid conuay this monster to darke hell,
That disanulls thy mothers sugred lawes!
Mars, with thy target all beset with flames,
With murthering blade bereaue him of his life,
inat nmdreth Locrine in his sweetest ioyes!
And yet, for all his diligent aspect,

Deuouring leaues and beastly excrements. 5
Caues were my beds, and stones my pillow -

beares,
Feare was my sleep, and horror was my

dreame,

For still me thought, at euery boisterous blast,
Now Locrine comes, now, Humber, thou must

die: 9

So that for feare and hunger, Humbers minde
yet to liue. \ Can neuer rest, but alwaies trembling stands,
0, what Danubius now may quench my thirst?
What Euphrates, what lightfoot Euripus,
May now allaie the furie of that heat,

? I U f ft T ' !C 4 i. Scene ?

d. 6 7 sonns Q : sun Ff 9 from F2

Which, raging in my entrails, eates me vp? 15
You gastly diuels of the ninefold Stickes,
You damned ghoasts of ioylesse Acheron,
You mournful! soules, vext in Abissus vaults,
You coleblack diuels of Auernus pond,
Come, with your fleshhooks rent my famisht

arms, 20

These armes that haue sustaind their maisters

life.

19 Dnrolituin -V: Duiu-olituni 0, Ff 21 wrouslit
cenj. St. 24 garnish q S. /). Tlic 5. Scene
Bracketed words add. S 2 Elicn malorcm Q

LOCRIXE

ACT V, Sc. 1.

Come, with your raisours rippe my bowels vp,
With your sharp fireforks crack my sterued

bones:

Vse me as you will, so Number may not Hue.
Accursed gods, that rule the starry poles, 25
Accursed loue, king of the cursed gods,
Cast downe your lightning on poore H umbers

head,

That I may leaue this deathlike life of mine!
What, heare you not? and shall not H umber die'?
Nay, I will die, though all the gods say nay! 30
And, gentle Aby, take my troubled corps,
Take it and keep it from all mortall eies,
That none may say, when I haue lost my

breath,
The very flouds conspirde gainst Humbers

death.

[Fling himselfe inio the riuer.

Enter the ghoast of Albanact.
En ccedem sequitur cades, in caede quiesco. 35
H umber is dead! ioy heauens! leap earth!

dance trees!

Now maist thou reach thy apples, Tantalus,
And with them feed thy hunger -bitten limmes!
Now, Sisiphus, leaue tumbling of thy rock,
And rest thy restlesse bones vpon the same!
Vnbind Ixion, cruell Rhadamanth, 41

And laie proud Number on the whirling wheele.
Backe will I post to hell mouth Tcenarus,
And passe Cocitus, to the Elysian fields,
And tell my father Brutus of these newcs. 45

[Exit.

The 5. Act. Prologue.

Enter Ate as before. Jason, leading Creons
daughter. Medea, following, hath a gar
land in her hand, and putting it on Creons
daughters head, setteth it on fire, and then,
killing lason and her, departeth.
Ate. Non lam Tinacriis exaestuat Aetna

cauernis,
Lcesce furtiuo quam cor muUcris

amore.

Medea, seeing lason leaue her loue,
And choose the daughter of the Thebane king,
Went to her diuellish charmes to worke
reuenge; 5

And raising vp the triple Hecate,
With all the rout of the condemned fiends,
Framed a garland by her magick skill,
With which she wrought lason and Creons ill.
So Guendoline, seeing her selfe misvs'd, 10
And Humbers paramour possesse her place,
Flies to the dukedome of Cornubia,

And with her brother, stout Thrasimachus,
Gathering a power of Cornish souldiers,
Giues battaile to her husband and his hoste,
Nigh to the riuer of great Mertia. 16

The chances of this dismall massacre
That which insueth shortly will vnfold. [Exit

The 1. Scene.

(A chamber in the Royal Palace.}
Enter Locrine, Camber, Assarachus,

Thrasimachus.
Assa. But tell me, cousin, died my brother

so?

Now who is left to helplesse Albion,
That as a piller might vphold our state,
That might strike terror to our daring foes?
Now who is left to haplesse Brittanie, 5

That might defend her from the barbarous

hands

Of those that still desire her ruinous fall,
And seeke to worke her downfall and decaie?
Cam. I, vncle, death is our common

enemie,

And none but death can match our matchles
power: 10

Witnesse the fall of Albioneus crewe,
Witnesse the fall of Number and his Hunnes.
And this foule death hath now increast our

woo,

By taking Corineus from this life,
And in his roome leauing vs worlds of care. 15
Thru. But none may more bewaile his

mournful hearse,

Then I that am the issue of his loines.
Now foule befall that cursed Humbers throat,
That was the causer of his lingring wound.
Lo. Teares cannot raise him from the dead
again. 20

But wher's my Ladie, mistresse Gwendoline?
Thra. In Cornwall, Locrine, is my sister

now,
Prouiding for my fathers funerall.

Lo. And let her ther prouide her mourning

weeds

And mourne for euer her owne widdow-hood.
Ner shall she come within our pallace gate, 26
To countercheck braue Locrine in his loue.
Go, boy, to Deurolitum, downe the Lee,
Vnto the arch where louely Estrild lies.
Bring her and Sabren strait vnto the court; 30
She shall be queene in Guendolinas roome.
Let others waile for Corineus death;
I meane not so to macerate my minde
For him that bard me from my hearts desire.

:>1 Alms Hun. Prologue] Scene 1 Q
ixcestuat Q : ton: Ff

1 TimTiis &. D. The 2. Scene Q Bracketed irords mJil. ,->'
I 1 my] by (} '28 Deucolituiu Q, Ff : Durolitum M

ACT V, Sc. I.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

Thra. Hath Loerine, then, forsooke his

Guendoline? 35

Is Corineus death so soone forgot?
If there be gods in heauen, as sure there be,
If there be fiends in hell, as needs there must,
They will reuenge this thy notorious wrong,
And powre their plagues vpon thy cursed head.
Loc. What! prat'st thou, pesant, to thy

soueraigne? 4 1

Or art thou strooken in some extasie?
Doest thou not tremble at our royall lookes?
Dost thou not quake, when mighty Loerine

frowns?
Thou beardlesse boy, wer't not that Loerine

scornes 45

To vexe his mind with such a hartlesse cbilde,
With the sharpe point of this my battale-axe,
I would send thy soule to Puriflegiton.

Thra. Though I be yoong and of a tender

age,

Yet will I cope with Loerine when he dares. 50
My noble father with his conquering sword,
Slew the two giants, kings of Aquitaine.
Thrasimachns is not so degenerate
That he should feare and tremble at the lookes
Or taunting words of a venerian squire. 55
Loc. Menacest thou thy roiall soueraigne,
Vnciuill, not beseeming such as you?
Iniurious traitor (for he is no lesse
That at defiance standeth with his king)
Leaue these thy tauntes. leaue these thy brag
ging words, 60
Vnlesse thou meane to leaue thy wretched life.
Thra. If princes staine their glorious dig-

nitie

With ougly spots of monstrous infamie,
They leese thoir former estimation,
And throw themselues into a hell of hate. 65
Loc. Wilt thou abuse my gentle patience,
As though thou didst our high displeasure

scorne?
Proud boy, that thou maist know thy prince is

mou'd,

Yea, greatly mou'd at this thy swelling pride,

We banish thee for euer from our court. 70

Thra. Then, losell Loerine, looke vnto thy

selfe,

Thrasimachus will venge this iniurie. [Exit.
Lo. Farwel, proud boy, and learn to vse thy

toong.
Assa. Alas, my Lord, you shuld haue cald

to mind

The latest words that Brutus spake to you: 75
How he desirde you, by the obedience
That children ought to beare vnto their sire,

45wertO 52 giant kings S 57 tliou 5 61
mean st Ff

To loue and fauour Ladie Guendoline.
Consider this, that if the iniurie
Do mooue her mind, as certainly it will, 80
Warre and dissention followes speedely.
What though her power be not so great as

yours?

Haue you not scene a mightic elephant
Slaine by the biting of a silly mouse?
Euen so the chance of warre inconstant is. 85
Loc. Peace, vncle, peace, and cease to talke

hereof;

For he that seekes, by whispering this or that,
To trouble Loerine in his sweetest life,
Let him perswade himselfe to die the death.

Enter the Page, with Estrild and Sabren.

Estr. 0, say me, Page, tell me, where is the

king? 90

Wherefore doth he send for me to the court?
Is it to die? is it to end my life?
Say me, sweete boy, tell me and do not faine!
Page. No, trust me, madame; if you will
credit the iitle honestie that is yet left me,
there is no such danger as you feare. But
prepare your selfe; yonders the king. 97

Estr. Then, Estrild, lift thy dazled spirits

vp,
And blesse that blessed time, that day, that

houre,

That warlike Loerine first did fauour thee.
Peace to the king of Brittany, my loue! 101
Peace to all those that loue and fauour him!
Loerine (taking her vp). Doth Estrild fall

with such submission
Before her seruant, king of Albion!
Arise, faire Ladie; leaue this lowly cheare.
Lift vp those lookes that cherish Locrines

heart, i o 6

That I may freely view that roseall face,
Which so intangled hath my louesick brest.
Now to the court, where we will court it out,
And passe the night and day in Venus sports.
Frollick, braue peeres; be ioyfull with your

king. [Exeunt.

The 2. Scene.

(The camp of Guendolen.}

Enter Guendoline, Thrasimachus, Madan,

and the souldiers
Guen. You gentle winds, that with your

modest blasts

Passe through the circuit of the heauenly vault,
Enter the clouds vnto the throne of loue,
And beare my praiers to his all hearing eares,
For Loerine hath forsaken Guendoline, s

S. 7). The 3. Scene : con: M Bracketed tcords
add. S

LOCR1NE

ACT V, Sc. IV.

And learnt to loue proud Humbers concu
bine.

You happie sprites, that in the concaue skie
With pleasant ioy enioy your sweetest loue,
Shead foorth those teares with me, which then

you shed,

When first you wood your ladies to your wils.
Those teares are fittest for my wofull case, n
Since Locrine shunnes my nothing pleasant

face.
Blush heauens, blush sunne, and hide thy

shining beams;

Shadow thy radiant locks in gloomy clouds;
Denie thy cheerfull light vnto the world, 15
Where nothing raigns but falshood and deceit.
What said I? falshood? I, that filthie crime,
For Locrine hath forsaken Guendoline.
Behold the heauens do waile for Guendoline.
The shining sunne doth blush for Guendoline.
The liquid aire doth weep for Guendoline. 21
The verie ground doth grone for Guendoline.
I, they are milder then the Erittaine king,
For he reiecteth lucklesse Guendoline.

Thru. Sister, complaints are bootlesse in

this cause; 25

This open wrong must haue an open plague,
This plague must be repaid with grieuous

warre,

This warre must finish with Locrinus death;
His death will soone extinguish our complaints.
Guen. no, his death wil more augment

my woes. 30

He was my husband, braue Thrasimachus,
More deare to me then the apple of mine eie,
Nor can I finde in heart to worke his scathe.
Thra. Madame, if not your proper iniuries,
Nor my exile, can moue you to reuenge, 35
Thinke on our father Corineus words;
His words to vs stands alwaies for a lawe.
Should Locrine Hue that caus'd my fathers

death?

Should Locrine liue that now diuorceth you?
The heauens, the earth, the aire, the fire

reclaimes, 40

And then why should all we denie the same?

Guen. Then henceforth, farwel womanish

complaints 1

All childish pitie henceforth, then, farwel!
But, cursed Locrine, looke vnto thy selfe,
For Nemesis, the mistresse of reuenge, 45
Sits arm'd at all points on our dismall blades;
And cursed Estrild, that inflamed his heart,
Shall, if I liue, die a reproachfull death.
Madan. Mother, though nature makes me

to lament

My lucklesse fathers froward lecherie, 50
6 learne Q : con: Ff

Yet, for he wrongs my Ladie mother thus,
I, if I could, my selfe would worke his death.
Thru. See, madame, see, the desire of

reuenge

Is in the children of a tender age!
Forward, braue souldiers, into Merita, 55
Where we shall braue the coward to his face.

[Exeunt.
The 3. Scene.
(The camp of Locrine.}
Enter Locrine, Estrild, Sabren, Assarachus,

and the souldiers.
Loc. Tell me, Assarachus, are the Cornish

chuff es

In such great number come to Merita?
And haue they pitched there their pettie hoste,
So close vnto our royall mansion?

Assa. They are, my Lord, and meane incon
tinent 5
To bid defiance to your maiestie.

Loc. It makes me laugh, to thinke that

Guendoline
Should haue the hart to come in armes gainst

me.
Estr. Alas, my Lord, the horse wil runne

amaine,

When as the spurre doth gall him to the bone,
lealousie, Locrine, hath a wicked sting. n
Loc. Saist thou so, Estrild, beauties para
gon?

Well, we will trie her chollor to the proofe,
And make her know, Locrine can brooke no

braues.

March on, Assarachus; thou must lead the

way, 15

And bring vs to their proud pauillion. [Exeunt.

The 4. Scene.

(The field of battle.}

Enter the ghost of Corineus, with thunder &

lightening.

Ghost. Behold, the circuit of the azure sky
Throwe? forth sad throbs and grieuous suspirs,
Preiudicating Locrines ouerthrow.
The fire casteth forth sharpe dartes of flames,
The great foundation of the triple world 5
Trembleth and quaketh with a mightie noise,
Presaging bloodie massacres at hand.
The wandring birds that flutter in the darke,
When hellish night, in cloudie charriot seated,
Casteth her mists on shadie Tellus face, 10

S. D. Tlie 4. i =! cene Q : cnrr. M Bracketed words ndd.
S Habren Q, Ff 8 against F 2, etc. S. D.
The 5. Scene ^ : corn M Bracketed words add. S
2 grievously S

ACT V, Sc. IV.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

With sable mantels couering all the earth,
Now flies abroad amid the cheerfull day,
Foretelling some vnwonted miserie.
The snarling curres of darkened Tartarus,
Sent from Auernus ponds by Radamanth, 15
With howling ditties pester euerie wood.
The watrie ladies and the lightfoote fawnes,
And all the rabble of the wooddie Nymphs,
All trembling hide themseluesin shadie groues,
And shrowd themselues in hideous hollow pitts.
The boysterous Boreas thundreth forth

reuenge; 2I

The stonie rocks crie out on sharpe reuenge;
The thornie bush pronounceth dire reuenge.

Sound the alarme.

Now, Corineus, staie and see reuenge,
And feede thy soule with Locrines ouerthrow.
Behold, they come; the trumpets call them

foorth; 26

The roaring drummes summon the souldiers.
Loe, where their army glister eth on the plaines!
Throw forth thy lightning, mightie lupiter,
And powre thy plagues on cursed Locrines

head. 30

\Sland aside.

Enter Locrine, Estrild, Assaracus, Sabren and

their soldiers at one doore; Thrasimachus,

Guendolin, Maclan and their followers at

an other.
Loc. What, is the tigre started from his

caue?

Is Guendoline come from Cornubia,
That thus she braueth Locrine to the teeth?
And hast thou found thine armour, prettie

boy,

Accompanied with these thy stragling mates?
Beleeue me, but this enterprise was bold, 3 6
And well deserueth commendation.
Guen. I, Locrine, traitorous Locrine! we are

come,

With full pretence to seeke thine ouerthrow.
What haue I don, that thou shouldst scorn me

thus? 4 o

What haue I said, that thou shouldst me reiect?
Haue I benc disobedient to thy words?
Haue I bewrayd thy Arcane secrecie?
Haue I dishonoured thy marriage bed
With filthie crimes, or with lasciuious lusts?
Nay, it is thou that hast dishonoured it; 46
Thy filthie minde, orecome with filthie lusts,
, Yeeldeth vnto affections filthie darts.
I Vnkind, thou wrongst thy first and truest feer;
Vnkind, thou wrongst thy best and dearesi

friend; 50

Vnkind, thou scornst all skilfull Brutus lawes,
S. I>. Habren Q, Ff

Forgetting father, vncle, and thy selfe.

Estr. Beleeue me, Locrine, but the girle is

wise,

And well would seeme to make a vestall Nunne.

How finely frames she her oration! 55

Thra. Locrin, we came not here to fight

with words,

Words that can neuer winne the victorie;
But for you are so merie in your frumpes,
Vnsheath your swords, and trie it out by force,
That we may see who hath the better hand.
Loc. Thinkst thou to dare me, bold Thrasi
machus! 61
Thinkst thou to feare me with thy taunting

braues,

Or do we seeme too weake to cope with thee?
Soone shall I shew thee my fine cutting blade,
And with my sword, the messenger of death,
Seal thee an acquitance for thy bold attempts.

[Exeunt.

Sound the alarme. Enter Locrine, Assaracus,
and a souldier at one doore; Guendoline,
Thrasimachus, at an other; Locrine and his
followers driuen back. Then let Locrine
& Estrild enter again in a maze.
Loc. faire Estrilda, we haue lost the field;
Thrasimachus hath wonne the victorie,
And we are left to be a laughing stocke,
Scoft at by those that are our enemies. 70
Ten thousand souldiers, armd with sword &

shield,

Preuaile against an hundreth thousand men;
Thrasimachus, incenst with fuming ire,
Rageth amongst the faintheart souldiers
Like to grim Mars, when couered with his
targe 75

He fought with Diomedes in the field,
Close by the bankes of siluer Simois.

[Sound the alarme.

louely Estrild, now the chase begins:
Ner shall we see the stately Troynouant,
Mounted on the coursers garnisht all with
pearles; 80

Ner shall we view the faire Concordia,
Vnlesse as captiues we be thither brought.
Shall Locrine then be taken prisoner
By such a yoongling as Thrasimachus'?
Shall Guendolina captiuate my loue? 85

Ner shall mine eies behold that dismall houre;
Ner will I view that ruthf ull spectacle,
For with my sword, this sharpe curtleaxe,
lie cut in sunder my accursed heart.
But 0! you iudges of the ninefold Stix, 90

54 vastall Q 66 a quittance S S. T>. Xar urine
in S, Molt. 80 with coursers Fj, R : on COUIM i * .'/
88 this] or this K : this sharpest S: this my Moll.

LOCRIXE

ACT V, So. IV.

Which with incessant torments racke the

ghoasts

Within the bottomlesse Abissus pits,
You gods, commanders of the heauenly

spheres,

Whose will and lawes irreuocable stands,
Forgiue, forgiue, this foule accursed sinne! 95
Forget, gods, this foule condemned fault!
And now, my sword, that in so many fights

[kisse his sword.

Hast sau'd the life of Brutus and his sonne,
End now his life that wisheth still for death;
Worke now his death that wisheth still for

death; xoo

Worke now his death that hateth still his life.
Farwell, faire Estrild, beauties paragon,
Fram'd in the front of forlorne miseries!
Ner shall mine eies behold thy sunshine eies,
But when we meet in the Elysian fields; 105
Thither I go before with hastened pace.
Farwell, vaine world, and thy inticing snares !
Farwell, foule sinne, and thy inticing pleasures!
And welcome, death, the end of mortall

smart,
Welcome to Locrines ouerburthened hart!

{Thrust himselfe through with his sword.
Estr. Break, hart, with sobs and greeuous

suspirs! in

Streame forth, you teares, from forth my

watry eies;

Helpe me to mourne for warlike Locrmesdeath!
Powre downe your teares, you watry regions,
For mightie Locrine is bereft of life! 115

fickle fortune! vns table world!
What else are all things that this globe con r

taines,

But a confused chaos of mishaps,
Wherein, as in a glasse, we plainly see,
That all our life is but as a Tragedie? 120
Since mightie kings are subiect to mishap
I, mightie kings are subiect to mishap!
Since martiall Locrine is bereft of life,
Shall Estrild Hue, then, after Locrines death?
Shall loue of life barre her from Locrines

sword? i 25

O no, this sword, that hath bereft his life,
Shall now depriue me of my fleeting soule:
Strengthen these hands, mightie lupiter,
That I may end my wofull miserie.
Locrine, I come; Locrine, I follow thee. 130

[Km her selfe.

Sound the alarms. Enter Sabren.
Sab. What dolefull sight, what ruthful
spectacle

106 hastenened Q 120 as om. Ff. etc. 122 om. S,
Hun., Molt.

Hath fortune offred to my haplesse hart?
My father slaine with such a fatall sword,
My mother murthred by a mortall wound?
What Thracian dog, what barbarous Mir-

midon, 1 35

Would not relent at such a ruthfull case?
What fierce Achilles, what hard stonie flint,
Would not bemone this mournfull Tragedie?
Locrine, the map of magnanimitie,
Lies slaughtered in this foule accursed caue,
Estrild, the perfect patterne of renowne, 1 41
Natures sole wonder, in whose bewteous brests
All heauenly grace and vertue was inshrinde:
Both massacred are dead within this caue,
And with them dies faire Pallas and sweet

loue. 145

Here lies a sword, and Sabren hath a heart;
This blessed sword shall cut my cursed heart,
And bring my soule vnto my parents ghoasts,
That they that liue and view our Tragedie
May mourne our case with mournfull plaudi-

ties. 150

[Let her offer to kill her selfe.
Ay me, my virgins hands are too too weake,
To penetrate the bullwarke of my brest;
My fingers, vsde to tune the amorous lute,
Are not of force to hold this steely glaiue.
So I am left to waile my parents death, 155
Not able for to worke my proper death.
Ah, Locrine, honord for thy noblenesse!
Ah, Estrild, famous for thy constancie!
II may they fare that wrought your mortall

ends!

Enter Guendoline, Thrasimachus, Madan, and

the souldiers.

Guen. Search, souldiers, search, find Locrin

and his loue; 160

Find the proud strumpet, H umbers concubine,

That I may change those her so pleasing

lookes

To pale and ignominious aspect.
Find me the issue of their cursed loue,
Find me yoong Sabren, Locrines only ioy, 1 65
That I may glut my mind with lukewarme

blood,

Swiftly distilling from the bastards brest.
My fathers ghoast stil haunts me for reuenge,
Crying, Reuenge my ouerhastened death.
My brothers exile and mine owne diuorce 170
Banish remorse cleane from my brazen heart,
All mercie from mine adamintine brests.
Thra. Nor doth thy husband, louely Guen
doline,

150 plaudites F2: plaudite M: plaudits Haz.
151 virgin Jtf 154glaine Q : glain Fl 155 lieft Q
172 adamantine Q -. con: R

AcrV,Sc..IV.

THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF

That wonted was to guide our stailesse steps,
Enioy this light; see where he murdred lies 175
By lucklesse lot and froward frowning fate; /
And by him lies his louely paramour,
Faire Estrild, goared with a dismall sword;
And as it seemes, both murdred by themselues,
Clasping each other in their feebled armes, 180
With louing zeale, as if for companie
Their vncontented corpes were yet content
To passe foule Stix in Charons ferry-boat.
Guen. And hath proud Estrild then pre-

uented me?

Hath she escaped Guendolinas wrath 185
Violently, by cutting off her life?
Would God she had the monstrous Hidras Hues,
That euery houre she might haue died a death
Worse then the swing of old Ixions wheele;
And euery houre reuiue to die againe, 19
As Titius, bound to housles Caucason,
Doth feed the substance of his owne mishap,
And euery day for want of foode doth die,
And euery night doth liue, againe to die.
But staiel mee thinks I heare some fainting

voice, i9S

Mournfully weeping for their lucklesse death.

Sa. You mountain nimphs, which in these

desarts raign,

Cease off your hastie chase of sauadge beasts;
Prepare to see a heart opprest with care;
Addresse your eares to heare a mournful! stile!
No humane strength, no work can work my

weale, 201

Care in my hart so tyrant like doth deale.
You Driad.es and lightfoote Satiri,
You gracious Faries which, at euening tide,
Your closets leaue with heauenly beautie

storde, 205

And on your shoulders spread your golden

locks;
You sauadge beares in caues and darkened

dennes,
Come waile with me the martiall Locrines

death;
Come mourn with me for beauteous Estrilds

deth.

Ah! louing parents, little do you know 210
What sorrow Sabren suffers for your thrall.

Gnen. But may this be, and is it possible?
Liues Sabren yet to expiat my wrath?
Fortune, I thanke thee for this curtesie;
And let me neuer see one prosperous houre,
If Sabren die not a reproachfull death. 216
Sab. Hard harted death, that, when the

wretched call,

186 By violently R 191 Tityus . . Caucasus 3/ 220 com'st . . sheer'st M 232 thinst Q 2J

n ?- W0 ^r 204 You .. which] Ye .. who S mastiff M, etc. 241 This present Ff, efc. 242 o

add. It 247 same] stream conj. S 250 vuuts Q
64

Art furthest off, and sildom heerst at all;
But, in the midst of fortunes good successe,
Vncalled comes, and sheeres our life in

twaine: 220

When wil that houre, that blessed houre, draw

nie,

When poore distressed Sabren may be' gone?
Sweet Atropos, cut off my fatall thred!
What art thou death? shall not poore Sabren

die?
Guendoline (taking her by the chin shall say

thus).
Guen. Yes, damsell, yes; Sabren shall surely

die, 225

Though all the world should seeke to saue her

life;

And not a common death shall Sabren die,
But after strange and greeuous punishments
Shortly inflicted vpon thy bastards head,
Thou shalt be cast into the cursed streames,
And feede the fishes with thy tender flesh.
Sab. And thinkst thou then, thou cruell

homicid, 232

That these thy deeds shall be vnpunished?
No, traitor, no; the gods will venge these

wrongs,

The fiends of hell will marke these iniuries.
Neuer shall these blood -sucking mastie curres,
Bring wretched Sabren to her latest home;
For I my selfe, in spite of thee and thine,
Meane to abridge my former destenies,
And that which Locrines sword could not per
form, 240
This pleasant streame shall present bring to

passe.

[She drowneth her selfe.
Guen. One mischief e f ollowes (on) anothers

necke.
Who would haue thought so yoong a mayd as

she
With such a courage wold haue sought her

death?

And for because this Riuer was the place 245
Where little Sabren resolutely died,
Sabren for euer shall this same be call'd.
And as for Locrine, our deceased spouse,
Because he was the sonne of mightie Brute,
To whom we owe our country, liues and

goods, 250

He shall be buried in a stately tombe,
Close by his aged father Brutus bones,
With such great pomp and great solemnitie,
As well beseemes so braue a prince as he.
Let Estrild lie without the shallow vaults, 255

236
242 on

LOCRINE

ACT V, Sc. IV.

Without the honour due vnto the dead,
Because she was the author of this warre.
Retire, braue followers, vnto Troynouant,
Where we will celebrate these exequies, 259
And place yoong Locrine in his fathers tombe.
[Exeunt omnes.

(Enter Ate.)

Ate. Lo here the end of lawlesse trecherie,
Of vsurpation and ambitious pride;
And they that for their priuate amours dare

260 yoong] your con;. S : king Molt. S. D. add. M

Turmoile our land, and set their broiles

abroach,

Let them be warned by these premisses. 265
And as a woman was the onely cause
That ciuill discord was then stirred vp,
So let vs pray for that renowned mayd,
That eight and thirtie yeares the scepter swayd,
In quiet peace and sweet felicitie; 270

And euery wight that seekes her graces smart,
Wold that this sword wer pierced in his hart!

[Exit.
FINIS.
264 see Q

T. B.

THE

RAIGNE OF

KING EDWARD

the third:

it hath binfundne times flaied about
the Qtie of London.

LONDON,

T rinted for (jtthbertTSurby,

Ql = Quarto of 1596

Q2 = 1599

C -= Capell, 1760

T = Tyrrell, 1851

D = Delius, 1854

Molt. = Moltke, 1869

Col = Collier, 1878

WP = Warnke and Proescholdt, 1836

pr. ed. *? present editor

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

'PERSONS REPRESENTED.

Edward the third, King of England.

Edward, Prince of Wales, his Son.

Earl of Warwick.

Earl of Derby.

Earl of Salisbury.

Lord Audley.

Lord Percy.

Lodowick, Edward's Confident.

Sir William Mountague.

Sir John Copland.

Two Esquires, and a Herald, English.

Robert, sitting himself Earl, of Artois.

Earl of Montfort, and

Gobin de Grey.

John, King of France.

Charles, and Philip, his Sons.

Duke of Lorrain.

Lords, and divers other Attendants

Villiers, a French Lord.

King of Bohemia and )-.... . -, . . T .

A Polish Captain \ Alds to Kin t *<**.

Six 2 Citizens of Calais.

A Captain, and

A poor Inhabitant, of the same.

Another Captain.

A Mariner.

Three Heralds; and

Four other Frenchmen.

David, King of Scotland.

Earl Douglas; and

Two Messengers, Scotch.

Philippa, Edward's Queen.
Countess of Salisbury.
A French Woman.
Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, &.c.

Scene, dispers'd; in England, Flanders, and France.} 1

(ACT I.

SCENE I.

London. A Room of State in the Palace.

Flourish.}
Enter King Edward, Derby, Prince Edward,

Audely, and Artoys.
King. Robert of Artoys, banisht though

thou be

From Fraunce, thy natiue Country, yet with vs
Thou shalt retayne as great a Seigniorie:
For we create thee Earle of Richmond heere.
And now goe forwards with our pedegree: 5
Who next succeeded Phillip le Bew?

AT. Three sonnes of his, which all successe-

fully

Did sit vpon their fathers regall Throne,
Yet dyed, and left no issue of their loynes. 9
King. But was my mother sister vnto

those?

Art. Shee was, my Lord; and onely Issabel
Was all the daughters that this Phillip had,
Whome afterward your father tooke to wife;
And from the fragrant garden of her wombe
Your gratious selfe, the flower of Europes
hope, , s

Deriued is inheritor to Fraunce.
But note the rancor of rebellious mindes:

' .('I'L i' 2 Two C Act I. (If. mhl. C t\ le
L : of Q'i 7 successively <J 17 note <j ? : not y /

When thus the lynage of (le) Bew was out,
The French obscurd your mothers Priuiledge,
And, though she were the next of blood, pro-
claymed 20

lohn, of the house of Valoys, now their king:
The reason was, they say, the Realme of

Fraunce,

Repleat with Princes of great parentage,
Ought not admit a gouernor to rule,
Except he be discended of the male; 25

And thats the special! ground of their con
tempt,

Wherewith they study to exclude your grace:
But they shall finde that forged ground of theirs
To be but dusty heapes of brittile sande. 2)
Perhaps it will be thought a heynous thing,
That I, a French man, should discouer this;
But heauen I call to recorde of my vowes:
It is not hate nor any priuat wronge,
But loue vnto my country and the right,
Prouokes my tongue, thus lauish in report. 35
You are the lyneal watchman of our peace,
And lohn of Valoys indirectly climbes:
What then should subiects but imbrace their

King?

Ah, where in may our duety more be seene,
Then stryuing to rebate a tyrants pride 4

18 of Bew Qf, : of le beau C 30 Art (7/W.)

Perhaps Q 1 : Perhaps Q 2, tic. % watchman C :

watcli men tyq 30 Ah] And couj. V

ACT 1, Sc. t. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

And place the true shepheard of our comon-

wealth? .

King. This counsayle, Artoy es, like to muct -

full shewers,

Hath added growth vnto my digmtye;
And, by the fiery vigor of thy words,
Hot courage is engendred in my brest, 45

Which heretofore was rakt in ignorance,
But nowe doth mount with golden winges of

fame,

And will approue faire Issabells discent,
Able to yoak their stubburne necks with steele,
That spume against my souereignety in

France. [sound a home.

A messenger? Lord Awdley, know from

whence. 5'

(Exit Audley, and returns.}
And. The Duke of Lorrayne, hauing crost

the seas,
Intreates he may haue conference with your

highnes.
King. Admit him, Lords, that we may

heare the newes.

(Exeunt Lords. King takes his State.
Re-enter Lords; with Lorrain, at
tended.',
Say, Duke of Lorrayne, wherefore art thou

come? 55

Lor. The most renowned prince, K;ing;

lohn of France,
Doth greete thee, Edward, and by me com-

mandes,

That, for so much as by his liberall gift
The Guyen Dukedome is entayld to thee,
Thou do him lowly homage for the same. 60
And, for that purpose, here I somon thee,
Repaire to France within these forty daies,
That there, according as the coustome is,
Thou mayst be sworne true liegeman to our

King;

Or else thy title in that prouince dyes, 65

And hee him self will repossesse the place.
K. Ed. See, how occasion laugbes me in

the facet

No sooner minded to prepare for France,
But straight I am inuited, nay, with threats,
Vppon a penaltie, inioynd to come: 70

Twere but a childish part to say him nay.
Lorrayne, returne this answere to thy Lord:
I meane to visit him as he requests;
But how? not seruilely disposd to bend,
But like a conquerer to make him bowe. 75
His lame vnpolisht shifts are come to light;

And trueth hath puld the visard from his face,
That sett a glosse vpon his arropannce.
Dare he commaund a fealty in mee?
Tell him, the Crowne that hee vsurpes, is

myne,

S. D. Exit etc. C : Enter a messenger Lorragne Ou 78 glasse 01
; *er] tfce 0* 71 childish] Degenerate

And where he sets his foote, he ought to

knele.

Tis not a petty Dukedome that I claime,
But all the whole Dominions of the Realme;
Which if with grudging he refuse to yeld.
He take away those borrowed plumes of his, 85
And send him naked to the wildernes.
Lor. Then, Edward, here, in spight of all

thy Lords,
I doe pronounce defyaunce to thy face.

Pri. Defiance, French man? we rebound it

backe,

Euen to the bottom of thy masters throat. 9
And, be it spoke with reuerence of the King,
.My gratious father, and these other Lordes,
I hold thy message but as scurrylous,
And him that sent thee, like the lazy droane,
Crept vp by stelth vnto the Eagles nest; 95
From whence wele shake him with so rough

a storme,

As others shalbe warned by his harme.
War. Byd him leaue of the Lyons case he

weares,

Least, meeting with the Lyon in the feeld,
He chaunce to teare him peecemeale for his
pride. too

Art. The soundest counsell I can giue his

grace,

Is to surrender ere he be constraynd.
A voluntarie mischiefe hath lesse scorne,
Then when reproch with violence is borne. 104
Lor. Degenerate Traytor, viper to the place
Where thou was fostred in thine infancy,
Bearest thou a part in this conspiracy?

[He drawes his Sword.
K. Ed. Lorraine, behold the sharpnes of
this steele: (Drawing his.'

Feruent desire that sits against my heart, 109
Is farre more thornie pricking than this blade;
That, with the nightingale, I shall be scard,
As oft as I dispose my selfe to rest,
Vntill my collours be displaide in Fraunce:
This is thy finall Answere; so be gone. 114
Lor. It is not that, nor any English braue,
Afflicts me so, as doth his poysoned view,
That is most false, should most of all be true.
(Exeunt Lorrain, and Train.}
K. Ed. Now, Lord, our fleeting Barke is
vnder sayle;

87 spight] sight conj. C HC>

_ - . . Regenerate Oa H"j wast Q i'

I 108 S.- D. add. D 117 tf. D. add. C 118 lords C
70

THE RAIGNE OF K, EDWARD THE THIRD ACT I, Sc. II.

Our gage is throwne, and warre is soone

begun,
But not so quickely brought vnto an end. 1 20

Enter Mountague.

But wherefore comes Sir william Mountague?
How stands the league betweene the Scot and

vs?
Mo. Crackt and disseuered, my renowned

Lord.

The treacherous King no sooner was inf ormde
Of your with drawing of your army backe, 1 25
But straight, forgetting of his former othe,
He made inuasion on the bordering Townes:
Barwicke is woon, Newcastle spoyld and lost,
And now the tyrant hath beguirt with seege
The Castle of Rocksborough, where inclosd 130
The Countes Salsbury is like to perish.

King. That is thy daughter, Warwicke, is it

not?
Whose husband hath in Brittayne serud so

long

About the planting of Lord Mouneford there?
War. It is, my Lord. 135

Ki. Ignoble Dauid! hast thou none to

greeue

But silly Ladies with thy threatning armes?
But I will make you shrinke your snailie

homes!

First, therefore, Audley, this shalbe thy charge,
Go leuie footemen for our warres in Fraunce;
And, Ned, take muster of our men at armes:
In euery shire elect a seuerall band.
Let them be Souldiers of a lustie spirite,
Such as dread nothing but dishonors blot;
Be warie, therefore, since we do comence 1 45
A famous Warre, and with so mighty a nation.
Derby, be thou Embassador for vs
Vnto our Father in Law, the Earle of Henalt:
Make him acquainted with our enterprise,
And likewise will him, with our owne allies 150
That are in Flaunders, to solicite to
The Emperour of Almaigne in our name.
My selfe, whilst you are ioyntly thus employd,
Will, with these forces that I haue at hand,
March, and once more repulse the trayterous

Scot. 155

But, Sirs, be resolute; we shal haue warres
On euery side; and, Ned, thou must begin
Now to forget thy study and thy bookes,
And vre thy shoulders to an Armors weight.
Pr. As cheereful sounding to my youthfull

spleene 1 60

This tumult is of warres increasing broyles,
As, at the Coronation of a king,

121 Prrctiltd lif prefix Moun. Q 1 125 on
V - 146 mighty nation C 155 Scots C

The ioyfull clamours of the people are,
When Aue, Caesar! they pronounce alowd.
Within this schoole of honor I shal learne 1 65
Either to sacrifice my foes to death,
Or in a rightfull quarrel spend my breath.
Then cheerefully forward, ech a seuerall way;
In great affaires tis nought to vse delay.

[Ex(e}nnl.
(SCENE H.
Roxborough. Before the Castle.)

Enter the Countesse.
(Coun/esse.) Alas, how much in vaine my

poore eyes gaze

For souccour that my soueraigne should sendl
Ah, cosin Mountague, I feare thou wants
The liuely spirit, sharpely to solicit
With vehement sute the king in my behalf e: 5
Thou dost not tell him, what a griefe it is
To be the scornef ull captiue to a Scot,
Either to be wooed with broad vntuned othes,
Or forst by rough insulting barbarisme:
Thou doest not tell him, if he heere preuaile, 10
How much they will deride vs in the North,
And, in their vild, vnseuill, skipping giggs,
Bray foorth their Conquest and our ouerthrow
Euen in the barraine, bleake, and fruitlesse

Enter Dauid and Douglas, Lorraine.
I 1 must withdraw, the euerlasting foe is

I Comes to the wall; He closely step aside,
i And list their babble, blunt and full of pride.
K. Da. My Lord of Lorrayne, to our bro
ther of Fraunce

Commend vs, as the man in Christendome
That we most reuerence and intirely loue. 20
Touching your embassage, returne and say,
That we with England will not enter parlie,
Nor neuer make faire wether, or take truce;
But burne their neighbor townes, and so per
sist

With eager Rods beyond their Citie Yorke. 25
And neuer shall our bonny riders rest,
Nor rusting canker haue the time to eate
Their light borne snaffles nor their nimble

spurres,

Nor lay aside their lacks of Gymould mayle,

Nor hang their staues of grayned Scottish ash

i In peacefull wise vpon their Citie wals, 3*

j Nor from their buttoned tawny leatherne belts

I Dismisse their byting whinyards, till your

King

Scene II. tic. aM. C 1 .Vo prtfx 01 3 Ah]
A Ql wanfst Q? 17 rabble 0i> 20 must Ql
25 roads C 27 rust in? C : rust In Qq 28 spurre
Q 1 (B.M. copy. The Bod!, copy Itas only spu)

ACT I, Sc. II. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

Cry out: Enough, spare England now for

pittie !

Farewell, and teli him that you leaue vs heare
Before this Castle; say, you came from vs, 36
Euen when we had that yeelded to our

hands.
Lor. I take my leaue, and fayrely will

Annother messenger.
Mes. Arme, my good Lord! 0, we are all

surprisdel
(Coim.) After the French embassador, my

liege,

And tell him, that you dare not ride to Yorke;
Excuse it that your bonnie horse is lame. 70
K. She heard that to; intolerable grief e!

Your acceptable greeting to my king. [Exit Lor. ; Woman, farewell 1 Although I do not stay . . .
K. D. Now, Duglas, to our former taske ! [Ex(e}unt Scots.

again, 4 Count. Tis not for feare, and yet you run

For the deuision of this certayne spoyle.

Don. My liege, I craue the Ladle, and no |

more.
King. Nay, soft ye, sir; first I must make

my choyse,

And first I do bespeake her for my selfe.
Da. Why then, my liege, let me enioy her

iewels.

King. Those are her owne, still liable to

her,
And who inherits her, hath those with all.

Enter a Scot in hast.
Mes. My liege, as we were pricking on the

hils,

To fetch in booty, marching hitherward,
We might discry a mighty host of men; 50
The Sunne, reflecting on the armour, shewed
A field of plate, a wood of pickes aduanced.
Bethinke your highnes speedely herein:
An easie march within foure howres will

bring

The hindmost rancke vnto this place, my

liege.

King. Dislodge, dislodge! it is the king of

England.
Dug. lemmy, my man, saddle my bonny

blacke.
King. Meanst thou to fight, Duglas? we

are to weake.
Du. I know it well, my liege, and therefore

file.
Cou. My Lords of Scotland, will ye stay

and drinke? 60

King. She mocks at vs, Duglas; I cannot

endure it.
Count. Say, good my Lord, which is he

must haue the Ladie,

And which her iewels? I am sure, my Lords,
Ye will not hence, till you haue shard the

spoyles.
King. Shee heard the messenger, and heard

our talke; 6 S

And now that comfort makes her scorne at vs.

38 I out. Q 1
52 pikes Q2, etc.

43 ye om. Q 3
59 flee Q3

45 Prefix Da. Q 1

fi*3 frnnrl /-mi /".'

62 good om. C

away.

happie comfort, welcome to our house!
The confident and boystrous boasting Scot, 75
That swore before my walls they would not

backe

For all the armed power of this land,
With f acelesse feare that euer turnes his backe,
Turnd hence against the blasting North-east

winde
Vpon the bare report and name of Armes. 80

Enter Mountague.

Sommers day! See where my Cosin comes!

Mo. How fares my Aunt? We are not Scots;

Why do you shut your gates against your

friends?
Co. Well may I giue a welcome, Cosin, to

thee,

For thou comst well to chase my foes from

hence. 85

Mo. The king himselfe is come in person

hither;
Deare Aunt, discend, and gratulate his highnes.

55 I Co. How may I entertayne his Maiestie,

To shew my duety and his dignitie?

(Exit, from above.}

Enter king Edward, Warwike, Artoyes, with

others.

K. Ed. What, are the stealing Foxes fled
and gone, 9

Before we could vncupple at their heeles?
War. They are, my liege ; but, with a cheere -

f ul cry,

Hot hounds and bardie chase them at the
heeles.

Enter Countesse.
K. Ed. This is the Countesse, Warwike, is

it not?

War. Euen shee, my liege; whose beauty
tyrants feare, 95

68 P rt fix om. Qq
lie conj. C 79

?1 She f : He

lie conj. C 79 against conj. C : ngaine Oo
names Q 2 82 Prefix pncales 81 ()<i 82
hy, aunt, we C, et<: 89 ti. D. add. C 9

;0 thcyl

Q! 95niyoHi. Ql tyrant//

93 honoi

THE RAIGXE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT II, Sc.

As a May blossome with pernitious winds,
Hath sullied, withered, ouercast, and donne.
K. Ed. Hath she been fairer, Warwike,

then she is?
War. My gratious King, faire is she not at

all,

If that her selfe were by to staine her selfe, 100
As I haue seene her when she was her selfe.
K. Ed. What strange enchantment lurkt

in those her eyes,

When they exceld this excellence they haue,
That now her dym declyne hath power to

draw

My subiect eyes from persing maiestie, 105
To gaze on her with doting admiration?
Count. In duetie lower then the ground I

kneele,

And for my dul knees bow my feeling heart,
To witnes my obedience to your highnes,
With many millions of a subiects thanks 1 1 o
For this your Royal! presence, whose approch
Hath driuen war and dcCnger from my gate.
K. Lady, stand vp; I come to bring thee

peace,

How euer thereby I haue purchast war.
Co. No war to you, my liege; the Scots
are gone, MS

Warwike, Artoys, to horse and lets away!
Co. What might I speake to make my

soueraigne stay?
King. What needs a tongue to such a

speaking eie,

That more perswads then winning Oratoria?
Co. Let not thy presence, like the Aprill

sunne, 141

Flatter our earth and sodenly be done.
More happie do not make our outward wall
Then thou wilt grace our inner house withal).
Our house, my liege, is like a Country swaine,
Whose habit rude and manners blunt and

playne 146

Presageth nought, yet inly beautified
With bounties, riches and faire hidden pride.
For where the golden Ore doth buried lie,
The ground, vndect with natures tapestrie, 1 50
Seemes barrayne, sere, vnfertill, fructles, dry;

His pide perfumes and party colloured cost,
Delue there, and find this issue and their pride
To spring from ordure and corruptions side. 1 55
But, to make vp my all to long compare,
These ragged walles no testimonie are,
What is within; but, like a cloake, doth hide
From weathers Waste the vnder garnisht pride.

And gallop home toward Scotland with their j More gratious then my tearmes can let thee
hate. be, 160

(King.) Least, yeelding heere, I pyne in Intreat thy selfe to stay a while with mee.

shamefull loue, Kin. As wise, as faire; what fond fit can

Come, wcle persue the Scots; Artoyes, awayl j be heard,

Co. A little while, my gratious soueraigne, When wisedome keepes the gate as beutiea

stay,
And let the power of a mighty king

gard?
1 20 I Countesse, albeit my busines vrgeth me,

Honor our roofe; my husband in the warres, j Yt shall attend, while I attend on thee: 165

When he shall heare it, will triumph for ioy;
Then, deare my liege, now niggard not thy

state:
Being at the wall, enter our homely gate.

King. Pardon me, countesse, I will come
no neare; 125

I dreamde to night of treason, and I feare.

Co. Far from this place let vgly treason ly!

K. No farther off, then her conspyring eye,
Which shoots infected poyson in my heart,
Beyond repulse of wit or cure of Art. 1 30

Now, in the Sunne alone it doth not lye,
With light to take light from a mortall eye;

Come on, my Lords; heere will I host to night.

[Exeunt.

(ACT H.

SCENE I.

The Same. Gardens of the Castle.

Enter Lodowick.)
Lod. I might perceiue his eye in her eye

lost,

His eare to drinke her sweet tongues vtterance,
And changing passion, like inconstant clouds
That racke vpon the carriage of the windes,

For here two day stars that myne eies would Increase and die in his disturbed cheekes. 5

Loe, when shee blusht, euen then did he looke

More then the Sunne stealea myne owne light

from mee.

Contemplatiue desire, desire to be 1 35

In contemplation, that may master theel

10-2 liu-ke (J 1 104 her] their CUHJ. C 116 hate]
haste C 117 Prefix om. Ql 133 two] to Ql

pale,
As if her cheekes by some inchaunted power

153 pide conj. C : pride Oq : proud C presumes
2 157 testomie Q 1 159 waste D : West 7
Act II. ttc. add. C 1 Prtfijc Lor. Q 1 4 rackt

Q2, etc.

ACT II, Sc. I. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

Attracted had the cherie blood from his:
Anone, with reverent feare when she grew

pale,

His cheekes put on their scarlet ornaments; 10
But no more like her oryentall red,
Then Bricke to Corrall or liue things to dead.
Why did he then thus counterfeit her lookes?
If she did blush, twas tender modest shame,
Being in the sacred presence of a King; 15
If he did blush, twas red immodest shame,
To vaile his eyes amisse, being a king:
If she lookt pale, twas silly womans feare,
To beare her selfe in presence of a king;
If he lookt pale, it was with guiltie feare, 20
To dote amisse, being a mighty king.
Then, Scottish warres, farewell; I feare twill

prooue

A lingring English seege of peeuish loue.
Here comes his highnes, walking all alone.

Enter King Edward.
King. Shee is growne more fairer far since

I came hither, 25

Her voice more siluer euery word then other,
Her wit more fluent. What a strange discourse
Vnfolded she of Dauid and his Scots 1
' Euen thus ', quoth she, ' he spake ', and then

spoke broad,

With epithites and accents of the Scot, 30

But somewhat better then the Scot could

speake:
'And thus ', quoth she, and answered then her

selfe
Tor who could speake like her but she her

selfe
Breathes from the wall an Angels note from

Heauen

Of sweete defiance to her barbarous foes. 35
When she would talke of peace, me thinkes,

her tong

Commanded war to prison; when of war,
It wakened Caesar from his Romane graue,
To heare warre beautified by her discourse.
Wisedome is foolishnes but in her tongue, 40
Beauty a slander but in her faire face,
There is no summer but in her cheerefull

lookes,

Nor frosty winter but in her disdayne.
I cannot blame the Scots that did besiege her,
For she is all the Treasure of our land; 45
But call them cowards, that they ran away,
Hauing so rich and faire a cause to stay.
Art thou there, Lodwicke? Giue me incke and

paper.

10 cheeke to 11 oryent all Q 1 15 present
Q 1 1 1 vail C : waile Qq 25 thither 1 2U
spoke] spake Q 2

Lo. I will, my liege.

K. And bid the Lords hold on their play at
Chesse, 50

For wee will walke and meditate alone.

Lo. I will, my soueraigne. Exit Lodowick.)

Ki. This fellow is well read in poetrie,
And hath a lustie and perswasiue spirite:
I will acquaint him with my passion, 55

Which he shall shadow with a vaile of lawne,
Through which the Queene of beauties Queene

shall see
Her selfe the ground of my infirmitie.

Enter Lodwike.
Ki. Hast thou pen, inke, and paper ready,

Lodowike?

Lo. Ready, my liege. 60

Ki. Then in the sommer arber sit by me,
Make it our counsel house or cabynet:
Since greene our thoughts, greene be the con-

uenticle,

Where we will ease vs by disburdning them.
Now, Lodwike, inuocate some golden Muse, 65
j To bring thee hither an inchanted pen,
That may for sighes set downe true sighea

indeed,

Talking of grief e, to make thee ready grone;
And when thou writest of teares, encouch the

word

Before and after with such sweete laments, 70
That it may rayse drops in a Tarters eye,
And make a fly nt heart Sythian pytifull;
For so much moouing hath a Poets pen:
Then, if thou be a Poet, moue thou so,
And be enriched by thy soueraignes loue. 75
For, if the touch of sweet concordant strings
Could force attendance in the eares of hel,
How much more shall the straines of poets wit
Beguile and rauish soft and humane myndes?
Lod. To whoine, my Lord, shal I direct my
stile? 80

King. To one that shames the faire and

sots the wise;

Whose bodie is an abstract or a breefe,
Containes ech generall vertue in the worlde.
Better then bewtifull thou must begin,
Deuise for faire a fairer word then faire, 85
And euery ornament that thou wouldest praise,
: Fly it a pitch aboue the soare of praise.
For flattery feare thou not to be conuicted;
For, were thy admiration ten tymes more,
| Ten tymes ten thousand more the worth
exceeds 90

49 soueraigne Q S 52 liege Q ? N. /(. add. ('
53 well OHI. Q S 57 beauties Qucciies WP 71
Torters <)q 75 soueraigne Q J 78 straine (> -

79 beguild Q 1 80 Prefix Lor. 1 82 is] as C,
etc. 90the]thy(*7

THE KAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT II, St. I.

Of that thou art to praise, thy praises worth.
Beginne; I will to contemplat the while:
Forget not to set downe, how passionat,
How hart sicke, and how full of languishment,
Her beautie makes mee.
Lod. Write I to a woman? 95

King. What bewtie els could triumph ouer

me,
Or who but women doe our loue layes greet?

Her bewtie hath no match but my affection;
I Hers more then most, myne most and more

then more:

Hers more to praise then tell the sea by drops,
I Nay, more then drop the massie earth by
sands, 136

! And sand by sand print them in memorie:
! Then wherefore talkest thou of a period
To that which craues vnended admiration?

What, thinkest thou I did bid thee praise a . Read, let vs heare.

horse?

Lod. Of what condicion or estate she is,
Twere requisit that I should know, my Lord.
King. Of such estate, that hers is as a

throane, 101

And my estate the footstoole where shee

treads :

Then maist thou iudge what her condition is
By the proportion of her mightines.
Write on, while I peruse her in my thoughts.
Her voice to musicke or the nightingale
To musicke euerysommer leaping swaine 107
Compares his sunburnt louer when shee

speakes ;

And why should I speake of the nightingale?
The nightingale singes of adulterate wrong,
And that, compared, is to satyrical; zxx

For sinne, though synne, would not be so

esteemd,

But, rather, vertue sin, synne vertue deemd.
Her hair, far softer then the silke wormes

twist,

Like to a flattering glas, doth make more faire
The yelow Amber: like a flattering glas 116
Comes in to soone; for, writing of her eies,
He say that like a glas they catch the sunne,
And thence the hot reflection doth rebounde
Against my brest, and burnes my hart within.
Ah, what a world of descant makes my soule
Vpon this voluntarie ground of loue! 122
Come, Lod wick, hast thou turnd thy inke to

golde?

If not, write but in letters Capitall
My mistres name, and it wil guild thy paper:
Read, Lorde, reade; 126

Fill thou the emptie hollowes of mine eares
With the sweete hearing of thy poetrie.
Lo. I haue not to a period brought her

praise.

King. Her praise is as my loue, both innnit,
Which apprehend such violent extremes, 131
That they disdaine an ending peiiod.

'M thy C: their IJ</ !C> /'/</;.- Lor. <J / Writ

Q 1 a OIH. Q 2 % oucr Q 2 : on <J J jn Pn1i.c
Lor. / 100 A line inn,/ hare Ixm lu*l //</ lO.".
Ill ? that compare is 115 tol as (( ;' 124-ti Tiro
lints Q'i, die. (ifttr name : C nids capital, name, read

140
| Lo. ' More faire and chast then is the queen

of shades,'
King. That line hath two falts, grosse and

palpable:
Comparest thou her to the pale queene of

night,

Who, being set in darke, seemes therefore

light? 144

What is she, when the sunne lifts vp his head,

But like a fading taper, dym and dead?

My loue shall braue the ey of heauen at noon,

And, being vnmaskt, outshine the golden sun.

Lo. What is the other faulte, my soueraigne

Lord?

King. Reade ore the line againe.
Lo. 'More faire and chast' 150

King. I did not bid thee talke of chastitie,
To ransack so the treasure of her minde;
For I had rather haue her chased then chast.
Out with the moone line, I wil none of it;
And let me haue hir likened to the sun: 155
| Say shee hath thrice more splendour then the

sun,

That her perfections emulats the sunne,
; That shee breeds sweets as plenteous as the

sunne,
That shee doth thaw cold winter like the

sunne,

That she doth cheere fresh sommer like the
sunne, 1 60

That shee doth dazle gazers like the sunne;
1 And, in this application to the sunne,
Bid her be free and generall as the sunne,
Who smiles vpon the basest weed that growes
As louinglie as on the fragrant rose. 1 65

Lets see what followes that same moonelight

line.
Lo. ' More faire and chast then is the queen

of shades,
i More bould in constancie'

King. In constancie 1 then who?
Lo. 'Then ludith was.'

King. O monstrous line! Put in the next
a sword, J7

137 And said, by said tyi : rorr. C 142 line] loiic
Ql 152 treasure V : treason Qq 167 queen

i V : louer Q>t

Acr II, Sc. I. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

And I shall woo her to cut of my head.

Blot, blot, good Lodwicke! Let vs heare the

next.

Lo. Theres all that yet is donne.
King. I thancke thee then; thou hast don

litle ill,

But what is don, is passing, passing ill. 1 75
No, let the Captaine talke of boystrous warr,
The prisoner of emured darke constraint,
The sick man best sets downe the pangs of

death,
The man that starues the sweetnes of

feast,

The frozen soule the benefite of fire,
And euery grief e his happie opposite:
Loue cannot sound well but in louers toungs;
Giue me the pen and paper, I will write.

Enter Countes.

King. Tf thou speakst true, then haue I

my redresse:

Ingage thy power to redeeme my loyes,
And I am ioyfull, Countes; els I die.
Conn. I will, my Liege.
King. Sweare, Counties, that thou wilt.
Conn. By heauen, I will. 210

King. Then take thy selfe a litel waie

a side,

And tell thy self, a King doth dote on thee:
Say that within thy power (it) doth lie
a To make him happy, and that thou hast

sworne

i So i To giue him all the loy within thy power: 215
Do this, and tell me when I shall be happie.
Conn. All this is done, my thrice dread

souereigne:

That power of loue, that I haue power to giue,
Thou hast with all deuout obedience;

But soft, here comes the treasurer of my Inploy me how thou wilt in prof e therof. 220

spirit.

Lodwick, thou knowst not how to drawe a
battell; 185

These wings, these flankars, and these squad
rons

Argue in thee defectiue discipline:

King. Thou hearst me saye that I do dote

on thee.
Conn. Tf on rry beauty, take yt if thou

canst;

Though litle, I do prise it ten tymes lesse:
If on my vertue, take it if thou canst,

Thou should est haue placed this here, this For vertues store by giuing doth augment: 225

other here.
Co. Pardon my boldnes, my thrice gracious

Lords;

Let my intrusion here be cald my duetie, 190
That comes to see my soueraigne how he

fares.

Kin. Go, draw the same, I tell thee in
what forme.

Lod. I go.

Be it on what it will, that I can giue
And thou canst take awaie, inherit it.
King. It is thy beautie that I would e

enioy.
Count. 0, were it painted, I would wipe

it of

And dispossesse my selfe, to giue it thee. 230
But, souereigne, it is souldered to my life:

Con. Sorry I am to see my liege so sad:

(Exit Lodowick.) Take one and both ; for, like an humble

shaddow,

What may thy subiect do to driue from thee 195 Yt hauntes the sunshine of my summers life.
Thy gloomy consort, sullome melancholic? (King.} But thou maist lend it me to sport

King. Ah, Lady, I am blunt and cannot ' with all.

strawe Count. As easie may my intellectual soule

The flowers of solace in a ground of shame: j Be lent awaie, and yet my bodie liue, 236
Since I came hither, Countes, I am wronged. As lend my bodie, pallace to my soule,
Con/. Now God forbid that anie in my Awaie from her, and yet retaine my soule.
howse 200 My bodie is her bower, her Court, her abey,

Should thmck my soueraigne wrong! Thrice And shee an Angell, pure, deuine, vnspotted:
gentle King, | if j should leaue her house, my Lord, to thee,

Acquaint me with your cause of discontent. I kill my poore soule and my poore soule me.
King. How neere then shall I be to reme- \ King. Didst thou not swere to giue me what

die?
Con*. As nere, my Liege, as all my womans

power
Can pawne it selfe to buy thy remedy. 205

177 immured C 184 treasure OS 186 squad-
runs here V ISO lord C 193 Prefix lor. 01
!>. U. add. C 19C Thy] This OS 202 your] thevr
V 1 203 Pnjbt Kfe&wHbrfc* ,- q i y

I would?
Count. I did, my liege, so what you would

I could.
King. I wish no more of thee then thou

maist giue: 245

213 it add. C
228 beauie Q 1

214 that OHI. 0?
230 disposse Q J

JlTi liini] me C

Q a lend Qg : leue 2 241 leaue Q 1 : lend

THE RAIGXE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT II, Sc. I.

Nor beg I do not, but I rather buie
That is, thy loue; and for that loue of thine
In rich exchaunge I tender to thee myne.
Count. But that your lippes were sacred, my

Lord,

You would prophane the holie name of loue. 250
That loue you offer me you cannot giue,
For Caesar owes that tribut to his Queene;
That loue you beg of me I cannot giue,
For Sara owes that duetie to her Lord. 254
He that doth clip or counterfeit your stamp
Shall die, my Lord; and will your sacred selfe
Comit high treason against the King of heauen,
To stamp his Image in forbidden mettel,
Forgetting your alleageance and your othe?
In violating mariage sacred law, 260

You breake a greater honor then your selfe:
To be a King is of a yonger house
Then to be maried; your progenitour,
Sole ragning Adam on the vniuerse,
By God was honored for a married man, 265
But not by him annointcd for a king.
It is a pennalty to breake your statutes,
Though not enacted with your highnes hand:
How much more, to infringe the holy act,
Made by the mouth of God, seald with his

hand? 270

/ I know, my souereigne, in my husbands loue,
Who now doth loyall seruice in his warrs,
Doth but so try the wife of Salisbury,
Whither shee will heare a wantons tale or no,
Lest being therein giulty by my stay, 275
From that, not from my leige, I tourne awaie.

[Exit.
King. Whether is her bewtie by her words

dyuine,
Or are her words sweet chaplaines to her

bewtie ?

Like as the wind doth beautifie a saile,
And as a saile becomes the vnseene winde, 280
So doe her words her bewties, bewties wordes.
0, that I were a honie gathering bee,
To beare the combe of vertue from this flower,
And not a poison sucking enuious spider,
To turne the iuce I take to deadlie venom! 285
Religion is austere and bewty gentle;
To strict a gardion for so faire a ward!
0, that shee were, as is the aire, to mee!
Why, so she is, for when I would embrace

her,

This do I, and catch nothing but my selfe. 290
I must enioy her; for I cannot beate
With reason and reproofe fond loue a waie.

249 my] my C 2CO scored Q 1 2GS with! by C
273 so p')\ ctf. : 'to Qq, etc. 281 bewties, bewtie

Q 7 : beauty, beauty C 283 this C : his Qq 285
iuce Col.: vice Qq, C 287 Too strict Q?: To
ward C; "

stricke Q 1

weed Qq

Enter Warwicke.

Here comes her father: I will worke with him,
To beare my collours in this feild of loue.
War. How is it that my souereigne is so
sad? 295

May I with pardon know your highnes grief e;
And that my old endeuor will remoue it,
It shall not comber long your maiestie.
King. A kind and voluntary gift thou pro-

ferest,

That I was forwarde to haue begd of thee. 300
But, thou world, great nurse of flatterie,
Whie dost thou tip mens tongues with golden

words,
And peise their deedes with weight of heauie

leade,

That faire performance cannot follow promise?
0, that a man might hold the hartes close
booke 3<>5

And choke the lauish tongue, when it doth vtter
The breath of falshood not carectred there 1

War. Far be it from the honor of my age,
That I should owe bright gould and render

lead;

Age is a cynicke, not a flatterer. 310

I sayc againe, that if I knew your griefe,
And that by me it may be leaned,
My proper harmc should buy your highnes

good.
Kin. These are the vulger tenders of false

men,

That neuer pay the duetie of their words. 315
Thou wilt not sticke to sweare what thou hast

said;

But, when thou knowest my greifes condition,
This rash disgorged vomit of thy word
Thou wilt eate vp againe, and leaue me helples.
War. By heauen, I will not, though your
maiestie 3 2

Did byd me run vpon your sworde and die.
(Kin.} Say that my greefe is no way medi-

cinable

But by the losse and bruising of thine honour.
War. Yf nothing but that losse may van
tage you,

I would accompt that losse my vauntage to. 3 25
King. Thinkst that thou canst unswere

thy oth againe?
War. I cannot; nor I would not, if I

could.

King. But, if thou dost, what shal I say to
thee?

299 offerest Q S 310 cyncke Q 1 311 if I] I if
Q 1 314 Prefix Kin. precede* 316 Qq 322 Prtfr
om.Ql 325 account Q2 : accomplish Q 1 326 un
swere WP : unswear C ; answere Qq

ACT II, St. I. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

War. What may be said to anie periurd
villane, 3*9 ,

That breake(s) the sacred warrant of an oath.

King. What wilt thou say to one that
breaks an othe?

War. That hee hath broke his faith with

God and man,
And from them both standes excommunicat.

King. What office were it, to suggest a man
To breake a lawfull and religious vowe? 335

War. An office for the deuill, not for man.

Ki. That deuilles office must thou do for j

me,

Or breake thy oth, or cancell all the bondes
Of loue and duetie twixt thy self and mee ; 339
And therefore, Warwike, if thou art thy selfe,
The Lord and master of thy word and othe,
Go to thy daughter; and in my behalf e
Comaund her, woo her, win her anie waies,
To be my mistres and my secret loue.
I will not stand to heare thee make reply: 345
Thy oth breake hers, or let thy souereigne dye.

[Exit.

War. doting King! detestable office!
Well may I tempt my self to wrong my self,
When he hath sworne me by the name of God
To breake a vowe made by the name of God.
What, if I sweare by this right hand of mine
To cut this right hande of? The better waie
Were to prophaine the I doll then confound it:
But neither will I do; He keepe myne oath,
And to my daughter make a recantation 355
Of all the vertue I haue preacht to her:
He say, she must forget her husband Salisbury,
If she remember to embrace the king;
He say, an othe may easily be broken,
But not so easily pardoned, being broken ; 3 60
He say, it is true charitie to loue,
But not true loue to be so charitable;
He say, his greatnes may beare out the shame,
But not his kingdome can buy out the sinne;
He say, it is my duety to perswade, 365

But not her honestie to giue consent.

Enter Countesse.

See where she comes; was neuer father had
Against his child an embassage so bad!
Co. My Lord and father, I haue sought for

you:

My mother and the Peeres importune you 370
To keepe in presence of his maiestie,
And do your best to make his bighnes merrie.
War. (Aside.} How shall I enter in this
gracelesse arrant?

330 breaks Q5: breake QJ 338 and cancel]

tt P 347 Prrfx War. Q : King Q J King, or Qq
3f 1 presence ^ S : promise Q 1 373 S. D. <tM. WP

I must not call her child, for wheres the father
That will in such a sute seduce his child? 375
Then, ' wife of Salisbury '; shall I so begin?
No, hees my friend, and where is found the

friend
That will doe friendship such indammage-

ment?
(To the Count.} Neither my daughter nor my

deare friends wife,

I am not Warwike, as thou thinkst I am, 380
But an atturnie from the Court of hell,
That thus haue housd my spirite in his forme,
To do a message to thee from the king.
The mighty king of England dotes on thee:
He that hath power to take away thy life, 385
Hath power to take thy honor; then consent
To pawne thine honor rather then thy life:
Honor is often lost and got againe,
But life, once gon, hath no recouerie.
The Su.nne, that withers heye, doth nourish

grasse; 390

The king, that would distaine thee, will

aduance thee.

The Poets write that great Achilles speare
Could heale the wound it made: the morrall is,
What mighty men misdoo, they can amend.
The Lyon doth become his bloody iawes, 395
And grace his forragement by being milde,
When vassell feare lies trembling at his feete.
The king will in his glory hide thy shame;
And those that gaze on him to finde out thee,
Will loose their eie -sight, looking in the Sunne.
What can one drop of poyson harme the Sea,
Whose hugie vastures can digest the ill
And make it loose his operation?
The kings great name will temper thy misdeeds,
And giue the bitter potion of reproch 405
A sugred, sweet and most delitious tast.
Besides, it is no harme to do the thing
Which without shame could not be left vn-

done.

Thus haue I in his maiesties behalfe
Apparaled sin in vertuous sentences, 410
And dwel vpon thy answere in his sute.

Con. Vnnaturallbeseege! woe me vnhappie,
To haue escapt the danger of my foes,
And to be ten times worse inuierd by friends!
Hath he no meanes to stayne my honest blood,
But to corrupt the author of my blood 41 6
To be his scandalous and vile solicitor?
No maruell though the braunches be then

infected,

When poyson hath encompassed the roote:
No maruell though the leprous infant dye, 420

379 .S. 7). a Jd. WP 390 doth] gotli Q 1 404 thy
f: their Qq 405 portion 01 414 iniured \\'I' :
imvir'd D

THE RAIGXE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT II, Sc. II.

When the sterne dame inuennometh the Dug.
Why then, giue sinne a pasport to offend,
And youth the dangerous reigne of liberty:
Blot out the strict forbidding of the law,
And cancell euery cannon that prescribes 425
A shame for shame or pennance for offence.
No, let me die, if his too boystroua will
Will haue it so, before I will consent
To be an actor in his gracelesse lust.

Wa. Why, now thou speakst as I would

haue thee speake: 430

And marke how I vnsaie my words againe.
An honorable graue is more esteemd
Then the polluted closet of a king:
The greater man, the greater is the thing,
Be it good or bad, that he shall vndertake: 435
An vnreputed mote, flying in the Sunne,
Presents a greater substaunce then it is:
The freshest summers day doth soonest taint
The lothed carrion that it seemes to kisse:
Deepe are the blowes made with a mightie

Axe: 440

That sinne doth ten times agreuate it selfe,
That is committed in a holie place:
An euill deed, done by authoritie,
Is sin and subbornation: Decke an Ape
In tissue, and the beautie of the robe 445

Adds but the greater scorne vnto the beast.
A spatious field of reasons could I vrge
Betweene his glorie, daughter, and thy shame:
That poyson shewes worst in a golden cup;
Darke night seemes darker by the lightning

flash; 450

Lillies that fester smel far worse then weeds;
And euery glory that inclynes to sin,
The shame is treble by the opposite.
So leaue I with my blessing in thy bosome,
Which then conuert to a most heauie curse, 455
When thou conuertest from honors golden

name

To the blacke faction of bed blotting shame.
Conn. lie follow thee; and when my minde

turnes so,
My body sinke my soule in endles woo!

[Exeunt.
(SCENE II.

The Same. A Room in the Castle.}
Enter at one doore Derby from Fraunce, At an

other doore Audley with a Drum.
Der. Thrice noble Audley, well incountred

heeret

How is it with our soueraigne and his peeres?
And. Tis full a fortnight, since I saw his

highnes,

448 glory C : gloom ie
etc. add. C

458 Us Q 1 Fceno II.

What time he sent me forth to muster men;
Which I accordingly haue done, and bring
them hither 5

In faire aray before his maiestie.
What newes, my Lord of Derby, from the

Emperor?

Der. As good as we desire: the Emperor
Hath yeelded to his highnes friendly ayd,
And makes our king leiuetenant generall 10
In all his lands and large dominions:
Then via for the spatious bounds of Fraunce!
And. What, doth his highnes leap to heare

these newes?

Der. I haue not yet found time to open them ;
The king is in his closet, malcontent; 15

For what, I know not, but he gaue in charge,
Till after dinner none should interrupt him:
The Countesse Salisbury and her father War-

wike,

Artoyes and all looke vnderneath the browes.

And. Vndoubtedly, then, some thing is

a misse. (Trumpet within.}

Dor. The Trumpets sound, the king is now

abroad. 21

Enter the King.

And. Here comes his highnes.
Der. Befall my soueraigne all my souc-

raignes wish!
King. Ah, that thou wert a Witch to make

it so!

Der. The Emperour greeteth you. 25

(presenting Letters.}
Kin. Would it were the Countesse 1
Der. And hath accorded to your highnea

suite.
King. Thou lyest, she hath not; but I

would she had.
Au. All loue and duety to my Lord the

King!

Kin. Well, all but one is none. What

newes with you? 3

An. I haue, my liege, leuied those horse

and foote
According to your charge, and brought them

hither.
Kin. Then let those foote trudge hence

vpon those horse

According too our discharge, and be gonne.

Darby, He looke vpon the Countesse minde

anone. 35

Dar. The Countesse minde, my liege?

Kin. I meane the Emperour: leaue me

alone.

5 hither o>. C 7 Pri fix King If/ore Hit's line in

01 13 these] this & 20, 25 S. DD. add. C

21 5. /). follows 20 m Oq 22 Ar. (Hal.) Hhere Q 1

32 to Q$: a$Ql

ACT II, Sc. II, THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

An. What is his mind?
Dor. I ets leaue him to his humor.

[Ex(e)iint.
Ki. Thus from the harts aboundance

speakes the tongue;
Countesse for Emperour: and indeed, why

not? 40

She is as imperator ouer me
And I to her

Am as a kneeling vassaile, that obserues
The pleasure or displeasure of her eye.

Enter Lodwike.
Ki, What saies the more then Cleopatras

match . 4S

To Caesar now?

Lo. That yet, my liege, ere night

She will resolue your maiestie. (Drum within.}

Ki. What drum is this that thunders forth

this march,

To start the tender Cupid in my bosome?
Poore shipskin, how it braules with him that

beateth it! 5

Go, breaks the thundring parchment bottome

out,

And I will teach it to conduct sweete lynes
Vnto the bosome of a heauenly Nymph;
For I will vse it as my writing paper,
And so reduce him from a scoulding drum 55
To be the herald and deare counsaile bearer
Betwixt a goddesse and a mighty king.
Go, bid the drummer learne to touch the Lute,
Or hang him in the braces of his drum,
For now we thinke it an vnciuill thing, 60
To trouble heauen with such harsh resounds:
Away! [Exit.

The quarrell that I haue requires no armes
But these of myne: and these shall meete my

foe

In a deepe march of penytrable grones; 65
My eyes shall be my arrowes, and my sighes
Shall serue me as the vantage of the winde,
To wherle away my sweetest artyllerie.
Ah, but, alas, she winnes the sunne of me,
For that is she her selfe, and thence it comes 70
Taat Poets tearme the wanton warriour blinde;
But loue hath eyes as iudgement to his steps,'
Till too much loued glory dazles them.

Enter Lodwike.
How now?

Lo. My liege, the drum that stroke the
lusty march, 7S

38 is Ql is in Q S, etc. 39 abundance Col. :

ftboundant Qq 41, 42 OIK line in Qo 47 S D add

56 counsaiie Ql 61 wrth 01 Live ends

Away Qq 73 too Q S -. two Q 1 'g. /). O f t(r 74

Stands with Prince Edward, your thrice valiant

sonne.

Enter Prince Edward.
King. I see the boy; oh, how his mothers

face,

Modeld in his, corrects my straid desire,
And rates my heart, and chides my theeuish

eie,

Who, being rich ennough in seeing her, 80
Yet seekes elsewhere: and basest theft is that
Which cannot cloke it selfe on pouertie.
Now, boy, what newes?

Pr. E. I haue assembled, my deare Lord

and father,

The choysest buds of all our English blood 85
For our affaires in Fraunce; and heere we

come

To take direction from your maiestie.
Kin. Still do I see in him deliniate
His mothers visage; those his eies are hers,
Who, looking wistely on me, make me blush:
For faults against themselues giue euidence;
Lust is a fire, and men like lanthornes show
Light lust within them selues, euen through

them selues.

Away, loose silkes of wauering vanitie!
Shall the large limmit of faire Brittayne" 95
By me be ouerthrowne, and shall I not
Master this little mansion of my selfe?
Giue me an Armor of eternall steele!
I go to conquer kings; and shall I not then
Subdue my selfe? and be my enimie? friend?
It must not be. Come, boy, forward, ad-

uaunce! 101

Lets with our coullours sweete the Aire of

Fraunce.

Enter Lodwike.
Lo. My liege, the Countesse with a smiling

cheere
Desires accesse vnto your Maiestie.

King. Why, there it goes! That verie smile

others 105

Hath ransomed captiue Fraunce, and set the

King,

The Dolphin, and the Peeres at liberty.
Goe, leaue me, Ned, and reuell with thy friends.

[Exit Pr.

Thy mother is but blacke, and thou, like her,
Dost put it in my minde how f oule she is. no
Tbe, fetch the Countesse hether in thy hand,
And let her chase away these winter clouds,

78 Molded Q S 82 cloke] cheek C 86 in Q :
to Ql 90 made QS 92 is C : as Qq men (' :
me Qq lanthorne Qq 94 of Q 2 : or Q 1 9. r >
Britain- QS 99 not om. C, ffc. 102 sweep C :
beat 1) 11 2 those ?

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT II, Sc. II.

For shee giues beautie both to heauen and
earth. [Exit Lod.

The sin is more to hacke and hew poore men,
Then to embrace in an vnlawfull bed 115
The register of all rarieties
Since Letherne Adam till this youngest howre.

Enter Countesse (escorted by Lodwike}.
King. Goe, Lodwike, put thy hand into my

purse,
Play, spend, giue, ryot, wast, do what thou

wilt,

So thou wilt hence awhile and leaue me heere.
(Exit Lodowick.)

Now, my soules plaiefellow, art thou come 121
To speake the more then heauenly word of

yea

To my obiection in thy beautious loue?
Count. My father on his blessing hath com

manded

King. That thou shalt yeeld to me? 1 25
Conn. I, deare my liege, your due.
King. And that, my dearest loue, can be no

lesse

Then right for right and tender loue for loue.
Count. Then wrong for wrong and endles

hate for hate.

But, sith I see your maiestie so bent, 130
That my vnwillingnes, my husbands loue,
Your high estate, nor no respect respected
Can be my helpe, but that your mightines
Will ouerbeare and awe these deare regards
I bynd my discontent to my content, 1 35

And what I would not lie compell I will,
Prouided that your selfe remoue those lets
That stand betweene your highnes loue and

mine.
King. Name them, faire Countesse, and, by

heauen, I will.

Co. It is their liues that stand betweene our
loue, 1 40

That I would haue chokt vp, my soueraigne.
Ki. Whose liues, my Lady?
Co. My thrice louing liege,

Your Queene and Salisbury, my wedded hus
band,

Who liuing haue that tytle in our loue,
That we cannot bestow but by their death. 1 45
Ki. Thy opposition is beyond our Law.
Co. So is your desire: if the law
Can hinder you to execute the one,
Let it forbid you to attempt the other.
I Cannot thinke you loue me as you say, 150

113 S. D. a fin- 111 Q'l 116 varieties Col.

118 my C : thy'fo 120 S. D. add. C 121 art]

and art C 123 subjection 1> 128 tender C :

render Qq 139 them C : then <?/ 142 loning Q 1
147 And so C

Vnlesse you do make good what you haue

sworne.
(King.} No more; thy husband and the

Queene shall dye.

Fairer thou art by farre then Hero was,
Beardles Leander not so strong as I:
He swome an easie curraunt for his loue, 155
But I will through a Hellespont of bloud,
To arryue at Cestus where my Hero lyes.
Co. Nay, youle do more; youle make the

Ryuer to
With their hart bloods that keepe our loue

asunder,
Of which my husband and your wife are

twayne. 1 60

Ki. Thy beauty makes them guilty of their

death

And giues in euidence that they shall dye;
Vpon which verdict I, their ludge, condemne

them.

Co. (Aside.} periurde beautie, more cor
rupted ludge 1
When to the great Starre- chamber ore our

heads 165

The vniuersell Sessions cals to count
This packing euill, we both shall tremble for it.
Ki. What saies my faire loue? is she

resolute?
Co. Resolute to be dissolude; and, therefore,

this:
Eeepe but thy word, great king, and I am

thine. 1 70

Stand where thou dost, ile part a little from

thee,
And see how I will yeeld me to thy hands.

(turning suddenly upon him, and
shewing two Daggers.}

Here by my side doth hang my wedding knifes :
Take thou the one, and with it kill thy Queene,
And learne by me to finde her where she lies;
And with this other Ile dispatch my loue, 176
Which now lies fast a sleepe within my hart:
When they are gone, then Ile consent to

loue.

Stir not, lasciuious king, to hinder me;
My resolution is more nimbler far, 1 80

Then thy preuention can be in my rescue,
And if thou stir, I strike; therefore, stand still,
And heare the choyce that I will put thee to:
Either sweare to leaue thy most vnholie sute
And neuer hence forth to solicit me; 1 85

Or else, by heauen, this sharpe poynted knyfe

152 Prefix om. 01 156 through Qff: throng

1 Hellespont conj. T : hellie spout Q q 157 To
om. C. at] that C 164 S. D. add. WP 168 resolude
WP 169 Resolv'd conj. C: Resolude VP S. 1>.
add. C 176 this] the Q8

ACT II, Sc. II. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

Shall staine thy earth with that which thou

would stains,
My poore chast blood. Sweare, Edward,

sweare,

Or I will strike and die before thee heere.
King. Euen by that power I sweare, that

giues me now * 90

The power to be ashamed of my selfe,
I neuer meane to part my lips againe
In any words that tends to such a sute.
Arise, true English Ladie, whom our lie 194
May better boast of then euer Romaine might
Of her, whose ransackt treasurie hath taskt
The vaine indeuor of so many pens:
Ariae; and be my fault thy honors fame,
Which after ages shall enrich thee with.
I am awaked from this idle dreame. 200
Warwike, my Sonne, Darby, Artoys, and

Audley !
Braue warriours all, where are you all this

while?

Enter all.

Warwike, I make thee Warden of the North:
Thou, Prince of Wales, and Audley, straight

to Sea;

Secure to New-hauen; some there staie for me:
My selfe, Artoys, and Darby will through

Flaunders, 206

To greete our friends there and to craue their

aide.

This night will scarce suffice me to discouer
My follies seege against a faithfull louer;
For, ere the Sunne shal guilde the esterne skie,
Wele wake him with our Marshall harmonic.

[Exeunt.

(ACT m.
SCENE I.

Flanders. The French Camp.}
Enter King lohn of Fraunce, his two sonnes,
Charles of Normandie, and Phillip, and
the Duke of Lorraine.
King lohn. Heere, till our Nauie of a thou -

sand saile

Haue made a breakfast to our foe by Sea,
Let vs incampe, to wait their happie speede.
Lorraine, what readines is Edward in?
How hast thou heard that he prouided is 5
Of marshiall furniture for this exployt?

Lo. To lay aside vnnecessary soothing,
And not to spend the time in circumstaunce,
Tis bruted for a certenty, my Lord.
That hees exceeding strongly fortified; 10

187 wouldst OS, efc.
ild C : gui
conj. pr. ed.

, . 204 Thou] You C 210
gild C : guide Qq Act III. efc. add. C 2 to] of

His subiects flocke as willingly to warre,
As if vnto a tryumph they were led.

Ch. England was wont to harbour malcon -

tents,

Blood thirsty and seditious Catelynes,
Spend thrifts, and such as gape for nothing else
But changing and alteration of the state; 1 6
And is it possible
That they are now so loyall in them selues?

Lo. All but the Scot, who sollemnly protests,
As heeretofore I haue enformd his grace, 20
Neuer to sheath his Sword or take a truce.
lo. Ah, thats the anchredge of some better

hope!

But, on the other side, to thinke what friends
King Edward hath retaynd in Netherland,
Among those euer -bibbing Epicures, 25

Those frothy Dutch men, puft with double

beere,
That drinke and swill in euery place they

come,

Doth not a little aggrauate mine ire;
Besides, we heare, the Emperor conioynes,
And stalls him in his owne authoritie: 30
But, all the mightier that their number is,
The greater glory reapes the victory.
Some friends haue we beside domesticke

power;

The sterne Polonian, and the warlike Dane,
The king of Bohemia, and of Cycelie, 35

Are all become confederates with vs,
And, as I thinke, are marching hither apace.
(Drum within.}

But soft, I heare the musicke of their drums,
By which I gesse that their approch is neare.

Enter the King of Bohemia, with Danes, and
a Polonian Captaine, with other soldiers,
another way.

King of Boheme. King lohn of Fraunce, as
league and neighborhood 40

Requires, when friends are any way distrest,
I come to aide thee with my countries force.
Pol. Cap. And from great Musco, fearefull

to the Turke,

And lofty Poland, nurse of hardie men,
I bring these seruitors to fight for thee, 45
Who willingly will venture in thy cause.
K. lo. Welcome, Bohemian king, and wel
come all:

This your great kindnesse I will not forget.
Besides your plentiful rewards in Crownes,
That from our Treasory ye shall receiue, 50
There comes a hare braind Nation, deckt in
pride,

17, 18 One line Q2 33 domestick C: drum

stricke Q I : dnunsticke Q 2 37 S. D. add. C

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD An- III, Sc. I.

The spoyle of whortfe will be a trebble gaine.
And now my hope is full, my ioy complete:
At Sea, we are as puissant as the force
Of Agamemnon in the Hauen of Troy; 55
By land, with Zerxes we compare of strength,
Whose souldiers drancke vp riuers in their

thirst:

Then, Bayardlike, blinde, ouerweaning Ned,
To reach at our imperiall dyadem
Is either to be swallowed of the waues, 60
Or hackt a peeces when thou comest ashore.

Enter (Marriner).
Mar. Neere to the cost I haue discride, my

Lord,

As I was busie in my watchfull charge,
The proud Armado of king Edwards ships:
Which, at the first, far off when I did ken, 65
Seemd as it were a groue of withered pines;
But, drawing neere, their glorious bright

aspect,
Their streaming Ensignes, wrought of coul-

loured silke,

Like to a meddow full of sundry flowers,
Adornes the naked bosome of the earth: 70
Maiesticall the order of their course,
Figuring the horned Circle of the Moone:
And on the top gallant of the Admirall
And likewise all the handmaides of his trayne
The Armes of England and of Fraunce vnite 75
Are quartred equally by Heralds art:
Thus, titely carried with a merrie gale,
They plough the Ocean hitherward amayne.
(K. lohn.) Dare he already crop the Flewer

de Luce?

I hope, the hony being gathered thence, 80
He, with the spider, afterward approcht,
Shall sucke forth deadly venom from the

leaues.

But wheres our Nauy? how are they prepared
To wing them selues against this flight of

Rauens?
Ma. They, hauing knowledge, brought

them by the scouts, 85

Did breake from Anchor straight, and, puft

with rage

No otherwise then were their sailes with winde,
Made forth, as when the empty Eagle flies,
To satisfie his hungrie griping mawe.

lo. Theres for thy newes. Returne vnto

thybarke; 90

And if thou scape the bloody strooke of warre
And do suruiue the conflict, come againe,

r .2 gaine Q S : game Q J 61 &'. T). Marriner add.
QS 02 discride Q2 : discribde Q 1 73 And nm.
<' 79 Prefix out. 01 84 fleete S 8;> satifie
Ql COThees?/

And let vs heare the manner of the fight.

[Exit (Marriner).

Meane space, my Lords, tis best we be disperst
To seuerall places, least they chaunce to land:
First you, my Lord, with your Bohemian
Troupes, 9 6

Shall pitch your battailes on the lower hand;
My eldest sonne, the Duke of Normandie,
Togeither with this aide of Muscouites,
Shall clyme the higher ground another waye;
Heere in the middle cost, betwixt you both,
PhiJlip, my yongest boy, and I will lodge.
So, Lords, be gon, and looke vnto your charge:
You stand for Fraunce, an Empire faire and
large. [Ex(e)unt.

Now tell me, Phillip, what is thy concept, 105
I Touching the challenge that the English make?
Ph. I say, my Lord, clayme Edward what

he can,

And bring he nere so playne a pedegree,
I Tis you are in possession of the Crowne,
And thats the surest poynt of all the Law: no
But, were it not, yet ere he should preuaile,
He make a Conduit of my dearest blood,
Or chase those stragling vpstarts home againe.
King. Well said, young Phillip! Call for
bread and Wine, 114

That we may cheere our stomacks with repast,
To looke our foes mors sternely in the face.

(A Table and Provisions brought in.) The
battell hard a farre off.

I Now is begun the heauie day at Sea:
Fight, Frenchmen, fight; be like the fielde of

Beares,
When they defend their younglings in their

Caues!

Stir, angry Nemesis, the liappie helms. 120
That, with the sulphur battels of your rage,
The English Fleete may be disperst and sunke.

[Shot.
Ph. Father, how this eckoing Cannon

shot,

Like sweete hermonie, disgests my cates!
K. la. Now, boy, thou hearest what thun -
dring terror tis, 125

To buckle for a kingdomes souerentie:
The earth, with giddie trembling when it

shakes,

Or when the exalations of the aire
Breakes in extremitie of lightning flash,
Affrights not more then kings, when they dis
pose 13

03 S. I>. Marriner cm. Q 1 104 S. D. after 103 in
Q.i 105 thy conceite 02 : their concept Q 1 116
,v. I). lirackdcd trords add. C 120 Stir Qq : Steer C
124 sweetest C, etc. 125 ends thundring QS

.83

ACT III, Sc. I. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

To shew the rancor of their high swolne harts.

[Retreate.

Retrea(t)e is sounded; one side hath the worse:
0, if it be the French, sweete fortune, turne;
And, in thy turning, change the forward winds,
That, with aduantage of a fauoring skie, 1 35
Our men may vanquish, and the other flie!

Enter Marriner.

My hart misgiues: say, mirror of pale death,
To whome belongs the honor of this day?
Relate, I pray thee, if thy breath will serue,
The sad discourse of this discomfiture. 1 4

Mar. I will, my Lord.
My gratious soueraigne, Fraunce hath tane

the foyle,

And boasting Edward triumphs with successe.
These Iron harted Nauies,
When last I was reporter to your grace, 1 45
Both full of angry spleene, of hope, and f eare,
Hasting to meete each other in the face,
At last conioynd; and by their Admirall
Our Admirall encountred manie shot:
By this, the other, that beheld these twaine 1 50
Giue earnest peny of a further wracke.
Like fiery Dragons tooke their haughty flight;
And, likewise meeting, from their smoky

wombes

Sent many grym Embassadors of death.
Then gan the day to turne to gloomy night, 155
And darkenes did as wel inclose the quicke
As those that were but newly reft of life.
No leasure serud for friends to bid farewell;
And, if it had, the hideous noise was such,
As ech to other seemed deafe and dombe. 1 60
Purple the Sea, whose channel fild as fast
With streaming gore, that from the maymed

fell,

As did her gushing moysture breake into
The crannied cleftures of the through shot

planks.. 164

Heere flew a head, disseuered from the tronke,
There mangled armes and legs were tost aloft,
As when a wherle winde takes the Summer

dust

And scatters it in middle of ths aire.
Then might ye see the reeling vessels split,
And tottering sink into the ruthlesse floud, 1 70
Vntill their lofty tops were scene no more.
All shifts were tried, both for defence and hurt:
And now the effect of vallor and of force,
Of resolution and of cowardize,
We liuely pictured; how the one for fame, 175

131 S. D. af let- 132 Qq 134 froward QS 135

sauoring Q 1 136 the other C : thither Q 1 : th'

other Qg 164 crannied WP: cranny 'd C : cranny
Qy 105 dissuuered 07 173 force! fear C, etc.

1 7-1 of] ol'aQl 1 75 We] Were C

The other by compulsion laid about:
Much did the Nonpar eille, that braue ship;
So did the blacke snake of Bullen, then which
A bonnier vessel neuer yet spred sayle.
But all in vaine; both Sunne, the Win(d)e and
tyde, 1 80

Reuolted all vnto our foe mens side,
That we perforce were fayne to giue them way,
And they are landed. Thus my tale is donne:
We haue vntimly lost, and they haue woone.
K. lo. Then rests there nothing, but with
present speede 1 85

To ioyne our seueral forces al in one,
And bid them battaile, ere they rainge to farre.
Come, gentle Phillip, let vs hence depart;
This souldiers words haue perst thy fathers
hart. [Exeunt.

(SCENE LL

Picardy. Fields near Cressi.)
Enter two French men; a woman and two little

Children meet them, and other Citizens.
One. Wel met, my masters: how now?

whats the newes?

And wherefore are ye laden thus with stuffe?
What, is it quarter daie that you remoue,
And carrie bag and baggage too?
Two. Quarter day? I, and quartering day,
I feare: 5

Haue ye not heard the newes that flies abroad?
One. What newes?
Three. How the French Nauy is destroyd

at Sea,

And that the English Armie is arriued.
One. What then? 10

Two. What then, quoth you? why, ist not

time to flie,

When enuie and destruction is so nigh?
One. Content thee, man; they are farre

enough from hence,

And will be met, I warrant ye, to their cost,
Before they breake so far into the Realme. 15
Two. I, so the Grashopper doth spend the

time

In mirthfull iollitie, till Winter come;
And then too late he would redeeme his time,
When frozen cold hath nipt his carelesse

head.

He, that no sooner will prouide a Cloake, 20
Then when he sees it doth begin to raigne,
May, peraduenture, for his negligence,
Be throughly washed, when he suspe3ts it
not.

177 Nonpareille C : Nom per ilia Qq 180 Wine
Q 1 : winde QS Scene II. etc. o<W. C S. D. and
other QS : another Ql 5 quartering pay 01 6
ye] we Q 1 22 negligence Q 1

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT III, Sc. III.

We that haue charge and such a trayne as

this, 24

Must looke in time to looke for them and vs,

Least, when we would, we cannot be relieued.

One. Belike, you then dispaire of all suc-

cesse,

And thinke your Country will be subiugate.
Three. We cannot tell; tis good to feare the

worst.

One. Yet rather fight, then, like vnnaturall
sonnes, 30

Forsake your louing parents in distresse.
Two. Tush, they that baue already taken

arm es

Are manie fearef ull millions in respect
Of that small handfull of our enimies:
But tis a rightfull quarrell must preuaile; 35
Edward is sonne vnto our late kings sister,
Where lohn Valoys is three degrees remoued.
Wo. Besides, there goes a Prophesie abroad,

All which, though distant yet, conspire in one,
To leaue a desolation where they come.
Flie therefore, Citizens, if you be wise,
Seeke out som habitation further of: 70

Here if you staie, your wiues will be abused,
Your treasure sharde before your weeping eies ;
Shelter you your selues, for now the storme

doth rise.
Away, away ; me thinks I heare their

drums:

Ah, wreched France, I greatly feare thy fal;
Thy glory shake th like a tottering wall. 76

(Exeunt.}

(SCENE HI.

The same. Drums.}
Enter King Edward, and the Erie of Darby,

With Souldiors, and Gobin de Graie.
Kin. Wheres the French man by whose
cunning guide

Published by one that was a Fryer once, 39 i We found the shalow of this Riuer Some,

Whose Oracles haue many times prooued true;
And now he sayes, the tyme will shortly come,
When as a Lyon, rowsed in the west,
Shall carie hence the fluerdeluce of France:
These, I can tell yee, and such like surmises
Strike many french men cold vnto the heart.

Enter a French man.
(Four.} Flie, cuntry men and cytizens of

France I 46

Sweete flowring peace, the roote of happie lif e,
Is quite abandoned and expulst the lande;
In sted of whome ransackt constraining warre
Syts like to Rauens vppon your houses topps;
Slaughter and mischiefe walke within your

streets, 51

And, vnrestrained, make hauock as they passe;
The forme whereof euen now my selfe beheld
Vpon this faire mountaine whence I came.
For so far of as I directed mine eies, 55

I might perceaue flue Cities all on fire,
Corne fieldes and vineyards, burning like an

ouen;

And, as the reaking vapour in the wind
Tourned but aside, I like wise might disserne
The poore inhabitants, escapt the flame, 60
Fall number les vpon the souldiers pikes.
Three waies these dredfull ministers of wrath
Do tread the measuers of their tragicke march:
Vpon the right hand comes the conquering

King,

Vpon the lefte his hot vnbridled sonne, 65
And in the midst our nations glittering boast;

46 \o lift fix in Qq 58 recking
59 I tourned but Qq : Turin d

_>7allC: ill Qq
conj. C: leaking
C 63 bis] is Q

And had direction how to passe the sea?
Go. Here, my good Lord. 4

Kin. How art thou calde? tell me thy name.
Go. Gobin de Graie, if please your excel
lence.
Kin. Then, Gobin, for the seruice thou hast

done,

We here inlarge and giue thee liberty;
And, for recompense; beside this good,
Thou shalt receiue flue hundred markes in
golde. 10

I know not how, we should haue met our

sonne,
Whom now in heart I wish I might behold.

Enter Artoyes.
(Art.} Good newes, my Lord; the prince is

hard at hand,

And with him comes Lord Awdley and the

rest, 14

Whome since our landing we could neuer meet.

Enter Prince Edward, Lord Awdley, and

Souldiers.
K. E. Welcome, faire Prince 1 How hast

thou sped, my sonne,

Since thy arriuall on the coaste of Fraunce?
Pr. Ed. Succesfullie, I thanke the gratious

heauens:

Some of their strongest Cities we haue wonne,
As Harflew, Lo, Crotay, and Carentigne, 20
And others wasted, leauing at our heeles
A wide apparant feild and beaten path

73 you om. C, etc. 76 S. D. out. Ql Scene III.
ilc. add. C 1 guide Qq : guidance C; etc. -' fcouw
WP : Sone Qq 9 for] for a C 13 Prcfijc out. Q 1
20 Harslen, Lie, Ciotag Qq : Harfleur, Lo, Crotage C

ACT III, Sc. III. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

For sollitarines to progresse in:

Yet those that would submit we kindly

pardned,
But who in scorne refused our proffered

peace, 2 S

Indurde the penaltie of sharpe reuenge.
Ki. Ed. Ah, Fraunce, why shouldest thou

be thus obstinate

Agaynst the kind imbracement of thy friends?
How gently had we thought to touch thy brest
And set our foot vpon thy tender mould, 3
But that, in froward and disdainfull pride,
Thou, like a skittish and vntamed coult,
Dost start aside and strike vs with thy heeles !
But tel me, Ned, in all thy warlike course,
Hast thou not scene the vsurping King of

Fraunce? 35

Pri. Yes, my good Lord, and not two owers

ago,

With full a hundred thousand fighting men
Vppon the one side of the riuers banke
And on the other both, his multitudes.
I f card he would haue cropt our smaller power :
But happily, perceiuing your approch, 41

He hath with drawen himselfe to Cressey

plaines;

Where, as it seemeth by his good araie,
He meanea to byd vs battaile presently.
Kin. Ed. He shall be welcome; thats the

thing we craue. 45

Enter King lohn, Dukes of Normanndy and

Lorraine, King of Boheme, yong Phillip,

and Souldiers.
lohn. Edward, know that lohn, the true

king of Fraunce,

Musing thou shouldst incroach vppon his land,
And in thy tyranous proceeding slay
His faithf ull subiects and subuert his Townes,
Spits in thy face; and in this manner folowing
Obraids thee with thine arrogant intrusion : 5 1
First, I condeme thee for a fugitiue,
A theeuish pyrate, and a needie mate,
One that hath either no abyding place,
Or else, inhabiting some barraine soile, 55
Where neither hearb or frutfull graine is had,
Doest altogether liue by pilfering:
Next, insomuch thou hast infringed thy faith,
Broke leage and solemne couenant made with

mee,

I hould thee for a false pernitious wretch: 60
And, last of all, although I scorne to cope
With one so much inferior to my selfe,

Yet, in respect thy thirst is all for golde,
i Thy labour rather to be feared then loued,
i To satisfie thy lust in either parte, 65

Heere am I come, and with me haue I brought
Exceding store of treasure, perle, and coyne.
Leaue, therfore, now to persecute the weake,
And, armed entring conflict with the armd,
i Let it be seene, mongest other pettie thefts, 70
i How thou canst win this pillage manfully.
K. Ed. If gall or wormwood haue a pleasant

tast,

: Then is thy sallutation hony sweete;
i But as the one hath no such propertie,

So is the other most satiricall. 75

; Yet wot how I regarde thy worthies tants :
If thou haue vttred them to foile my fame
Or dym the reputation of my birth,
Know that thy woluish barking cannot hurt;
! If slylie to insinuate with the worlde, 80

And with a strumpets artifitiall line
To painte thy vitious and deformed cause,
Bee well assured, the counterfeit will fade,
And in the end thy fowle defects be seene;
But if thou didst it to prouoke me on, 85

As who should saie I were but timerous.
Or, coldly negligent, did need a spurre,
Bethinke thy selfe howe slacke I was at sea,
How since my landing I haue wonn no townea,
Entered no further but vpon the coast, 90

And there haue euer since securelie slept.
But if I haue bin other wise imployd,
I Imagin, Valoys, whether I intende
i To skirmish, not for pillage, but for the

Crowne

Which thou dost weare; and that I vowe to
haue, 95

Or one of vs shall fall into his graue.

Pri. Ed. Looke not for crosse inuectiues at

our hands,

| Or ray ling execrations of despight:
; Let creeping serpents, hid in hollow banckes,
Sting with theyr tongues; we haue remorselcs
swordes, i oo

And they shall pleade for vs and our affaires.
Yet thus much, breefly, by my fathers leaue:
As all the immodest poyson of thy throat
Is scandalous and most notorious lyes,
And our pretended quarell is truly iust, 105
So end the battaile when we meet to daie:
May eyther of vs prosper and preuaile,
Or, luckles curst, receue eternall shame 1
Kin. Ed. That needs no further question ;
and I knowe,

->o But cow.;. C : For 0? pottered 7 :.>7 thus 4? :
this 07 37 an g 3 38 of] with ? : o' C 39 I 01
the other ; with f . c/c. 60 false] most Q 3 e

. .
so much C : such Qj : such an 1>

64 Thy] They 07 06 I huuc 0. 3 77 soil con.i.
81 line] hue con/. Col. 8rt How (.': Now Of

>-> j 90 the] thy Q c> 9-2 otherwayes () -
' the C' VG his] this Q 1 09 hide Q I
86

;>4 for the]
105 is out. V

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT III, Sc. III.

His conscience witnesseth, it is my right. no
Therfore, Valoys, say, wilt thou yet resigne,
Before the sickles thrust into the Corne,
Or that inkindled fury turne to flame?
loh. Edward, I know what right thou hast

in France;

And ere I basely will resigne my Crowne, 115
This Champion field shallbe a poole of bloode,
And all our prospect as a slaughter house.
Pr. Ed. I, that approues thee, tyrant, what

thou art:

No father, king, or shepheard of thy realme,
But one, that teares her entrailes with thy

handes, 120

And, like a thirstie tyger, suckst her bloud.
Aud. You peeres of France, why do you

follow him

That is so prodigall to spend your liues?
Ch. Whom should they follow, aged

impotent,

But he that is their true borne soueraigne? 1 2 5
Kin. Obraidst thou him, because within

his face

Time hath ingraud deep caracters of age?
Know, these graue schollers of experience,
Like stiff e growen oakes, will stand immou-

able,
When whirle wind quickly turnes vp yonger

trese. 130

Dor. Was euer anie of thy fathers house
King but thyself e, before this present time?
Edwards great linage, by the mothers side,
Fiue hundred yeeres hath helde the scepter vp:
ludge then, conspiratours, by this descent, 135
Which is the true borne soueraigne, this or

that.
Philip. Father, range your battailes, prate

no more;
These English faine would spend the time in

words,
That, night approching, they might escape

vnfought.
K. loh. Lords and my louing Subiects,

nowes the time, 1 4

That your intended force must bide the touch.
Therfore, my f rinds, consider this in breefe:
He that you fight for is your naturall King;
He against whom you fight, a forrener:
He that you fight for, rules in clemencie, 145
And raines you with a mild and gentle byt;
He against whome you fight, if hee preuailc,
Will straight inthrone himselfe in tyrranie,
Make slaues of you, and with a heauie hand

113 turned QS 11(5 cliaiupain Cut. 1-0 tcarst
coiij. C 128 Know that these tyj 131 Liiu tmlx
king 0-c 134 helde] kept (J V 137 I'nfix Philip
Q S : Pri. Q 1 138 vvodib 1 140 iiowesj knowts
W 144 you] ye Qg

Curtail and courb your swetest libertie. 150
Then, to protect your Country and your

King,

Let but the haughty Courrage of your hartes
Answere the number of your able handes,
And we shall quicklie chase theis fugitiues.
For whats this Edward but a belly god, 155
A tender and lasciuious wantonnes,
That thother daie was almost dead for loue?
And what, I praie you, is his goodly gard?
Such as, but scant them of their chines of

beefe

And take awaie their downie f eatherbedes, 1 60
And presently they are as resty stiffe,
As twere a many ouer ridden iades.
Then, French men, scorne that such should be

your Lords,

And rather bind ye them in captiue bands.
All Fro. Viue le Roy 1 God saue King lohn

of France! 165

lo. Now on this plaine of Cressie spred your

selues,
And. Edward, when thou darest, begin the

fight.

(Exeunt King lohn, Cha., Phi., Lor.,

Boh. and Forces.}

Ki. Ed. We presently wil meet thee, lohn

of Fraunce:
And, English Lordes, let vs resolue this

daie,

Either to cleere vs of that scandalous cryme,
Or be intombed in our innocence. 171

And, Ned, because this battell is the first
That euer yet thou foughtest in pitched field,
As ancient custome is of Martialists,
To dub thee with the tipe of chiualrie, 175
In solemne manner wee will giue thee armes.
Come, therefore, Heralds, orderly bring forth
A strong attirement for the prince my sonne.

Enter joure Heraldes, bringing in a coate
armour, a helmet, a lance, and a shield.
Kin. Edward Plantagenet, in the name of

God,

As with this armour I impall thy breast, 1 80
So be thy noble vnrelenting heart
Wald in with flint of matchlesse fortitude,
That neuer base affections enter there:
Fight and be valiant, conquere where thou

comst!

Now follow, Lords, and do him honor to. 1 85
Dar. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales,
As I do set this helmet on thy head,
Wherewith the chamber of thy braine is
fenst,

167 S. D. add. C 169 this (' : the (J't 171 iu-
uuceucie QX 188 thy C : this Qq

ACT III, So. III. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

So may thy temples, with Bellonas hand,
Be still adornd with lawrell victorie: 1 90

Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou

comst!

Aud. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales,
Receiue this lance into thy manly hand;
Vse it in fashion of a brasen pen, 194

To drawe forth bloudie stratagems in France,
And print thy valiant deeds in honors booke:
Fight and be valiant, vanquish where thou

comst!

Art. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales,
Hold, take this target, weare it on thy

arme;
And may the view thereof, like Perseus

shield, 200

Astonish and transforme thy gazing foes
To senselesse images of meger death:
Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou

comst!

Ki. Now wants there nought but knight
hood, which deferd

Wee leaue, till thou hast won it in the fielde.
(P. Ed.} My gratious father and yee for-

warde peeres, 206

This honor you haue done me, animates
And chears my greene, yet scarse appearing

strength

With comfortable good presaging signes,
No other wise then did ould lacobes wordes,
When as he breathed his blessings on his

sonnes. 211

These hallowed giftes of yours when I pro-

phane,

Or vse them not to glory of my God,
To patronage the fatherles and poore,
Or for the benefite of Englands peace, 215
Be numbe my ioynts, waxe feeble both mine

armes,

Wither my hart, that, like a saples tree,
I may remayne the map of infamy.

K. Ed. Then thus our steelde Battailes shall

be rainged:

The leading of the vawarde, Ned, is thyne; 220
To dignifie whose lusty spirit the more,
We temper it with Audlys grauitie,
That, courage and experience ioynd in one,
Your manage may be second vnto none:
For the mayne battells, I will guide my

selfe; 225

And, Darby, in the rereward march behind.
That orderly disposd and set in ray,
Let vs to horse; and God graunt vs the daye!

[Exeunt.

l'>3 manly] manlike Q * 197 vanquish] conquer
QS, etc. 20(1 Prefix u,,,. Q I 209 persaging Q J

!>10 Hlllal tl.ia f\ I OOA ,.,...,,1 r: 1 * '

s] this Q 1 220 vowarde Q 1

(SCENE IV.

The Same.)

Alarum. Enter a many French men flying.
After them Prince Edward, run(n}ing. Then
enter King lohn and Duke of Loraine.
lohn. Oh, Lorrain, say, what meane our

men to fly?
Our nomber is far greater then our foes.

Lor. The garrison of Genoaes, my Lorde,
That cam from Paris weary with their

march,

Grudging to be (so) soddenly imployd, 5
No sooner in the forefront tooke their place,
But, straite retyring, so dismaide the rest,
As likewise they betook themselues to flight,
i In which, for hast to make a safe escape,
| More in the clustering throng are prest to
death, 10

i Then by the ennimie, a thousand fold.

K. lo. haplesse fortune! Let vs yet assay,
I If we can counsell some of them to stay.

(Exeunt.}

(SCENE V.

The Same.}
Enter King Edward and Audley.

Ki. E. Lord Audley, whiles our sonne is in

the chase,

With draw our powers vnto this little hill,
And heere a season let vs breath our selues.
An. I will, my Lord. [Exit. Sound Retreat.
K. Ed. lust dooming heauen, whose secret
prouidence 5

j To our grosse iudgement is inscrutable,
; How are we bound to praise thy wondrous

works,

That hast this day giuen way vnto the right,
And made the wicked stumble at them selues!

Enter Artoys.

(Art.} Rescue, king Edward! rescue for
thy sonne! 10

Kin. Rescue, Artoys? what, is he prisoner,
Or by violence fell beside his horse?

Ar. Neither, my Lord; but narrowly beset

With turning Frenchmen, whom he did persue,

As tis impossible that he should scape, 1 5

Except your highnes presently descend.

Kin. Tut, let him fight; we gaue him armes

to day,
And he is laboring for a knighthood, man.

Scene IV. t!c. mid. (', 5 so add. C 10 throng]
through Q2 l:i X. /). om. Ql Scene V. dr.
odd. C 2 our] your Q , etc. 10 Pnfix om. Q I

12 Or] Or else C

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT III, St. V.

Enter Derby.
Da. The Prince, my Lord, the Prince! oh,

succour him!

Hees close incompast with a world of odds ! 20
Ki. Then will he win a world of honor to,
If he by vallour can redeeme him thence;
If not, what remedy? we haue more sonnes
Then one, to comfort our declyning age.

Enter Audley.
Au. Renowned Edward, giue me leaue, I

pray, 25

To lead my souldiers where I may releeue
Your Graces sonne, in danger to be slayne.
The snares of French, like Emmets on a banke,
Muster about him; whilest he, Lion like,
Intangled in the net of their assaults, 30

Frantiquely wrends, and byt(e)s the wouen

toyle:

But all in vaine, he cannot free him selfe.
K. Ed. Audley, content; I will not haue a

man,

On paine of death, sent forth to succour him:
This is the day, ordaynd by desteny, 35

To season his courage with those greeuous

thoughts,
That, if he breaketh out, Nestors yeares on

earth

Will make him sauor still of this exployt.
Dar. Ah, but he shall not liue to see those

Ki. Why, then his Epitaph is lasting prayse.

Au. Yet, good my Lord, tis too much wil-

fulnes, 4 '

To let his blood be spilt, that may be saude.

Kin. Exclayme no more; for none of you

can tell

Whether a borrowed aid will serue, or no;
Perhapps he is already slayne or tane. 45
And dare a Falcon when shees in her flight,
And euer after sheele be haggard like:
Let Edward be deliuered by our hands,
And still, in danger, hele expect the like;
But if himself e himself e redeeme from thence,
He wil haue vanquisht cheerefull death and
f eare, 5 '

And euer after dread their force no more
Then if they were but babes or Captiue slaues.
And. cruell Father! Farewell, Edward,

then!

Da. Farewell, sweete Prince, the hope of
chiualry! 55

Art. 0, would my life might ransome him
from death!

36 his green coinage with those thoughts C 37
breathe out conj. C 47 huggard Q 1

K. Ed. But soft, me thinkes I heare

(Retreat sounded.}

The dismall charge of Trumpets loud retreat.
All are not slayne, I hope, that went with him;
Some will returne with tidings, good or bad. 60

Enter Prince Edward in tryumph, bearing in
his hande his shiuered Launce, and the
King of Boheme, borne before, wrapt in
the Coullours. They runne and imbrace
him.
And. ioyfull sight! victorious Edward

liuesl

Der. Welcome, braue Prince!
Ki. Welcome, Plantagenet!
Pr. (kneele and kisse his fathers hand). First

hauing donne my duety as beseemed,
Lords, I regreet you all with harty thanks. 65
And now, behold, after my winters toyle,
My paynef ull voyage on the boystrous sea
Of warres deuouring gulphes and steely rocks,
I bring my fraught vnto the wished port,
My Summers hope, my trauels sweet reward:
j And heere, with humble duety, I present 71
This sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword,
: Cropt and cut downe euen at the gate of death,
The king of Boheme, father, whome I slue;
Whose thousands had intrencht me round
about, 75

, And laye as thicke vpon my battered crest,
: As on an Anuell, with their ponderous glaues:
i Yet marble courage still did vnderprop;
And when my weary armes, with often blowes,
Like the continuall laboring Wood-mans Axe
That is enioynd to fell a load of Oakes, 81
Began to faulter, straight I would recorde
My gifts you gaue me, and my zealous vow,
And then new courage made me fresh againe,
That, in despight, I carud my passage forth, 85
i And put the multitude to speedy flyght.
Lo, thus hath Edwards hand fild your request,
i And done, I hope, the duety of a Knight.
Ki. I, well thou hast deserud a knight
hood, Ned!

; And, therefore, with thy sword, yet reaking
warme 9

[His Sword borne by a Soldier.
With blood of those that fought to be thy bane,
Arise, Prince Edward, trusty knight at armes:
; This day thou hast confounded me with ioy,
And proude thy selfe fit heire vnto a king.
Pr. Heere is a note, my gratious Lord, of
those 95

57 S. D. add. C 75 Whose thousands C : AVhom
you sayd Qq 82 recorde pr. (d. : recouer Qq : re
member C 85 caru'd Q2 : craud Ql 87 thus Q2
this Ql 00 6'. D. after 86 in Ql 91 sought T

ACT III, Sc. V. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

It shal be so, this pollicy will serue:
Ho, whose within? Bring Villiers to me.

That in this conflict of our foes were slaine:
Eleuen Princes of esteeme, Foure score Barons,
A hundred and twenty knights, and thirty

thousand

Common souldiers; and,of ourmen,athousand. Villiers, thou knowest, thou art my prisoner,
(K. Ed.} Our God be praised! Now, lohn And that I might for ransome, if I would, 21

Require of thee a hundred thousand Francks,

Enter Villeirs.

(K. Ed.) Our God be praised!

of Fraunce, I hope, i

Thou knowest King Edward for no wantonesse,
No loue sicke cockney, nor his souldiers iades.
But which way is the f earef ull king escapt?

Pr. Towards Poyctiers, noble father, and
his sonnes.

King. Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue
them still; "5

My selfe and Derby will to Calice streight,
And there begyrt that Hauen towne with seege.
Now lies it on an vpshot; therefore strike,
And wistlie follow, whiles the games on foote.
What Pictures this?

Pr. A Pellican, my Lord, no

Wounding her bosome with her crooked beak,
That so her nest of young ones may be fed
With drops of blood that issue from her hart;
The motto Sic & vos, ' and so should you '.

[Exeunt.

(ACT IV.
SCENE I.

Bretagne. Camp of the English.)
Enter Lord Mountford with a Coronet in his
hande; with him the Earle of Salisbury.
Mo. My Lord of Salisbury, since by your

aide

Mine ennemie Sir Charles of Bloys is slaine,
And I againe am quietly possest
In Brittaines Dukedome, knowe that I resolue,
For this kind furtherance of your king and you,
To sweare allegeance to his maiesty: 6

In signe whereof receiue this Coronet,
Beare it vnto him, and, withall, mine othe,
Neuer to be but Edwards faithful friend.
Sa. I take it, Mountfort. Thus, I hope,
eare long 10

The whole Dominions of the Realme of

Fraunce
Wilbe surrendred to his conquering hand.

[Exit (Mountford.'

Now, if I knew but safely how to passe,
I would at Calice gladly meete his Grace
Whether I am by letters certified 15

That he intends to haue his host remooude.

" '" T;
TTr,* add -
re What in l 1

, M Common! Priuate

* 1 10 Prefix Ki repeated
12 may] might

hat

Or else retayne and keepe thee captiue still:
But so it is, that for a smaller charge
Thou maist be quit, and if thou wilt thy selfe.
And this it is: Procure me but a pasport 25
Of Charles, the Duke of Normandy, that I
Without restraint may haue recourse to

Callis
Through all the Countries where he hath to

doe;

Which thou maist easely obtayne, I thinke,
By reason I haue often heard thee say, 30
He and thou were students once together:
And then thou shalt be set at libertie.
How saiest thou? wilt thou vndertake to do

it?
Vil. I will, my Lord; but I must speake

with him.
Sa. Why, so thou shalt; take Horse, and

post from hence: 35

Onely before thou goest, sweare by thy faith,
That, if thou canst not compasse my desire,
Thou wilt returne my prisoner backe againe;
And that shalbe sufficient warrant for mee.

Vil. To that condition I agree, my Lord, 40
And will vnf aynedly perf orme the same. [Exit.

Sal Farewell, Villiers.
Thus once I meane to trie a French mans

faith. [Exit.

(SCENE n.

Picardy. The English Camp before Calais.)

Enter King Edward and Derby, with Souldiers.

Kin. Since they refuse our profered league,

my Lord,

And will not ope their gates, and let vs in,
We will intrench our selues on euery side,
That neither vituals nor supply of men
May come to succour this accursed towne: 5
Famine shall combate where our swords are

stopt.

Enter sixe poore Frenchmen.
Der. The promised aid, that made them

stand aloofe,

Is now retirdc and gone an other way:
It will repent them of their stubborne will.
But what are these poore ragged slaues, my
Lord? 10

31 thou] tin-self C wert OS 39 mee] thee C
43 This conj. C Scene II. etc. add. C 2 their]
the Q 5 6 S. D. afttr 9 m C sixe] some C

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT IV, Sc. III.

Ki. Edw. Aske what they are; it seemes,

they come from Callis.
Der. You wretched patterns of dispayre

and woe,

What are you, liuing men or glyding ghosts,
Crept from your graues to walke vpon the earth?
Poore. No ghosts, my Lord, but men that
breath a life 15

Farre worse then is the quiet sleepe of death:
Wee are distressed poore inhabitants,
That long haue been deseased, sicke, and lame;
And now, because we are not fit to serue,
The Captayne of the towne hajth thrust vs
foorth, . 20

That so expence of victuals may be saued,
K. Ed. A charitable deed, no doubt, and

worthy praise 1

But how do you imagine then to speed?
We are your enemies; in such a case
We can no lesse but put ye to the sword, 25
Since, when we proffered truce, it was ref usde.
Poore. And if your grace no otherwise

vouchsafe,

As welcome death is vnto vs as life.
Ki. Poore silly men, much wrongd and

more distrestl

Go, Derby, go, and see they be relieud; 30
Command that victuals be appoynted them,
And giue to euery one flue Crownes a peece:

(Exeunt Derby and Frenchmen.) j
The Lion scornes to touch the yeelding pray,
And Edwards sword must flesh it self e in such j
As wilfull stubbornnes hath made peruerse. 35 j

Enter Lord Pearsie.
Ki. LordPersiel welcome: whats thenewes

in England?
Per. The Queene, my Lord, comes heere

to your Grace,

And from hir highnesse and the Lord vicegerent
I bring this happie tidings of successe:
Dauid of Scotland, lately vp in armes, 40

Thinking, belike, he soonest should preuaile,
Your highnes being absent from the Realme,
Is, by the fruitfull seruice of your peeres
And painefull trauell of the Queene her self e,
That, big with child, was euery day in armes, 45
Vanquisht, subdude, and taken prisoner.
Ki. Thanks, Persie, for thy newes, with all

my hart!

What was he tooke him prisoner in the field?
Per. A Esquire, my Lord; lohn Copland is
his name:

12 partners QS 13 ye Q2 or] cr Ql 22 no
doubt oi. C 25 ye] you Q 27 Prefix Poore
Q2 : So. Ql 2 .V. D. add. C 34 flesh Col. :

fresh Qq 87 comes heere] commends her C 43
fruitful!] faithfull Q 2 <4y squire Q 2

Who since, intreated by her Maiestie, 50

Denies to make surrender of his prize
To anie but vnto your grace alone;
Whereat the Queene is greouously displeasd.

Ki. Well, then wele haue a Pursiuaunt

dispatcht,

To summon Copland hither out of hand, 55
And with him he shall bring his prisoner king.

Per. The Queene's, my Lord, her selfe by

this at Sea,

And purposeth, as soone as winde will serue,
To land at Callis, and to visit you.

Ki. She shall be welcome; and, to wait her
comming, 60

He pitch my tent neere to the sandy shore.

Enter a (French) Captayne.
(Captaine.) The Burgesses of Callis, mighty

king,

Haue by a counsel 1 willingly decreed
To yeeld the towne and Castle to your hands,
Vpon condition it will please your grace 65
To graunt them benefite of life and goods.
K. Ed. They wil so! Then, belike, they

may command,

Dispose, elect, and gouerne as they list.
No, sirra, tell them, since they did refuse
Our princely clemencie at first proclaymed, 70
They shall not haue it now, although they

would;

(I) will accept of nought but fire and sword,
Except, within these two daies, sixe of them,
That a re the w el t hies t mar chaunts in the towne,
Come naked, all but for their linnen shirts, 75
With each a halter hangd about his necke,
And prostrate yeeld themselues, vpon their

knees,

To be afflicted, hanged, or what I please;
And so you may informe their masterships.

\Exeunt (Edward and Percy).
Cap. Why, this it is to trust a broken staff e :
Had we not been perswaded, lohn our King
Would with his armie haue releeud the towne,
We had not stood vpon defiance so: 83

But now tis past that no man can recall,
And better some do go to wrack then all. [Exit.

(SCENE HI.

Poitou. Fields near Poitiers. The French
camp; Tent of the Duke of Normandy.)
Enter Charles of Normandy and Villiers.
Ch. I wounder, Villiers, thou shouldest
importune me

54 dispatcli 01 57 Queene 01 61 S. D. French
add. C MPrtfix add. Qg 72 I will] Will QJ

73 these] this Q2 79 S. D. BrncMed irords add. C
Scene III. etc. add. C

An IV, Sc. III. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

For one that is our deadly ennemie.

Vil Not for his sake, my gratious Lord,

so much

Am I become an earnest aduocate,
As that thereby my ransome will be quit. 5

Ch. Thy ransome, man? why needest thou

talkeofthat?

Art thou not free? and are not all occasions,
That happen for aduantage of our foes,
To be accepted of, and stood vpon?

Vil No, good my Lord, except the same
be iust; I0

For profit must with honor be comixt,
Or else our actions are but scandalous.
But, letting passe these intricate obiections,
Wilt please your highnes to subscribe, or no?

Ch. Villiers, I will not, nor I cannot do it;
Salisbury shall not haue his will so much, 1 6
To clayme a pasport how it pleaseth him-
selfe.

Vil. Why, then I know the extremitie, my

Lord;
I must returne to prison whence I came.

Ch. Returne? I hope thou wilt not; 20
What bird that hath escapt the fowlers gin,
Will not beware how shees insnard againe?
Or, what is he, so senceles and secure,
That, hailing hardely past a dangerous gulf e,
Will put him selfe in perill there againe? 25

Vil. Ah, but it is mine othe, my gratious

Lord,

Which I in conscience may not violate,
Or else a kingdome should not draw me hence.

Cft. Thine othe? why, that doth bind thee

to abide:
Hast thou not sworne obedience to thy Prince?

Vil In all things that vprightly he com
mands: 31
But either to perswade or threaten me,
Not to performe the couenant of my word,
Is lawlesse, and I need not to obey.

Ch. Why, is it lawfull for a man to kill, 35
And not, to breake a promise with his foe?

Vil To kill, my Lord, when warre is once

proclaymd,

So that our quarrel be for wrongs receaude,
No doubt, is lawfully permitted vs:
But in an othe we must be well aduisd, 40
How we do sweare, and, when we once haue

sworne,

Not to infringe it, though we die therefore:
Therefore, my Lord, as willing I returne,
As if I were to flie to paradise.

Ch. Stay, my Villeirs; thine honorable
minde d r

8 of] on conj. C of our] over eonj. Col.

Deserues to be eternally admirde.
Thy sute shalbe no longer thus deferd:
Giue me the paper, He subscribe to it;
And, wheretof ore I loued thee as Villeirs,
Heereafter He embrace thee as my selfe. 50
Stay, and be still in fauour with thy Lord.
Vil. I humbly thanke your grace; I must

dispatch,

And send this pasport first vnto the Earle,

And then I will attend your highnes pleasure.

Ch. Do so, Villeirs; and Charles, when he

hath neede, 55

Be such hio souldiers, howsoeuer he speedel

[Exit Villeirs.

Enter King lohn.
K. lo. Come, Charles, and arme thee;

Edward is intrapt,

The Prince of Wales is falne into our hands,
And we haue compast him; he cannot scape.
Ch. But will your highnes fight to day? 60
Jo. What else, my son? hees scarse eight

thousand strong,

And we are threescore thousand at the least.
Ch. I haue a prophecy, my gratious Lord,
Wherein is written what successe is like
To happen vs in this outragious warre; 65
It was deliuered me at Cresses field
By one that is an aged Hermyt there.

(Reads') ' When f ethered foul shal make thine

army tremble,
And flint stones rise and breake the battell

ray,

Then thinke on him that doth not now dis
semble; 70
For that shalbe the haples dreadfull day:
Yet, in the end, thy foot thou shalt aduanco
As farre in England as thy foe in Fraunce.' :

lo. By this it seemes we shalbe fortunate :
For as it is impossible that stones 75

Should euer rise and breake the battaile

ray,

Or airie foule make men in armes to quake,
So is it like, we shall not be subdude:
Or say this might be true, yet in the end,
Since he doth promise we shall driue him

hence 8 o

And forrage their Countrie as they haue don

ours,

By this reuenge that losse will seeme the lesse.
But all are fryuolous fancies, toyes, and

dreames :

Once we are sure we haue insnard the sonne,
Catch we the father after how we can. 85

[Exeunt.

68 S. D. add. C

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT IV, St. IV.

(SCENE IV.

The same. The English Camp.}
Enter Prince Edward, Audley, and ethers.
Pr. Audley, the armes of death embrace vs

round,

And comfort haue we none, saue that to die
We pay sower earnest for a sweeter life.
At Cressey field our Clouds of Warlike smoke
Chokt vp those French mouths & disseuered

them: 5

But now their multitudes of millions hide,
Masking as twere, the beautious burning

Sunne,

Leauing no hope to vs, but sullen darke
And eielesse terror of all ending night.
An. This suddaine, mightie, and expedient

head 10

That they haue made, faire Prince, is wonder -

full.

Before vs in the vallie lies the king,
Vantagd with all that heauen and earth can

yeeld;

His partie stronger battaild then our whole:
His sonne, the brauing Duke of Normandie, 1 5
Hath trimd the Mountaine on our right hand

In shining plate, that now the aspiring hill
Shewes like a siluer quarrie or an orbe,
Aloft the which the Banners, bannarets,
And new replenish! pendants cuff the aire 20
And beat the windes, that for their gaudinesse
Struggles to kisse them: on our left hand lies
Phillip, the younger issue of the king,
Coting the other hill in such arraie,
That all his guilded vpright pikes do seeme 25
Streight trees of gold, the pendants leaues;
And their deuice of Antique heraldry,
Quartred in collours, seeming sundry fruits,
Makes it the Orchard of the Hesperides: 29
Behinde vs too the hill doth beare his height,
For like a half e Moone, opening but one way,
It rounds vs in; there at our backs are lodgd
The f atall Crosbowes, and the battaile there
Is gouernd by the rough Chattillion. 34

Then thus it stands: the valleie for our flight
The king binds in; the hils on either hand
Are proudly royalized by his sonnes;
And on the Hill behind stands certaine death
In pay and seruice with Chattillion.

Pr. Deathes name is much more mightie

then his deeds; 40

Thy parcelling this power hath made it more.
As many sands as these my hands can hold,

Scene IV. dc. add. C 3 To pay C 5 moths
I> 26 pendants WP : pendant Qq : pendant

streamers C 28 sundy Q 1 30 two Qq

Are but my handful of so many sands;
Then, all the world, and call it but a power,
Basely tane vp, and quickly throwne away : 4 5
But if I stand to count them sand by sand,
The number would confound my memorie,
And make a thousand millions of a taske,
Which briefeb'e is no more, indeed, then one.
These quarters, squadrons, and these rege-

ments, 50

Before, behinde vs, and on either hand,
Are but a power. When we name a man,
His hand, his foote, his head hath seuerall

strengthes;

And being al but one selfe instant strength,
Why, all this many, Audely, is but one, 55
And we can call it all but one mans strength.
He that hath farre to goe, tels it by miles;
If he should tell the steps, it kills his hart:
The drops are infinite, that make a floud, 59
And yet, thou knowest, we call it but a Raine.
There is but one Fraunce, one king of Fraunce,
That Fraunce hath no more kings; and that

same king

Hath but the puissant legion of one king,
And we haue one: then apprehend no ods,
For one to one is faire equalitie. 65

Enter an Herald from king lohn.
Pr. What tidings, messenger? be playne

and briefe.
He. The king of Fraunce, my soueraigne

Lord and master,

Greets by me his fo, the Prince of Wals:
If thou call forth a hundred men of name,
Of Lords, Knights, Squires, and English gen
tlemen, 70
And with thy selfe and those kneele at his f eete,
He straight will fold his bloody collours vp,
And ransome shall redeeme Hues forfeited;
If not, this day shall drinke more English blood,
Then ere was buried in our Bryttish earth. 75
What is the answere to his profered mercy?
Pr. This heauen, that couers Fraunce, con

taines the mercy

That drawes from me submissiue orizons;
That such base breath should vanish from my

lips,

To vrge the plea of mercie to a man, 80

The Lord forbid 1 Returne, and tell the king,
My tongue is made of steele, and it shall beg
My mercie on his coward burgonet;
Tell him, my colours are as red as his,
My men as bold, our English armes as strong:

45 Is easily C 50 quarter'd squadrons C Cl
and one king C C3 Greets thus C : Greeteth Col.
70 Squires 2 : Esquires 01 75 our Qq : your
conj.Col. 8lthe]tBy {>

ACT IV, Sc. IV. THE RAIGXE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

Returne him my defiance in his face. 86

He. I go. (Exit.)

Enter another (Herald).
Pr. What newes with thee?

He. The Duke of Normandie, my Lord &

master,

Pittying thy youth is so ingirt with perill,
By me hath sent a nimble ioynted iennet, 90
As swift as euer yet thou didst bestride,
And there withall he counsels thee to flie;
Els death himself hath sworne that thou shalt

die.
P. Back with the beast vnto the beast that

sent him I

Tell him I cannot sit a cowards horse; 95

Bid him to daie bestride the iade himselfe,
For I will staine my horse quite ore with bloud,
And double guild my spurs, but I will catch

him;
So tell the carping boy, and get thee gone.

(Exit Her.}

Enter another (Herald).
He. Edward of Wales, Phillip, the second

sonne 100

To the most mightie Christian king of France,
Seeing thy bodies lining date expird,
All full of charitie and Christian loue,
Commends this booke, full fraught with

prayers,

To thy faire hand and for thy houre of lyfe
In treats thee that thou meditate therein, 106
And arme thy soule for hir long iourney

towards

Thus haue I done his bidding, and returns.
Pr. Herald of Phillip, greet thy Lord from

me:

All good that he can send, I can receiue; no
But thinkst thou not, the vnaduised boy
Hath wrongd himselfe in thus far tendering

me?

Happily he cannot praie without the booke
I thinke him no diuine extemporall ,
Then render backe this common place of

prayer, n S

To do himselfe good in aduersitie;
Besides he knows not my sinnes qualitie,
And therefore knowes no praiers for my auaile;
Ere night his praier may be to praie to God,
To put it in my heart to heare his praier. 1 20
So tell the courtly wanton, and be gone.
He- I go. (Exit.}

87 S. D. Exit add. QS Herald add. C 99 ca-

prmg Ql S. D. Bracketed words add. C 104 with

holy prayers C 112 thus] this 1 122 S D

add. QS

Pr. How confident their strength and num -

ber makes them!
Now, Audley, sound those sillier winges of

thine,

And let those milke white messengers of time
Shew thy times learning in this dangerous

time. 126

Thy self e art bruis'd and bit with many broiles,
And stratagems forepast with yron pens
Are texted in thine honorable face;
Thou art a married man in this distresse, 1 30
But danger wooes me as a blushing maide:
Teach me an answere to this perillous time.
And. To die is all as common as to Hue:
The one inch -wise, the other holds in chase;
For, from the instant we begin to Hue, 135
We do pursue and hunt the time to die:
First bud we, then we blow, and after seed,
Then, presently, we fall; and, as a shade
Followes the bodie, so we follow death.
If, then, we hunt for death, why do we f eare it?
If we feare it, -why do we follow it? 141

If we do feare, how can we shun it?
If we do feare, with feare we do but aide
The thing we feare to seize on vs the sooner:
If wee feare not, then no resolued proffer 145
Can ouerthrow the limit of our fate;
For, whether ripe or rotten, drop we shall,
As we do drawe the lotterie of our doome.
Pri. Ah, good olde man, a thousand thou
sand armors
These wordes of thine haue buckled on my

backe: 150

Ah, what an idiot hast thou made of lyfe,
To seeke the thing it fearesl and how disgrast
The imperiall victorie of murdring death,
Since all the Hues his conquering arrowea

strike
Seeke him, and he not them, to shame his

glorie! 155

I will not giue a pennie for a lyfe,
Nor half e a half epenie to shun grim death,
Since for to Hue is but to seeke to die,
And dying but beginning of new lyfe.
Let come the houre when he that rules it will I
To Hue or die I hold indifferent. [Exeunt.

(SCENE V.

The same. The French Camp.}
Enter king lohn and Charles.
loh. A sodaine darknes hath defast the

skie,
The windes are crept into their caues for feare,

124 winges] strings D 127 bruis'd C : busie Qq
129 texed QS 134 inch-wise pr. <d.: in choice Qq,
etc. 142 om. C Scene V. etc. add. C

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ACT IV, Sc. V.

The leaues moue not, the world is husht and

still,
The birds cease singing, and the wandring

brookes

Murmure no wonted greeting to their shores;
Silence attends some wonder and expecteth 6
That heauen should pronounce some pro-

phesie:
Where, or from whome, proceeds this silence,

Charles?

Ch. Our men, with open mouthes and star
ing eyes,

Looke on each other, as they did attend 10
Each others wordes, and yet no creature

speakes;
A tongue-tied feare hath made a midnight

houre,
And speeches sleepe through all the waking

regions.
loh. But now the pompeous Sunne, in all

his pride, ,

Lookt through his golden coach vpon the

worlde, i s

And, on a sodaine, hatjj he hid himselfe,
That now the vnder earth, is as a graue,
Darke, deadly, silent, ancf wncomfortable.

[A clamor of rauens.
Harke, what a deadly outcrie do tlieart- '.'
Ch. Here comes my brother Phiftin^.
loh. All dismauh 20

(Enter Philip.)
What fearefull words are those thy lookes

presage?

Ph. A flight, a flight!
loh. Coward, what flight? thou liest, there

needs no flight.

Ph. A flight. 24

Kin. Awake thy crauen powers, and tell on
The substance of that verie feare in deed,
Which is so gastly printed in thy face:
What is the matter?

Ph. A flight of vgly rauens

Do croke and houer ore our souldiers heads,
And keepe in triangles and cornerd squares, 30
Right as our forces are imbatteled;
With their approach there came this sodain

fog,

Which now hath hid the airie floor of heauen
And made at noone a night vnnaturall
Vpon the quaking and dismaied world: 35
In briefe, our souldiers haue let fall their

armes,
And stand like metamorphosd images,

3 wood coin. C 20, 21 All . . presage one Ihif 1
S. D. add. C 22. 24, 28 P-(fx Pr. 1 33 floor
C : flower Qq

Bloudlesse and pale, one gazing on another.

Io. I, now I call to mind the prophesie,
But I must giue no enterance to a feare. 40
Returne, and hart en vp these yeelding soules:
Tell them, the rauens, seeing them in armes,
So many faire against a famisht few,
Come but to dine vpon their handie worke
And praie vpon the carrion that they kill: 45
For when we see a horse laid downe to die,
Although (he be) not dead, the rauenous birds
Sit watching the departure of his life;
Euen so these rauens for the carcases
Of those poore English, that are markt to die,
Houer about, and, if they crie to vs, 51

Tis but for meate that we must kill for them.
Awaie, and comfort vp my souldiers,
And sound the trumpets, and at once dispatch
This litle busines of a silly fraude. [Exit Ph.

Another noise. Salisbury brought in by
a French Captains.

Cap. Behold, my liege, this knight and
fortie mo, 56

Of whom the better part are slaine and fled,
With all indeuor sought to breake our rankes,
And make their waie to the incompast prince:
Dispose of him as please your maiestie. 60

Io. Qo, & the next bough, souldier, that

thou seest,

Disgrace it with his bodie presently;
For I doo hold a tree in France too good
To be the gallowes of an English theefe.

Sa. My Lord of Normandie, I haue your

passe 65

And warrant for my safetie through this land.

Ch. Villiers procurd it for thee, did he not?

Sal. He did.

Ch. And it is currant; thou shalt freely
passe.

K. Io. I, freely to the gallows to be hangd,
Without deniall or impediment. 71

Awaie with him I

Charles. I hope your highnes will not so

disgrace me,

And dash the vertue of my seale at armes:
He hath my neuer broken name to shew, 75
Carectred with this princely hande of mine;
And rather let me leaue to be a prince
Than break the stable verdict of a prince:
I doo beseech you, let him passe in quiet.

Ki. Thou and thy word lie both in my com -

mand; So

What canst thou promise that I cannot breake?

41 those 3, C 47 he be add. C 55 S. J). Exit
Pr. Q 1 63 Eor Q 1 The rest of the piny is lacking
in the Bodleian copy of 01 : the text from 64 OH is Ixtsfd
on the copy in Trin. Coll. Camb. 70 Prefix En :

Io Q 2 '73 Prefix Charles QS : VU. Q 1

ACT IV, Sc. V. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

Which of these twaine is greater infamie,
To disobey thy father or thy selfe?
Thy word, nor no mans, may exceed his power;
Nor that same man doth neuer breake his
worde, 8 S

That keepes it to the vtmost of his power.
The breach of faith dwels in the soules con
sent:

Which if thy selfe without consent doo breake,
Thou art not charged with the breach of faith
Go, hang him: for thy lisence lies in mee, 90
And my constraint stands the excuse for thee.

Ch. What, am I not a soldier in my word?
Then, armes, adieu, and let them fight that

list!

Shall I not giue my girdle from my wast,
But with a gardion I shall be controld, 95

To saie I may not giue my things awaie?
Vpon my soule, had Edward, prince of Wales,
Ingagde his word, writ downe his noble hand
For all your knights to passe his fathers land,
The roiall king, to grace his warlike sonne, 100
Would not alone safe conduct giue to them,
But with all bountie feasted them and theirs.

Kin. Dwelst thou on presidents? Then be

it sot
Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art.

Sa. An Earle in England, though a prisoner

here, 105

And those that knowe me, call me Salisburie.

Kin. Then, Salisburie, say whether thou art
bound.

Sa. To Callice, where my liege, king
Edward, is.

Kin. To Callice, Salisburie? Then to

Callice packe,

And bid the king prepare a noble graue, 1 1 o
To put his princely sonne, blacke Edward, in.
And as thou trauelst westward from this place,
Some two leagues hence there is a loftie hill,

Awaie, be gone; the smoake but of our shot 1 25

Will choake our foes, though bullets hit them

not. [Exit.

(SCENE VI.

The same. A Part of the Field of Battle.}
Allarum. Enter prince Edward and Artoys.
Art. How fares your grace? are you not

shot, my Lord?
Pri. No, deare Artoys; but choakt with

dust and smoake,

And stept aside for breath and fresher aire.
Art. Breath, then, and too it againe: the

amazed French

Are quite distract with gazing on the crowes;
And, were our quiuers full of shafts againe, 6
Your grace should see a glorious day of this:
0, for more arrowes, Lord; thats our want.
Pri. Courage, Artoys 1 a fig for feathered

shafts,

When feathered foules doo bandie on our side I

What need we fight, and sweate, and keepe a

coile, 1 1

When railing crowes outs cold e our aduer-

saries?

Vp, vp, Artoys! the ground it selfe is armd
(With) Fire containing flint; command our

bowes

To hurle awaie their pretie colored Ew, 15
And to it with stones: awaie, Artoys, awaie I
My soule doth prophesie we win the daie.

{Exeunt.

(SCENE VH.

The same. Another Part of the Field of

Battle.}

Allarum. Enter king lohn.
(K. lohn.} Our multitudes are in themseluea

confounded,
Dismayed, and distraught; swift starting feare

Whose top seemes toplesse, for the imbracing ! Hath buzd a cold disma'ie through all our
skie armie,

Doth hide his high head in her azure bosome;
Vpon whose tall top when thy foot attaines, 1 1 6
Looke backe vpon the humble vale beneath-
Humble of late, but now made proud with

armes
And thence behold the wretched prince of

Wales,

Hoopt with a bond of yron round about. 1 20
After which sight, to Callice spurre amaine,
And saie, the prince was smoothered and not

slaine:

And tell the king this is not all his ill;
For I will greet him, ere he thinkes I will.

, , !, 2 bounty'd COHJ. Ehe 1 16 Vpon] Unto con!. C
1 1 1 below C 120 bond Q 1 : band <? 8, etc.

And euerie pettie disadvantage promptes
The feare possessed abiect soul to flie. 5

My selfe, whose spirit is steele to their dull

lead,

What with recalling of the prophesie,
And that our natiue stones from English armes
Rebell against vs, finde myselfe attainted
With strong surprise of weake and yeelding
feare. 10

Enter Charles.

(Charles.} Fly, father, flie! the French do
kill the French,

Scene VI. etc. add. C 14 With ndd. C Seen*
VII. etc. add. WP 1, 11 Pnfix add. Q2

THE RAIGNR OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD ArrlV.Sc. IX.

Some that would stand let driue at some that

flie;

Our drums strike nothing but discouragement,
Our trumpets sound dishonor and retire;
The spirit of feare, that feareth nought but

death, 15

Cowardly workes confusion on it selfe.

Enter Phillip.
(Phil.} Plucke out your eies, and see not

this daies shame!
An arme hath beate an armie; one poore

Dauid

Hath with a stone foild twentie stout Goliahs;
Some twentie naked staruelings with small
flints, 20

Hath driuen backe a puisant host of men,
Araid and fenst in all accomplements.
loh. Mordiu, they quait at vs, and kill vs

vp;

No lesse than fortie thousand wicked elders
Haue fortie leane slaues this daie stoned to
death. 25

Ch. 0, that I were some other countryman !
This daie hath set derision on the French,
And all the world will blurt and scorne at vs.
Kin. What, is there no hope left?
Phil. No hope, but death, to burie vp our
shame. 30

Ki. Make vp once more with me; the twen-

tith part

Of those that Hue, are men inow to quaile
The feeble handfull on the aduerse part.
Ch. Then charge againe: if heauen be not

opposd,

We cannot loose the daie. 35

Kin. On, awaie! [Exeunt.

(SCENE VIII.

The same. Another Part of the Field of Battle.}
Enter Audley, wounded, & rescued by two

squirs.

Esq. How fares my Lord?
And. Euen as a man may do,

That dines at such a bloudie feast as this.
Esq. I hope, my Lord, that is no mortall

scarre.

Aud. No matter, if it be; the count is cast,
And, in the worst, ends but a mortall man. 5
Good friends, conuey me to the princely

Edward,
That in the crimson brauerie of my bloud

21 Haue Q *, tic. 22 ac-

17 Phil. mid.

Phil. QS.tlc.: Pr. Q] '"' Scene VIII. 7/f.V/*'. V,7'
N. t>. squirs <j 1 -. Esquires

I may become him with saluting him.
He smile, and tell him, that this open scarre
Doth end the haruest of his Audleys warre. 10

[Ex.

(SCENE IX.

The same. The English Camp.}

Enter prince Edward, king lohn, Charles, and

all, with Ensignes spred.

Retreat sounded.
Pri. Now, lohn in France, & lately lohn of

France,

Thy bloudie Ensign es are my captiue colours;
And you, high vanting Charles of Normandie,
That once to daie sent me a horse to flie,
Are now the subjects of my clemencie. 5

Fie, Lords, is it not a shame that English boies,
Whose early daies are yet not worth a beard,
Should in the bosome of your kingdome thus,
One against twentie, beate you vp together?
Kin. Thy fortune, not thy force, hath con-
querd vs. 10

Pri. An argument that heauen aides the
right.

(Enter Artoys with Phillip.)
See, see, Artoys doth bring with him along
The late good counsell giuer to my soule.
Welcome, Artoys; and welcome, Phillip, to:
Who now of you or I haue need to praie? 1 5
Now is the prouerbe verefied in you,
' Too bright a morning breeds a louring daie.'

Sound Trumpets. Enter Audley.
But say, what grym discoragement comes

heere!

Alas, what thousand armed men of Fraunce
Haue writ that note of death in Audleys

face? 20

Speake, thou that wooest death with thy care-

les smile,

And lookst so merrily vpon thy graue,
As if thou wert enamored on thyne end:
What hungry sword hath so bereaud thy face,
And lopt a true friend from my louing soule?
An. Prince, thy sweet bemoning speech

to me 2 6

Is as a morneful knell to one dead sicke.
Pr. Deare Audley, if my tongue ring out

thy end,

My armes shalbe thy graue: what may I do
To win thy life, or to reuenge thy death? 3
If thou wilt drinke the blood of captyue kings,
Or that it were restoritiue, command

Scene IX. WP : Scene VII. V The . . Camp a<M. C
5 (?) subiect 11 ,v. D. (!<!. C 23 thyne Q 1 : thy
Q :' 24 hewreathM Co!. 29 thy Q :' : the Q 1

ACT IV, Sc. IX. THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

A Health of kings blood, and He drinke to thee;
If honor may dispence for thee with death,
The neuer dying honor of this daie 35

Share wholie, Audley, to thy selfe, and liue.
Aud. Victorious Prince, that thou art so,

behold

A Caesars fame in kings captiuitie
If I could hold dym death but at a bay,
Till I did see my liege thy royall father, 40
My soule should yeeld this Castle of my flesh,
This mangled tribute, with all willingnes,
To darkenes, consummation, dust, and

Wormes.
Pr. Cheerely, bold man, thy soule is all to

proud

To yeeld her Citie for one little breach; 45
Should be diuorced from her earthly spouse
By the soft temper of a French mans sword?
Lo, to repaire thy life. I giue to thee
Three thousand Marks a yeere in English land.
An. I take thy gift, to pay the debts I owe:
These two poore Esquires redeemd me from the

French Si ,

With lusty & deer hazzard of their Hues:
What thou hast giuen me, I giue to them;
And, as thou louest me, Prince, lay thy con
sent

To this bequeath in my last testament. 55
Pr. Renowned Audley, liue, and haue from

mee
This gift twise doubled to these Esquires and

thee:

But liue or die, what thou hast giuen away
To these and theirs shall lasting f reedome stay.
Come, gentlemen, I will see my friend

bestowed 60

With in an easie Litter; then wele martch
Proudly toward Callis, with tryumphant pace,
Vnto my royall father, and there bring
The tribut of my wars, faire Fraunce his king.

[Ex.

(ACT V.
Picardy. The English Camp before Calais.}

Enter King Edward, Queen Phillip, Derby,

soldiers.
Ed. No more, Queene Phillip, pacific your

selfe;

Copland, except he can excuse his fault,
Shall finde displeasure written in our lookes.
And now vnto this proud resisting towne!
Souldiers, assault; I will no longer stay, 5
To be deluded by their false delaies;

Put all to sword, and make the spoyle your
owne.

Enter sixe Citizens in their Shirts, bare joote,

with halters about their necks.
All. Mercy, king Edward, mercie, gratious

Lord!
Ki. Contemptuous villaines, call ye now

for truce?

Mine eares are stopt against your bootelesse
cryes: 10

Sound, drums allarum ; draw threatning

swords!
1. Cit. Ah, noble Prince, take pittie on this

towne,

! And heare vs, mightie king:
| We claime the promise that your highnes

made;

The two daies respit is not yet expirde, 15

And we are come with willingnes to beare
What tortering dealii or punishment you

ft) Heath
D 51, 57

ttc. add. C

40 royal C : loyall Qq
Squires Qq : Squires C, etc.

46 She'ld

Act T.

So that the trembling multitude be saued.

Ki. My promise? Well, I do confesse as

much:

But I require the cheefest Citizens 20

And men of most account that should submit;
You, peraduenture, are but seruile groomes,
Or some fellonious robbers on the Sea,
Whome, apprehended, law would execute,
Albeit seuerity lay dead in vs: 25

No, no, ye cannot ouerreach vs thus.

Two. The Sun, dread Lord, that in the

western fall

Beholds vs now low brought through miserie,
Did in the Orient purple of the morne
Salute our comming forth, when we were
knowne; 30

Or may our portion be with damned fiends.

Ki. If it be so, then let our couenant stand:
We take possession of the towne in peace,
But, for your selues, looke you for no remorse;
But, as imperiall iustice hath decreed, 35

Your bodies shalbe dragd about these wals,
And after f eele the stroake of quartering steele:
This is your dome; go, souldiers, see it done.

Qu. Ah, be more milde vnto these yeelding

men!

It is a glorious thing to stablish peace, 40

And kings approch the nearest vnto God
By giuing life and safety vnto men:
As thou intendest to be king of Fraunce,
So let her people liue to call thee king;

1 S. I), preadts Enter King Edward, ttc. Q 1 : corr.
OS 11 allarum printed as S. 1). lu C, ftc. 12 1. Cit.
WP : All Qq 20 required coin'. C 31 friendi C
44 her Ql: thy QS

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

AIT V.

For what the sword cuts down or fire hath
spoyld, 45

Is held in reputation none of ours.

KL Although experience teach vs this is

true,

That peacefull quietnes brings most delight,
When most of all abuses are controld;
Tet, insomuch it shalbe knowne that we 50
As well can master our affections
As conquer other by the dynt of sword,
Phillip, preuaile; we ye eld to thy request:
These men shall Hue to boast of clemencie,
And, tyrannic, strike terror to thy selfe. 55
Two. Long Hue your highnesl happy be

your reigne!
Ki. Go, get you hence, returne vnto the

towne,

And if this kindnes hath deserud your loue,
Learne then to reuerence Edward as your
king. [Ex. (Citizens).

Now, might we heare of our affaires abroad, 60
We would, till glomy Winter were ore spent,
Dispose our men in garrison a while.
But who comes heere?

Enter Copland and King Dauid.
De(r}. Copland, my Lord, and Dauid, King

of Scots.

Ki. Is this the proud presumtious Esquire

of the North, 65

That would not yeeld his prisoner to my Queen?

Cop. I am, my liege, a Northen Esquire

indeed,

But neither proud nor insolent, I trust.
Ki. What moude thee, then, to be so

obstinate

To contradict our royall Queenes desire? 70
Co. No wilfull disobedience, mightie Lord,
But my desert and publike law at armes:
I tooke the king my selfe in single fight,
And, like a souldier, would be loath to loose
The least preheminence that I had won. 75
And Copland straight vpon your highnes

charge

Is come to Fraunce, and with a lowly minde
Doth vale the bonnet of his victory:
Receiue, dread Lorde, the custome of my

fraught,

The wealthie tribute of my laboring hands, 80
Which should long since haue been surrendred

vp,

Had but your gratious selfe bin there in place.
Q. But, Copland, thou didst scorne the kings
command,

r.O Edward Q 2 : Edw. Q 1 <U Sots Q V.

Esq OS: Squire (' c.T Xoithren 0? Squire C
7i> at ^ I : of Q ?, ttc.

Neglecting our commission in his name.

Cop. His name I reuerence, but his person
more; 85

His name shall keepe me in alleagaunce still,
But to his person I will bend my knee.

King. I praie thee, Phillip, let displeasure

passe;

This man doth please mee, and I like his words:
For what is he that will attempt great deeds, 90
And loose the glory that ensues the same?
All riuers haue recourse vnto the Sea,
And Coplands faith relation to his king.
Kneele, therefore, downe: now rise, king

Edwards knight;

And, to maintayne thy state, I freely giue 95
Fiue hundred marks a yeere to thee and thine.

Enter Salsbury.
Welcome, Lord Salisburie: what news from

Brittaine?
Sa. This, mightie king : the Country we haue

won,

And lohn de Mountford, regent of that place,
Presents your highnes with this Coronet, 100
Protesting true allegeaunce to your Grace.
Ki. We thanke thee for thy seruice, valient

Earle;

Challenge our fauour, for we owe it thee.
Sa. But now, my Lord, as this is ioyful

newea,

So must my voice be tragicall againe, 105
And I must sing of dolefull accidents.

Ki. What, haue our men the ouerthrow at

Poitiers?

Or is our sonne beset with too much odds?
Sa. He was, my Lord: and as my worth-

lesse selfe

With f ortie other seruiceable knights, 1 1 o
Vnder safe conduct of the Dolphins seale,
Did trauaile that way, finding him distrest,
A troupe of Launces met vs on the way,
Surprisd, and brought vs prisoners to the king,
Who, proud of this, and eager of reuenge, 115
Commanded straight to cut of all our heads:
And surely we had died, but that the Duke,
More full of honor then his angry syre,
Procurd our quicke deliuerance from thence;
But, ere we went, ' Salute your king ', quoth

hee, 1 20

' Bid him prouide a funerall for his sonne:
To day our sword shall cut his thred of life;
And, sooner then he thinkes, wele be with

him,

To quittance those displeasures he hath done.'
This said, we past, not daring to reply; 1 25

00 groat Qq: high C
John C: Charlts Qq

S. I), nftrr 97 Q 1
108 our Qq: my C

ACT V.

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

Our harts were dead, our lookes diffusd and

wan.

Wandring, at last we clymd vnto a hill,
From when 3e, although our grief e were much

before,

Yet now to see the occasion with our eies
Did thrice so much increase our heauines : 130
For there, my Lord, oh, there we did descry
Downe in a vallie how both armies laie.
The French had cast their trenches like a

"ng,

And euery Barricades open front 134

Was thicke imbost with brasen ordynaunce;
Heere stood a battaile of ten thousand horse,
There twise as many pikes in quadrant wise,
Here Crosbowes, and deadly wounding darts:
And in the midst, like to a slender poynt
Within the compasse of the horison, 1 40

As twere a rising bubble in the sea,
A Hasle wand amidst a wood of Pynes,
Or as a beare fast chaind vnto a stake,
Stood famous Edward, still expecting when
Those doggs of Fraunce would fasten on his

flesh. 1 45

Anon the death procuring knell begins:
Off goe the Cannons, that with trembling

noyse
Did shake the very Mountayne where they

stood;

Then sound the Trumpets clangor in the aire,
The battailes ioyne: and, when we could no

more 150

Discerne the difference twixt the friend and fo,
So intricate the darke confusion was,
Away we turnd our watrie eies with sighs,
As blacke as pouder fuming into smoke.
And thus, I feare, vnhappie haue I told 155
The most vntimely tale of Edwards fall.
Qu. Ah me, is this my welcome into

Fraunce?

Is this the comfort that I lookt to haue,
When I should meete with my belooued sonne?
Sweete Ned, I would thy mother in the sea 1 60
Had been preuented of this mortall grief e!
Ki. Content thee, Phillip; tis not teares will

serue

To call him backe, if he be taken hence:
Comfort thy selfe, as I do, gentle Queene,
With hope of sharpe, vnheard of, dyre

reuenge. 1 65

He bids me to prouide his funeral],
And so I will; but all the Peeres in Fraunce
Shall mourners be, and weepe out bloody

teares,
Vntill their emptie vaines be drie and sere:

138 and Qq -. arm'd with C
149 clangors C

148 they] we con/. C

100

The pi Hers of his hearse shall be his bones; 170
The mould that couers him, their Citie ashes;
His knell, the groning cryes of dying men;
And, in the stead of tapers on his tombe,
An hundred fiftie towers shall burning blaze,
While we bewaile our valiant sonnes decease.

After a flourish, sounded within, enter anherald.
He. Reioyce, my Lord; ascend the imperial

throne! 176

The mightie and redoubted prince of Wales,
Great seruitor to bloudie Mars in armes,
The French mans terror, and his countries

fame,

Triumphant rideth like a Romane peere, i So
And, lowly at his stirop, comes afoot
King lohn of France, together with his sonne,
In captiue bonds; whose diadem he brings
To crowne thee with, and to proclaime thee

king.
Ki. Away with mourning, Phillip, wipe

thine eies; 185

Sound, Trumpets, welcome in Plantaginet!

Enter Prince Edward, king lohn, Phillip,

Audley, Artoys.
Ki. As things long lost, when they are

found again,

So doth my sonne reioyce his fathers heart,
For whom euen now my soule was much per-

plext.

Q. Be this a token to expresse my ioy, 190

[kisse him.

For inward passions will not let me speake.
Pr. My gracious father, here receiue the
gift,

(Presenting him with K. lohrfs crown.}
This wreath of conquest and reward of warre,
Got with as mickle perill of our liues,
As ere was thing of price before this daie ; 195
Install your highnes in your proper right:
And, heerewithall, I render to your hands
These prisoners, chiefe occasion of our strife.
Kin. So, lohn of France, I see you keepe

your word;

You promist to be sooner with our selfe 200
Then we did thinke for, and tis so in deed:
But, had you done at first as now you do,
How many ciuill townes had stoode vntoucht,
That now are turnd to ragged heaps of stones !
How many peoples liues mightst thou haue
saud, 205

That are vntimely sunke into their graues !

170 his bones (K. John's) Oq : their bones D 171
city's Col. 174 fiftie] lofty Col, X. D. Priniui .<

part of preceding speech Q 1 192 S. D. add. D 202
you . . you Q 1 : ye . . ye Q S 205 might you Q 2

THE RAIGNE OF K. EDWARD THE THIRD

ACT V.

lo. Edward, recount not things irr euocable ;
Tell me what ransome thou requirest to haue.

Kin. Thy ransome, lohn, hereafter shall

be known:

But first to England thou must crosse the seas,
To see what intertainment it affords; 211

How ere it fals, it cannot be so bad,
As ours hath bin since we ariude in France.

I oh. Accursed man! of this I was fortolde,
But did mis cons ter what the prophet told. 215

Pri. Now, father, this petition Edward

makes
To thee, whose grace hath bin his strongest

shield,

That, as thy pleasure chose me for the man
To be the instrument to shew thy power,
So thou wilt grant that many princes more, 220
Bred and brought vp within that little Isle,
May still be famous for lyke victories!
And, for my part, the bloudie scars I beare,
The wearie nights that I haue watcht in field,
The dangerous conflicts I haue often had, 225
The fearefull menaces were proffered me,

The heate and cold and what else might dis
please:

I wish were now redoubled twentie fold,
So that hereafter ages, when they reade
The painfull traffike of my tender youth, 230
Might thereby be inflamd with such resolue,
As not the territories of France alone,
But likewise Spain, Turkic, and what coun
tries els

That iustly would prouoke faire Englands ire,

Might, at their presence, tremble and retire. 235

Kin. Here, English Lordes, we do pro-

claime a rest,

An intercession of our painfull armes:
Sheath vp your swords, refresh your weary lims,
Peruse your spoil es; and, after we hauebreathd
A daie or two within this hauen towne, 240
God willing, then for England wele be shipt;
Where, in a happie houre, I trust, we shall
Ariue, three kings, two princes, and a queene.

FINIS.
237 An] And 1) intcrceasing Q i", etc.

101

Moft pleafant Co

medic of L/Mucedorus the kings
Tonne of Patent/a
the Kings daughter of Ant
with the mericconccitcs

Ncwlyfetfoorthjas it hath bin

fundrit times fkide in the ko-

nor die CittjtofLwdm.

Very deleftable and full
of mirth.

LONDON

Printed for Wtlliam /iw^dwel-

lingat Holbornc conduit,at

the fignc of the Gunnc.

Q 1 = Quarto of 1598

Q 2 - 160G

Q S , 1610

Q* = 1611

Qo -= 1613

Q 6 = 1615

Q 7 = 1618

08 = 1619

Q '> = 1621

Q 10 1626

Qll -- 1631

Q 11 1634

Q 18 = 1639

Qli = 1663

Q 15 1668

Q 10 - undated quarto

Q 17 - Quarto with missing title page

Col. = Collier, 1824

T = Tyrrell, 1851

Has. = Hazlitt's Dodsley 1874-6

I> = Delius, 1874

WP m Warnke and Proescholdt, 1878

Wag. ~ Wagner : textual conjectures in Jahrbuch XI. and XIV.

Eke = Elze in Jahrbuch XV. and Notes on Eliz. Dramatists.

pr. ed. = present editor

104

A MOST PLEASANT COMEDIE OF

MVCEDORVS THE KINGS SONNE OF VALENTIA,

AND AMADINE, THE KINGS DAVGHTER OF ARRAGON

[THE PROLOGVE.

Moat sacred Maiestie, whose great desertes
Thy Subiect England, nay, the World, admires:
Which Heauen graunt still increase: may

your Prayse,
Multiplying with your houres, your Fame

still rayse;
Embrace your Counsell ; Loue, with Fayth,

them guide, 5

That both, as one, bench by each others side.
So may your life passe on and runne so euen,
That your firme zeale plant you a Throne in

Heauen,

Where smiling Angels shall your guardians

bee

From blemisht Traytors, stay n" d with Periurie :
And as the night 's inferiour to the day, 1 1
So be all earthly Regions to your sway.
Be as the Sunne to Day, the Day to Night;
For, from your Beames, Europe shall borrow

light.
Mirth drowne your boosome, faire Delight

your minde, 15

And may our Pastime your Contentment finde

Exit ]

(DRAMATIS PERSONAE.)

Eight persons 1 may easily play it.

(King Valencia, I for one.}*
Mucedorus the prince ) ( ,

of Valensia. \ \ Jor

(Anselmo,l \ for one.} a
Amadine the Kinges J I .

daughter of Arragon. )('

one.

or one.

(INDUCTION.)

Enter Comedie ioyfull with a garland of

baies on her head.
WHY so! thus doe I hope to please:
Musicke reuiues, and mirth is tollerable,
Comedie, play thy part and please,
Mak merry them that corns to ioy with thee:
loy, then, good gentilles; I hope to make you
laugh. 5

Sound foorth Bella nas siluer tuned strings.
Time fits vs well, the daie and place is ours.

Enter Enuie, his armes naked, besmearde
with blond.

En. Nay, staie, minion, there lies a block.
What, al on mirth! He interrupt your tale
And mixe your musicke with a tragick end. 10

Co. What monstrous vgly hagge is this,
That dares comtrowle the pleasures of our will ?

(/</. Q:t 6 as Q3 : at Ifnz. ' Ten

persons 0:i ' - .\dd. Q:i Induction '<e/</. U7'

.V. h. ioyfull 01 : ioyl'ully Q3, etc. 8 stay, minion.

Enuie: Tremelio a Captains: \ (
Bremo a wilde man. \ \

Comedy, a boy, an ould woman,
Ariena Amadines maide.

Gotten a Coanseller,

for one.
' I for one.

A messenger.

for one.

Mouse the Clowne. } [ for one.

Vaunt, churlish curre, besmearde with gorie

bloud,

That seemst to check the blossoms of de
light,

And stifle the sound of sweete Bellonas breath:

Blush, monster, blush, and post away with

shame, 1 6

That seekest disturbance of a goddesse deedes.

En. Post hence thy selfe, thou counter -

checking trul;

I will possesse this habite, spite of thee,
And gaine the glorie of thy wished porte: 20
He thunder musicke shall appale the nimphes,
And make them sheuer their clattering strings:
Flying for succour to their dankish caues.
Sound drumes within and crie, 'stab! stab!'
Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise
Shall fill the aire with a shrilling sound, 25
And thunder musicke to the gods aboue:

15 stifle /: stifle Q: ?: still Qll bearth (^ 17
(leedcs Q 7-J : name Q6.dc.: lame cotij. M'r/. L'otliy
Q l-ti :t\usQ8,e/r. :>_' shiner Q :}, etc. 23 dankiaa
Col.. Klze : dancs Q 1 : Danish Q:i. elf. : darkest mi/.
in: uL :M a out. Q8, tic. 20 the om. Q 4

105

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

From tragick stuffe to be a pleasant comedie.
En. Why then, Comedie, send thy actors
forth 71

And I will crosse the first steps of their tread:
Making them feare the verie dart of death.
Co. And He defend them maugre all thy
spite:

Mars shall himselfe breathe downe
A peerelesse crowne vpon braue enuies head,
And raise his chiuall with a lasting fame.
In this braue musicke Enuie takes delight, 30
Where I may see them wallow in there blood.
To spume at armes and legges quite shiuered

And heare the cries of many thousand slaine. j So, vgly fiend, farewell, till time shall serue, 75
How likst thou this, my trull? this sport alone | That we^nay meete tpjarle for the best

for meel
Co. Vaunt, bloodie curre, nurst vp with

tygers sapp, . 3S

That so dost seeke to quaile a womans mmde.
Comedie is mild, gentle, willing for to please,
And seekes to gaine the loue of all estates:
Delighting in mirth, mixt all with louely tales,
And bringeth things with treble ioy to passe. 40
Thou, bloodie, Enuious, disdainer of mens ioye,
Whose name is fraught with bloodie strata -

gemes,

Delights in nothing but in spoyle and death,
Where thou maist trample in their hike warme

blood,
And graspe their hearts within thy cursed

pawes: 45

Yet vaile thy mind, reuenge thou not on mee;
A silly woman begs it at thy hands:
Giue me the leaue to vtter out my play,
Forbeare this place, I humblie craue thee:

hence,

And mixe not death amongst pleasing come
dies, SQ
That treats naught els but pleasure and delight.
If any sparke of humaine rests in thee,
Forbeare, be gon, tender the suite of mee.

En. Content, Comedie; ile goe spread my

branch,
And scattered blossomes from mine enuious

tree

Shall proue to monsters, spoiling of their ioyes.

Exit.

[(ACT I.
SCENE I.

Vdlentia. The Court.}

Sound. Enter Mucedorus and Anselmo

his friend.

Muced. Anselmo.

Ansel. My Lord and friend.

Muc. True, my Anselmo, both thy Lord

and friend
Whose deare affections boosome with my

heart,

And keepe their domination in one orbe. 5
Ans. Whence neare disloyaltie shall roote

it foorth,

But fayth plant firmer in your choyse respect.
Mnc. Much blame were mine, if I should

other deeme,
! Nor can coy Fortune contrary allow:

En. Why solwil; forbearance shall be such ! But, my Anselmo, loth I am to say

As treble death shall crosse thee with de-
apight, 55

And make thee mourne where most thou ioiest,
Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole,
Whirling thy pleasures with a peale of death,
And drench thy methodes in a sea of bloud:
This will I doe, thus shall I beare with thee; 60
And more to vex thee with a deeper spite,
I will with threates of bloud begin thy play,
Fauoring thee with enuie and with hate.

Co. Then, vglie monster, doe thy woorst,
I will defend them in despite of thee: 65

And though thou thinkst with tragick fumes
To braue my play vnto my deepe disgrace,
I force it not, I scorne what thou canst doe;
lie grace it so, thy selfe shall it confesse

27 breathe] reach conj. Way.
L'O chiuall Qq : rival conj. War/.
etc. 46 thou Ql-3 : thee Q4, etc. 58 pfeasures]

28 crowenc Ql
34 tis sport Q 8,

measures Elze. 59 methodes] metres Else,

though] thought Q 1
hroue Q8, etc.

67 braue Q 1 : praue Q 3-6 :

I must estrange that frendship
Misconsture not, tis from the Realme, not

thee:
Though Landes part Bodies, Heartes keepe

companie.

Thou knowst that I imparted often haue
Priuate relations with my royall Sire, 1 5

Had as concerning beautious Amadine,
Rich Aragons bright lewell, whose face (some

say)

That blooming Lillies neuer shone so gay,
Excelling, not exceld: yet least Report
Does mangle Veritie, boasting of what is not, 20
Wing'd with Desire, thither Ile straight repaire,

71 thy] the 077 : now thy WP 72 tread Q 1 :

trade Q3, etc. 75 farewell, till Q3. itc. : frcwi-ll.
tell Q 1 79 to 07 : two 03, etc. their fa : thy />
Act. I, fie. 7-77 add, Q 3 S. 7>. Act I, Scene I Art* (.</
snnos fl'rxt indicated WP; indications of j>l<tc< (t<>'l. }'
til. 3 out. 0,5-76 10, 11 One line 03. ttr.
estrange 3 : enlarge Q 14-16 that] thy Q Hi

20 Veritie] virtue Co'.
106

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

AIT I, St. Ill

And be my Fortunes, as my Thoughts are, faire.
Ans. Will you forsake Valencia, leaue the

Court,

Absent you from the eye of Soueraigntie?
Do not, sweete Prince, aduenture on that
taske, 25

Since danger lurkes each where: be wonne

from it.

Mu. Desist disswasion,
My resolution brookes no batterie;
Therefore, if thou retaine thy wonted forme,
Assist what I intend. 30

.Ans. Your misse will breed a blemish in

the Court,

And throw a frostie deaw vpon that Beard,
Whose front Valencia stoopes to.

At once a briefe farewell :
Delay to louers is a second hell. 60

[Exit Mucedorus.
Ans. Prosperitie forerunne thee ; Aucward

chance

Neuer be neighbour to thy wishes venture:
Content and Fame aduance thee; euer thriue,
And GJory thy mortalitie suruiue. \Exit.

(SCENE II.

A Forest in Arragon.}

Enter Mouse with a bottle of Hay.

Mous. horrible, terrible! Was euer poor e

Gentleman so scard out of his seauen Senses?

A Beare? nay, sure it cannot be a Beare, but

Mu. If thou my welfare tender, then no some Diuell in a Beares Doublet: for a Beare

more;
Let Loues strong Magicke charme thy triuiail

phrase,
Wasted as vainely as to gripe the Sunne:

Augment not then more answers; locke thy

lippes,

Vnlesse thy wisedome suite me with disguise,
According to my purpose.

Ans. That action craues no counsel!, 40
Since what you rightly are will more com-

maund,
Then best vsurped shape.

Mu. Thou still art opposite in disposition:
A more obscure seruile habillament
Beseemes this enterprise. 45

Ans. Then like a Florentine or Mounte-

bancke?
Mu. Tis much too tedious; I dislike thy

iudgement:

My minde is grafted on an humbler stocke.
Ans. Within my Closet does there hang a

Cassocke,

Though base the weede is ; t'was a Shep-
heards, 50

Which I presented in Lord lulios Maske.
Mu. That, my Anselmo, and none else but

that,
Maske Mucedorus from the vulgar view!

could neuer haue had that agilitie to haue
frighted me. Well, He see my Father hang'd,
35 j before He serue his Horse any more: Well,
He carry home my Bottle of Hay, and for once

That habite suites my minde; fetch me that

weede.

[Exit Anselmo.

Better then Kinges haue not disdaind that
state, 55

And much inferiour, to obtaine their mate.

Enter Anselmo with a Shepheards coate.
So!
Let our respect commaund thy secrecie.

50 shepherd's once Way. 57, 58 One lnu (J :).

etc.

make my Fathers Horse turne Puritan e and
obserue Fasting dayes, for he gets not a bit.
But soft! this way she followed me, therefore
He take the other Path; and because He be
sure to haue an eye on him, I will take handes
with some foolish Creditor, and make euery
step backward. 15

As he goes backwards the Beare comes in,
and he tumbles ouer her, and runnes away and
leaues his bottle of Hay behind him.]

(SCENE HI. The same.}
Enter Segasto riming and Amadine after

him, being persued with a beare.
Se. Oh fly, Madam, fly or els we are but

dead.
Ama. Help, Segasto, help! help, awet

Segasto, or els I die.

(Seg.} Alas, madam, there is no way but flight;
Then hast and saue your selfe.

Segasto runnes away.

Ama. Why then I die; ah helpe me in dis-
tresse! 5

Enter Mucedorus like a shepheard with a sworde

drawne and a beares head in his hande.
Mu. Stay, Lady, stay, and be no more dis-

maide.

That cruell beast most mercelesse and fell,
Which hath bereaued thousands of their Hues,
Affrighted many with his hard pursues,

Scene II. TVP A Forest, ttr. add. ;-. ed. 13 on
him Q3-4 : to him Q5-6 : to her Q 8, etc.: on her Col.
take o:j-S : shake Oil. </<. Scene III. 1V/'

1 are] art 01 :> ele / 4 S. D. after 2 Qq 8
AVhichl That <?6 hath Q3, eh: : haue Ql 9 pur
suits WP

107

ACT I, Sc. III.

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

Prying from place to place to find his praie, 10
Prolonging thus his life by others death,
His carcasse now lies headlesse, void of breth.
Ama. That fowle deformed monster, is he

dead?
Mu. Assure your selfe thereof, behould his

head:

Which if it please you, Lady, to accept, 1 5

With willing heart I yeeld it to your maiestie.

Ama. Thankes, worthy shepheard, thanks

a thousand times.

This gift, assure thy selfe, contents me more
Then greatest bountie of a mighty prince,
Although he were the monarch of the world.
Mu. Most gracious goddesse, more then

mortal wight, 2I

Your heauenly hewe of right imports no lesse,
Most glad am I in that it was my chance
To vndertake this enterprise in hand,
Which doth so greatly glad your princely

minde. *S

Ama. No goddesse, shepheard, but a mortall

wight,

A mortall wight destressed as thou seest:
My father heere is king of Arragon.
I Amadine his only daughter am,
And after him sole heire vnto the crowne. 30
Now, where as it is my fathers will
To mary me vnto Segasto, on(e),
Whose welth through fathers former vsury
Is knowen to be no lesse then woonderfull,
We both of custome oftentimes did vse, 35
Leauing the court, to walke within the fieldes
For recreation, especially (in) the spring,
In that it yelds great e store of rare delights:
And passing further then our wonted walkes,
Scarse were entred within these lucklesse

woods, 40

But right before vs downe a steepe fall hil
A monstrous vgly beare did hie him fast,
To meete vs both. I faint to tell the rest,
Good shepherd, but suppose the gastly lookes,
The hiddious feares, the thousant hunderd

woes, 45

Which at this instant Amadine susteind.
Mu. Yet, worthy princes, let thy sorrow

cease,

And let this sight your former ioyes reuiue.
Ama. Beleeue me, shepheard, so it doth

no lesse.
Mu. Long may they last vnto your hearts

content. 50

But tell me, Ladie, what is become of him,

Segasto calld, what is become of him?
Ama. I knowe not, I; that knowe the powers

diuine,
But God graunt this : that sweet Segasto liue.

Mu. Yet heard harted he in such a case,
So cowardly to saue himself e by flight: 56
And leaue so braue a princesse to the spoyle.
Ama. Well, shephearde, for thy worthy

valour tried,

Endangering thy selfe to set me free,
Vnrecompensed, sure, thou shalt not be. 60
In court thy courage shalbe plainely knowne:
Throughout the Kingdome will I spread thy

name,

To thy renowne and neuer dying fame:
And that thy courage may be better knowne,
Beare thou the head of this most monstrous
beast . 65

In open sight to euerie courtiers viewe:
So will the king my father thee rewarde.
Come, lets away, and guard me to the court.
Mn. With all my heart.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE IV. Outskirts of the Forest.}

Enter Segasto solus.
Se. When heapes of harmes do houer ouer

head,

Tis time as then, some say, to looke about,
And of ensuing harmes to choose the least:
But hard, yea haplesse, is that wretchesse

chaunce,

Lucklesse his lot and caytiffe like acourste, 5
j At whose proceedings fortune euer frownes.
' My selfe I meane, most subiect vnto thrall,
For I, the more I seeke to shun the worst,
The more by proof e I find my selfe accurst:
Ere whiles assaulted with an vgly beare, 10
Fayre Amadine in company all alone,
Forthwith by flight I thought to saue my

selfe,

Leauing my Amadine vnto her shift es:
I For death it was for to resist the beare,
! And death no lesse of Amadines harmes to
heare. i s

Accursed I in lingring life thus long!
| In liuing thus, each minute of an hower
Doth pierce my hart with dartes of thousand

deathes:

If she by flight her fury doe escape,
What will she thinke? 20

Will she not say yea, flatly to my face,
! Accusing me of meere disloyaltie

60 Wron;/!.'/ bracketed.

.)_>/ rf.v Scgasto 0-, On Q /-., : One QV.f. 37 55 heard Q I : hard 0.9. etc. 60 TWo;i</// braclutct
csecialyy/ in ,/</.//> .specially in spring UT I,,, Hn>. Scene IV. WP 3 of 05, . : so <? 7-4
,'J farther H<>.;. 40 entred were <):}, e'c. 45 , 4 wretc-l.es ()Hff. 11 Favre ft : AVitli MV 17

liuing Q a, e'c. : leciiing Q 1 W her] his Col.

108

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

ACT I, Sc. IV.

A trustie friend is tride (in) time of neede,

But I, when she in danger was of death

And needed me, and cried, Segasto, helpe: 25

I turned my backe and quickly ran away.

Vn worthy I to beare this vital! breath I

But what! what needes these plaintes?

If Amadine do liue, then happie I;

Shee will in time forgiue and so forget: 30

Amadine is merciful!, not Inno like,

In harmful hart to harbor hatred long.

Enltr Mouse, the Clowne, running, crying :
clubs.

Mouse. Clubs, prongs, pitchforks, billes!
helpe! a beare, a beare, a beare!

Se. Still beares, and nothing else but beares.
Tell me, sirra, wher she is. 36

Clo. sir, she is runne downe the woods:
I see her white head and her white belly.

Se. Thou talkest of wonders, to tell me of
white bears. But, sirra, didst thou euer see
any such? 41

Clo. No, faith, I neuer sawe any such, but
I remember my fathers woordes: bee bad
mee take heede I was not caught with a white
beare. 45

Se. A lamentable tale, no dout.

Clo. I tell you what, sir, as I was going
a fielde to serue my fathers greate horse, &
caried a bottle of hay vpon my head now doe
you see, sir I, fast hudwinckt, that I could see
nothing, perceiuing the beare comming, I
threw my hay into the hedge and ran away.

Se. What, from nothing? S3

Clo. I warrant you, yes, I saw something,
for there was two loade of thornea besides my
bottle of hay, and that made three.

Se. But tell me, sirra, the beare that thou

didst see,
Did she not beare a bucket on her arme? 58

Clo. Ha, ha, ha! I neuer saw beare goe a
milking in all my life. But hark you, sir, I
did not looke so hie as her arme: I saw noth
ing but her whit head, and her whit belly.

Se. But tell me, sirra, where doost thou
dwell?

Clo. Why, doe you not knowe mee? 65

Se. Why no, how should I know thee?

Clo. Why, then, you know no bodie, and
you knowe not mee. I tell you, sir, I am the
goodman rats son of the next parish ouer the
hill. 70

Se. Goodman rats son: why, whats thy
name?

Clo. Why, I am very neere kin vnto him.

Se. I thinke so, but whats thy name?

Clo. My name? I haue (a) very pretie name ;
lie tel you what my name is: my name is
Mouse.

Se. What, plaine Mouse"! 78

Clo. I, plaine mouse with out either welt or
garde. But doe you heare, sir, I am but a very
young mouse, for my taile is scarce growne
out yet; looke you here els.

Se. But, I pray thee, who gaue thee that
name? 84

Clo. Fayth, sir, I know not that, but if you
would faine know, aske my fathers greate
horse, for he hath bin half e a yeare longer with
my father then I haue.

Se. This seemes to be a merrie fellow;
I care not if I take him home with me. 90
Mirth is a comfort to a troubled minde,
A merrie man a merrie master makes.
How saist thou, sirra, wilt thou dwell with
me?

Clo. Nay, soft, sir, two words to a bargaine:
praie you, what occupation are you? 95

Se. No occupation, I liue vpon my landes.

Clo. Tour lands! away, you are no maister
for me : why, doe you thinke that I am so mad,
to go seke my liuing in the lands amongst the
stones, briars, and bushes, and teare my holy
day apparel!? not I, by your leaue. 101

Se. Why, I do not meane thou shalt.

Clo. How then?

Se. Why, thou shalt be my man, and waitt
vpon me at the court. 105

CZo. Whats that?

Se. Where the King lies.

Clo. Whats that same King, a man or
woman?

Se. A man as thou arte. no

CZo. As I am? harke you, sir ; pray you,
what kin is he to good man king of our parish,
the church warden?

Se. No kin to him ; he is the King of the
whole land. ' ' 5

Clo. King of the land! I neuer see him.

Se. If thou wilt dwel with me, thou shallt
see him euerie day.

CZo. Shal I go home againe to be torne in
peces with beares? no, not I. I wil go home
& put on a cleane shirt, and then goe drowne
my selfe. 122

Se. Thou shallt not need; if thou wilt dwell
with me, thou shalt want nothing.

CZo. Shal I not ? then heares my hand; ile

23 in om. I IS need 8 ff. 35 else r.m. 8 ff 75 a nm. Ql 80 am but Q 1-4 : am Q ~> .ff. 94 two]
38 see Q I : saw Q .?, etc.. wife head Q 1 49 bottly ; tow $ 7 108 or Q 1 : or a Q 3ff. 116 see Q 1-6 :
V I 55 two] tow Q I 68 am the Q 1 : am Q 8 \ saw

109

w Q 1
w 98 f.

ACT I, Sc. IV.

THE COMKDIE OF MVCEDOKVS

dwel with you. And harke you, sir, now you
haue entertained me, I wil tell you what I can
doe: I can keepe my tongue from picking and
stealing, and my handes from lying and slaun-
dering, I warrant you, as wel as euer you had
man in all your life. ,**?

Se. Now will I to court with sorrowfull hart,
rownded with doubts.
If Amadine doe Hue, then happy I :
Yea, happie I, if Amadine doe liue. 3S

[Exeunt.

(ACT H.

SCENE I. The Camp of the King of Arragon.)
Enter the King with a young prince prisoner,

Amadine, (Tremelio,) with Gotten and

counsellers.
King. Now, braue Lords, our wars are

brought to end,

Our foes (to) the foile, and we in safetie rest :
It vs behoues to vse such clemencie
In peace as valour in the warre
It is as great honor to be bountifull 5

At home as to be conquerers in the field.
Therefore, my Lords, the more to my content,
Your liking, and your countries safegarde,
We are disposde in marriage for to giue
Our daughter to Lord Segasto heare, 10

Who shall succeede the diadem after me,
And raigne heereafter as I tofore haue done,
Your sole and lawfull King of Arragon:
What say you, Lordings, like you of my ad-

uise? 1 4

Col. And please your Maiesty, we doe not

onely alowe of your highnesse pleasure, but

also vow fathfully in what we may to further

it.

King. Thankes, good my Lords, if long

Adrostus liue,

Hee will at full requite your curtesies. 20
Tremelio,

In recompence of thy late valour done,
Take vnto thee the Catalonea prince,
Latelie our prisoner taken in the warres.
Be thou his keeper, his ransome shallbe

thine; 25

Weele thinke of it when leasure shall afforde:
Meane while, doe vse him well; his father is

a King.

Act II. Scene I. WP The Camp, etc. pr. ed. ,S'. />.
Tremelio add. Q3 1 our Qq : that our Has. 2
the foile Qq: have had the foil Ha~..: to foil War/
4 warres Q ' 3 ft'. :\, 5 End peace, home Qq 6 to
be om. Qttff. 10 to Q 1 : vnto Q 8 ff. : to the Col.

14 What Qq : How WP 15 And Q '] : Ant <?.? ff.
21, 22 One line Qq 23 Catalone aprince Q 1 : t'ata-
lone, a Prince Q 3 ff. : Catalonian prince Haz. 20
thinke Ql-8: have Q 11 ff.

Tre. Thankes to your Maiestie : his vsage

shalbe such,

As he therat shall thinke no cause to grutce.

\Exeunt (Tremelio and Prince).

King. Then march we on to court, and rest

our wearied limmes. 31

But, Gotten, I haue a tale in secret kept for thee:

When thou shalt heare a watch woord from

thy king,

Thinke then some waightie matter is at hand
That highlie shall concerne our state, 35

Then, Gotten, looke thou be not farre from me:
And for thy seruice thou to fore hast done,
Thy trueth and valour proude in euerie point,
I shall with bounties thee enlarge therefore:
So guard vs to the courte. 4

Col. What so my soueraigne doth com-

maund me doe,
With willing mind I gladly yeeld consent.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE II. The same.}

Enter Segasto, and the Clowne with weapons

about him.

Se. Tel me, sirra, how doe you like your
weapons?

Clo. verie wel, verie wel, they keep my
sides warme.

Se. They keep the dogs from your shins
very well, doe they not? 6

Clo. How, keep the dogs from my shins? I
would scorne but my shins should keep the
dogs from them.

Se. Well, sirra, leauing idle talke, tell me:
Dost thou know captains Tremelioes chamber?

Clo. I, verie well; it hath a doore. 12

Se. I thinke so, for so hath euery chamber.
But dost thou know the man ?

Clo. I, forsooth, he hath a nose on his face.

Se Why so hath euery on(e). 1 6

Clo. Thats more then I know.

Se. But doest thou remember the captaine.
that was heere with the king euen now, that
brought the yong prince prisoner? 20

Clo. 0, verie well.

Se. Go vnto him and bid him come to me.
Tell him I haue a matter in secret to impart
to him. 24

Clo. I wil, master: master.whatshisname?

Se. Why, captaine Tremelio.

Clo. 0, the meale man. I knowe him verie
well. He brings meale euery satturday. But
harke you, master, must I bid him come to
you or must you come to him? 30

S. I). Tremelio, tie. add. Haz. 32 kept 1-6

fit Q 8, ft". Scene II. D 6 very om. Q8 : very well
1 OHI. Q 14 8 could Q3 26 Tremelio, man Eht

110

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

ACT II, Sc. II.

Se. No, sir, he must come to me.

Clo. Harke you, master, how if he be not
at home? What shall I doe then?

Se. Why, then (thou) leaust worde with
some of his folkes, 35

Clo. Oh, maister, if there be no bodie within,
I will leaue word with his dog,

Se. Why, can his dog speake?

Clo. I cannot tell; wherefore doth he keep
his chamber els? 4

Se. To keepe out such knaues as thou art.

Clo. Nay, be ladie, then go your self e.

Se. You will go, sir, wil ye not?

Clo. Yes, marrie, will I, tis come to my

head:

And a be not within, He bring his chamber to
you. 43

Se. What, wilt thou plucke down the Kings
house?

Clo. Nay, be ladie, ile knowe the price of it
first. Master, it is such a hard name, I haue
forgotten it againe. I praie you, tell me his
name, 5'

Se. I tell thee, captaine Tremelio.

Clo. Oh, captaine treble knaue, captaine
treble knaue.

Enter Tremelio.

Tre. How now, sirra, doost thou call mee?

Clo. You must come to my maister, captain
treble knaue. 57

Tre. My Lord Segasto, did you send for
mee?

Se. I did, Tremelio. Sirra, about your busi-
nesse.

Clo. I, marry: whats that, can you tell?

Se. No, not well. 63

Clo. Marrie, then, I can: straight to the
kitchen dresser, to lohn the cooke, and get me
a good peece of beefe and brewis, and then to
the buttery hatch to Thomas the butler for
a iacke of beare, and there for an houre ile so
be labour my selfe! therefore, I pray you, cal
me not till you thinke I haue done, I pray
you, good mayster. 71

Se. Well, sir, away. (Exit Mouse.}

Tremelio, this it is: thou knowest the valour of
Segasto spred through all the kingdome of
Arragon, and such as hath found triumph and

31 sir Q 1 : sirra 0.9, (tc. 32 how om. Q8 34
tliou add. p>: id. leaust 1 : leaue Q 3, etc. 30

Oh Qq : How Has. 42, 48 by Lady QSff.: by'r

Lady Hn-.. 43 ye Q 1 : YOU Q 3, (tc. 48 Nay

1-0 : No OS 52 Tremelio. knave Elzc CO and
therefore OS, f/f. 72 S'. /.'. add. Huz. 73-8

Verse Qq, die. Segasto, Arragon, fauours, shepherd,
worthynesse, a side. The speech may hare bttn irrittai
in terse, but, if .10, is hopelessly corrupt, i'f. II. 97-107,
131-4.

fauours, neuer daunted at any tyme; but now
a shepherd (is) admired at in court for worthy
nesse, and Segastoes honour layd a side. My
wil, therefore, is this, that thou dost find som
meanes to worke the shepheardes death. I
know thy strength sufficient to performe my
desire, & thy loue no other wise then to reuenge
my iniuries. 83

Tre. It is not the frownes of a shepheard
that Tremelio feares. Therefore, account it
accomplished, what I take in hand.

Se. Thankes, good Tremelio, and assure thy
selfe, 87

What I promise that will I performe.

Tre. Thankes, my good Lord, and in good

time see where

He commeth: stand by a while, and you shall
see 90

Me put in practise your intended driftes.
Haue at thee, swaine, if that I hit thee right,

Enter Mucedorns,
Mu. Vild coward, so without cause to strike

a man.
Turne, coward, turne; now strike and doe thy

woorst.

Mucedorus killeth him,
Se. Hould, shepheard, hould; spare him,

kill him not! 95

Accursed villaine, tell me, what hast thou

done?

Ah, Tremelio, trustie Tremelio!
I sorrow for thy death, and since that thou,
Liuing, didst prooue faithfull to Segasto,
So Segasto now, liuing, shall honour e 100
The dead corpes of Trem(e}lio with reuenge.
Bloudthirsty villaine,
Borne and bredde to mercilesse murther,
Tell me, how durst thou be so bold as once
To lay thy hands vpon the least of mine? 105
Assure thy selfe,

Thou shalt be vsd according to the law.
Mu. Segasto, cease, these threats are need*

lesse.

Accuse not me of murther, that haue done
Nothing but in mine owne defence. no

Se. Nay, shepheard, reason not with me.
lie manifest thy fact vnto the King,
Whose doome will be thy death, as thou

deserust.
What hoe, Mouse, come away I 114

77 is add. H*. utom.QS/. 89-91 Lit.

time, while Qq : con: Haz. 91 mtented Q 1 drift
Q3 ff. 9 1-107 Lines oid death, to, dead, reuenge,
murther, bold, mine, law, Qq : corr. pr. (d. lOii
Bloudthristy Ql 109 Ends nothing Qq

111

ACT II, Sc. II.

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

(Enter Mouse.}

Clo. Why how now, whats the matter?
I thougt you would be calling beforelhad done.
Se. Come, helpe; away with my friend.
Clo. Why, is he drunke? cannot he stand on

his feet?

Se. No, he is not drunke, he is slame. 1 20

Clo. Flaine? no, by Ladie, he is not flaine.

Se. Hees kild, I tell thee.

Clo. What, doe you vse to kil your friends?
I will serue you no longer.

Se. I tell thee, the shepheard kild him. 125

Clo. 0, did a so? but, master, I will haue al
his apparel if I carry him away.

Se. Why, so thou shalt.

Clo. Come, then, I will healpe; mas, master,
I thinke his mother song looby to him, he is so
heauie. [Exeunt (Segasto and Mouse}.

Mu. Behold the fickle state of man, alwaies
mutable, '32

Neuer at one. Somtimes we feed on fancies
With the sweete of our desires; somtimes

againe

We f eele the heat of extreame miserie. 1 35
Now am I in fauour about the court and coun-

trie.

To morrow those fau ours will turne to frownes:
To daie I Hue reuenged on my foe,
To morrow I die, my foe reuenged on me.

[Exit.

(SCENE III. The Forest.}
Enter Bremo, a wild man.
Bre. No passengers this morning? what,

not one?

A chance that seldome doth befall.
What, not one? then lie thou there,
And rest thyself e til I haue further neede,
Now, Bremo, sith thy leasure so affords 5
An endlesse thing. Who knowes not Bremoes

strength,
Who like a king commandes within these

woods?

The beare, the boare, dares not abide my sight,
But hastes away to saue themselues by night:
The christall waters in the bubbling brookes,
When I come by, doth swiftly slide away, 1 1
And claps themselues in closets vnder bankes,
Afraide to looke bold Bremo in the face:
The aged okes at Bremoes breath doe bowe,

S. D. add. Q 3 121 by Qq : by'r Has. 130 song
Q 1 : sung 03, etc. S. D. Segasto, etc. (tdd. pr. td.
132-5 Three lines Qq., die. one, desires, miserie : ran:
pr. rd. 135 miserie 07 : miseries Q .?. etc. S. I>.
Exit Q 3, etc. : Exeunt 07 Scene III. WP I pas
senger Q .9, ttc. 5 sith Q({ : sit Elze 6 endlesse
Qq : needless EIze : aimless Wat/. 1 commander

Q l-.'j 9 baste Q 3, (tc. 11 doe Q Off.

And all things els are still at my commaund.
Els What would I ? x6

Rent them in peeces and plucke them from the

earth,

And each waie els I would reuenge my selfe.
Why who comes heere with whome I dare not

fight?

Who fights with me & doth not die the death?
Not on(e) : What fauour shewes this sturdie

sticke to those, 21

That heere within these woods are combatantes

with me?

Why, death, and nothing else but present death.
With restlesse rage I wander through these

woods, 24

No creature heere but feareth Bremoes force,
Man, woman, child, beast and bird,
And euery thing that doth approch my sight,
Are forst to fall if Bremo once but frowne.
Come, cudgel, come, my partner in my spoiles,
For heere I see this daie it will not be; 30
But when it falles that I encounter anie,
One pat suffiseth for to worke my wil.
What, comes not one? then lets begon;
A time will serue when we shal better speed.

[Exit.

(SCENE IV. Arragon. A Room of State in the

Court.}
Enter the King, Segasto, the Shepheard and

the Clowne, with others.
King. Shephard, thou hast heard thine

accusers;

Murther is laid to thy charge.
What canst thou say? thou hast deserued death.
Mu. Dread soueraigne, I must needes con -

fesse,

I slewe this captaine in mine owne defence, 5
Not of any malice, but by chance;
But mine accuser hath a further meaning.

Se. Woords will not heere preuaile,
I seek for iustice, & iustice craues his death.
King. Shepheard, thine owne confession
hath condemned thee. 10

Sirra, take him away, & doe him to execution
straight.

Clo. So hee shall, I warrant him; but doe

you heare, maister King, he is kin to a monkie,

his necke is bigger then his head. 1 5

Se. Com, sirra, away with him, and hang

him about the middle.

17 Rent 07: Rend 0.9/'. and on. WP 22
combataines 01 2G child Qq : child and EIze

32 suffiezth 05 : suffised Q 1 Scene IV. WP Arra-
gon, etc. add. T 11 Tito tmts WP, rf/r. away

straight to execution WP 13 hee Qq : I WP 16
Com om. Hog,

112

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

ACT III, Sc. I.

do. Yes, forsooth, I warrant you : come on,
gir. A, so like a sheepe biter a lookes!

Enter Amadine and a boie with a beares head.
Ama. Dread soueraigne and welbeloued

sire, 20

On bended knees I craue the life of this
Condemned shepheard, which heertofore pre-

serued

The life of thy sometime distressed daughter.
K. Preserued the life of my somtime dis
tressed daughter ?

How can that be? I neuer knew the time 25
Wh'e rein thou wast distrest; I neuer knew the

daie

But that I haue maintained thy state,
As best beseemd the daughter of a king.
I neuer saw the shepheard vntil now.
How comes it, then, that he preserud thy life?
Ama. Once walkeing with Segasto in the

woods, 31

Further then our accustomed maner was,
Right before vs, downe a steepe fal hill,
A monstrous vgly beare doth hie him fast
To meete vs both: now whether this bee trewe,
I referre it to the credit of Segasto. 36

Se. Most trew, and like your maiestie.
King. How then?
Ama. The beare, being eager to obtaine his

praie,

Made forward to vs with an open mouth, 4
As if he meant to swallow vs both at once;
The sight whereof did make vs both to dread,
But speciallie your daughter Amadine, .
Who, for I saw no succour incident
But in Segastoes valour, I grew desperate, 45
And he most cowardlike began to fly
Left me distrest to be deuourd of him.
How say you, Segasto, is it not true?

K. His silence verifies it to be true. What

then?

Ama. Then I amasde, distressed, all alone,
Did hie me fast to scape that vglie beare, 51
But all in vaine, for, why, he reached after me,
And hardly I did oft escape his pawes,
Till at the length this shepheard came,
And brought to me his head. 55

Come hither boy: loe, heere it is,
Which I present vnto your maiestie.

Ki. The slaughter of this beare deserues

great fame.
Se. The slaughter of a man deserues greate

blame.

21-3 Front <?</ 21 benden lfn~. kees 7 : knee
03 ff. 22 which tofore WP r?4 doth Q 1 : did
QSff. 54-7 Ihr. brought, it is \YF .',0. 57 One
line Qq : corr. JIa*.

King. Indeed occasion oftentimes so falles

out. 60

Se. Tremelio in the wars, King, pre-

serued thee.
Ama. The shepheard in the woods, o king,

preserued me.

S. Tremelio fought when many men did yeeld.
Ama. So would the shepheard, had he bin in

field.

Clo. So would my maister, had he not run

away. 65

Se. Tremelioes force saued thousands from

the foe.
Ama. The shepheards force (would) haue

saued thousands more.
Clo. Aye, shipstickes, nothing else.
King. Segasto, cease to accuse the shep
heard,

His woorthynesse deserues a recompence, 70
All we are bound to doe the shepheard good :
Shepheard, whereas it was my sentence, thou

shouldst die,
So shall my sentence stand, for thou shalt die.
Se. Thankes to your maiestie.
King. But soft, Segasto, not for this
offence. 75

Long maist thou liue, and when the sisters shal

decree

To cut in twaine the twisted thread of life,
Then let him die: for this I set thee free:
And for thy valour I will honour thee.

Mu. Thankes to your maiestie. 80

Kin. Come, daughter, let vs now departe,

to honour the worthy valour of the shepheard

with our rewards. [Exeunt.

Clo. mayster, heare you, you haue made

a freshe hand now you would be slowe, you ;

why, what will you doe nowe? you haue lost

me a good occupation by the meanes. Faith,

maister, now I cannot hang the shepheard, I

pray you, let me take the paines to hang you:

it is but halfe an houres exercise. 90

Se. You are still in your knauery, but sith

I cannot haue his life I will procure his banish -

ment for euer. Come on, sirra.

Clo. Yes, forsooth, I come. Laugh at him,
I pray you. [Exeunt.

(ACT m.
SCENE I. Grove near the Court.}

Enter Mucedorus solus.
Mu. From Amadine and from her fathers
court,

i ofttimes F.lif 67 haue Q 1. : hath Q 3, tic. :

would liaue pr. til. thousand Q 1 68 A ye Q3/.
74 raaistio 1 78 him free I? .9 ff. 85 you would bo
slowe you O I-G : I thought you would beshrow you
QSff. 87 this means H-..' Act III. Scene I. WP

J13

ACT III, Sc. I.

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORYS

With gold and siluer and with rich rewardes,
Flowing from the bankes of golden tresunes,
More may I boast and say: but I,
Was neuer shepheard in such dignitie. 5

Enter the messenger and the elowne.
Mess. All hayle, worthy shepheard.
Clo. All rayne, lowsie shepheard.
Mu. Welcome, my frindes; from whence

come you?

Mess. The King and Amadine greetes thee
well, and after greetings done, bids thee depart
the court: shepheard, begon. 12

Clo. Shepheard, take lawe legs; flye away,
shepheard.

Mu. Whose woordes are these? came
these from Amadinel 1 6

Mess. Aye, from Amadine.

Clo. Aye, from Amladine.

Mu. Ah, luckelesse fortune, worse then

Phaetons tale,
My former blisse is now become my bale. 20

Clo. What, wilt thou poyson thy selfe?

Mu. My former heauen is now become my
hell.

Clo. The worst ale house that I euer came
in, in al my life.

Mu. What shall I doe? 25

Clo. Euen goe hang thy selfe halfe an
hower.

Mu. Can Amadine so churelishly com-

maund,

To banish the shepheard from her Fathers
court?

Mess. What should shepheardes doe in the
court? 31

Clo. What should shepherdes doe amongst
vs? haue we not Lordes inough on vs in the
courte?

Mu. Why, shepheardes are men, and kinges
are no more. 36

Mess. Shepheardes are men and maisiers
ouer their flocke.

Clo. Thats a lie: who payes them their
wages then? 40

M es. Well, you are alwayes interrupting of
me, but you are best looke to him, least you
hang for him when he is gone. \Exit.

The Clowne sings.

Clo. And you shall hang for companie,
For leauing me alone. 45

3 golden Q 1-6 : gold and Q S ff. tresuries Q 1
treasures Qiiff. X. I), messenger 0.9 : messengers
Ql 11 greeting Q.I ff. 15 Come Ha*. 20
blesse Q 1 33 on Qq : o'er H-. 42 were best to
looke Q 3 ff.

Shepheard, stand foorth and heare thy sen
tence:
Shepheard, begone within three dayes in payne

My displeasure: shepheard, begon; shepheard,
begon ; begon, begon, begon, shepheard, shep
heard, shepheard. [Exit.
Mu. And must I goe, and must I needs
depart? 51
Te goodly groues, partakers of my songes
In tyme tofore when fortune did not frowne,
Powre foorth your plaints and waile a while
with me ; 54
And thou bright sunne, my comfort in the cold,
Hide, hide thy face and leaue me comfortlesse ;
Ye holsome hearbes, and sweete smelling

fauours,

Ye each thing els prolonging life of man,
Change, change your wonted course, that I,
Wanting your aide, in woefull sort may die. 60

Enter Amadine (and Ariena her maid* .

Ama. Ariena, if any body aske for mee,
Make some excuse till I returne.

Art. What and Segasto call?

Ama. Do thou the like to him; I mean not
to stay long. (Exit Ariena.}

Mu. This voyce so sweet my pining spirites
reuiues. 66

Ama. Shepheard, wel met; tel me how thou
doest.

Mu. I linger life, yet wish for speedy death.

Ama. Shepheard, although thy banishment

already

Be decreed, and all agaynst my will, 70

Yet Amadine

Mu. Ah, Amadine, to heare of banishment
Is death, I, double death to me,
But since I must depart, one thing I craue.

Ama. Say on with all my heart. 75

Mu. That in absence, either farre or neere,
You honoor me, as seruant, with your name.

Ama. Not so.

Mu. And why?

Ama. I honour thee, as soueraigne, with
my heart. 80

Mu. A shepheard and a soueraigne ?
nothing like.

Ama. Yet like enough where there is no
dislike.

Mu. Yet great dislike, or els no banishment.

Ama. Shepheard, it is onely

46 thy Q 7 : my Q .?, ctr. r>ft End* course Qa S. D.
and . . maide tuhl. it 1>. WP bt(/infi Scene II. htrr
C>5 S. />. Exit nflcr 63 Q .?.jf. 69 Kttih be Q 1

my Q .9, (fr. : thv Q 1
I with Ql-6: to Off.

i 84. 85 One line Q- t

7> in my absence tlT 77
80 Soueraigne of Q 3. ttc.

114

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

ACT III, Sc. II

Segasto that procures thy banishment. 85
Mu. Vnworthy wightes are most in ielosie.
Ama. Would God they would free the from

banishment,
Or likewise bannish mee.

Mu. Amen, say I, to haue your companie.
Ama. Well, shepheard, sith thou sufferest
this for my sake, 90

With thee in exile also let me Hue
On this condition, shepheard, thou canst loue.
Mu. No longer loue, no longer let me Hue!
Ama. Of lat I loued one indeed, now loue
I none but onely thee. 95

Mu. Thankes, worthie princes; I borne like
wise,

Yet smother vp the blast,
I dare not promise what I may performe.
Ama. Well, shepheard, harke what I shall

say:

I will returne vnto my Fathers court, 100
There for to prouide me of such nescessaries,
As for our iourney I shall thinke most fit;
This being done, I will returne to thee.
Doe thou, therefore, appoint the place where

we may meete.

Mu. Downe in the valley where I slue the

beare: 105

And there doth grow a faire broade branched

beach,

That ouershades a well; so who comes first
Let them abid the happie meeting of vs both.
How like you this?

Ama. I like it very wel. no

Mu. Now, if you please, you may appoint

the time.
Ama. Full three hours hence, God willing,

I will returne.
Mn. The thankes that parts gaue the gre-

cian queene

The like doth Mucedorus yeeld. 114

Ama. Then, Mucedorus, for three howres

farewell. [Exit.

Mu. Your departure, ladie, breedes a priuie

paine. [Exit.

(SCENE II. The Court.}
Enter Segasto solus.

Se. Tis well, Segasto, that thou hast thy

will;

Should such a shephard, such a simple swaine
As he, eclips thy credite famous through

87, 88 Otic li>n 07-5 : can: QG 88 bainish Q 1

90, 91 Prnst Q 1 : con: 03 96 burne 03, f/c. 98
mayn't con). Wnr/. 101 There for Q:i, etc.: There
fore Q 1 102 our 7 : my Q 3, etc. Scene II]
Scene III WP 3-5 tin: court, saide Oq 3 As he
OM, WP

The court? No, ply, Segasto, ply:

Let it not in Arragon be saide, 5

A shephard hath Segastoes honour wonne.

Enter Mouse the clowne calling his maister.

Clo. What hoe, maister, will you come
away?

Se. Will you come hither? I pray you,
whats the matter? 10

Clo. Why, is it not past aleauen a clock?

Se. How then, sir?

Clo. I pray you, com away to dinner.

Se. I pray you, come hither.

Clo. Heres such a doe with you! wil you
neuer come? 16

Se. I pray you, sir, what newes of the mes
sage I sente you about?

Clo. I tell you all the messes be on the
table alreadie. There wants not so much
as a messe of mustard halfe an hower
agoe. 2 2

Se. Come, sir, your minde is all vpon your

belly;
You haue forgotten what I did bid you doe.

Clo. Faith, I knowe nothing, but you bad
me goe to breakefast. 26

Se. Was that all?

Clo. Faith, I haue forgotten it; the verie
sent of the meate hath made me forget it
quite. 30

Se. You haue forgotten the arrant I bid
you doe?

Clo. What arrant? an arrant knaue, or
arrant whore?

Se. Why, thou knaue, did I not bid thee
banish the shepheard? 36

Clo. 0, the shephards bastard.

Se. I tell thee, the shepheardes banishment.

Clo. I tel you the shepheards bastard shalbe
wel kept: ile looke to it my self e else; but I pray
you, come away to dinner. 41

Se. Then you wil not tell me whether you
haue banished him or noe?

Clo. Why, I cannot say banishment, and
you would giue me a thousand pounds to say
so. 4

Se. Why, you horson slaue, haue you for-
| gotten that I sent you and another to driue
away the shephard.

Clo. What an asse are you; heers a sturre
: indeede: heeres 'message,' 'arrant,' ' banish -
; ment,' and I cannot tell what. 5^

Se. I pray you, sir, shall I know whether
you haue droue him away?

4 ply., ply Qq, tic.: ?fye..fye 24 did om.

Q3 ff. ' 29 made me hath 0/7-6 forgot Q 3-6
\ 40 else om. 3, etc.

115

ACT III, Sc. II.

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

Clo. Faith, I thinke I haue; and you will
not beleeue me, aske my stafe. 56

Se. Why, can thy staffe tell?

(Clo.} Why, he was with me to.

Se. Then happie I that haue obtaind my
will. 6o

Clo. And happier I, if you would goe to
dinner.

Se. Come, sirra, follow me.

Clo. I warrant you, I will not loose an inch
of you, now you are going to dinner. I pro
mise you, I thought seauen yeare before I
could get him away.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE m. The Forest.}

Enter Amadine sola.
Ama. God grant my long delaie procures

no harme

Nor this my tarrying frustrate my pretence.
My Mucedorus surelie staies for me,
And thinks me ouer long: at length I come
My present promise to performe. 5

Ah, what a thing is fir me vnfained loue!
What is it which true loue dares not tempt?
My father he may make, but I must match;
Segasto loues, but Amadine must like,
Where likes her best; compulsion is a thrall:
No, no, the heartie choise is all in all, 1 1

The shephards vertue Amadine esteemes.
But, what, me thinks myshephard is not come.

I muse at that, the bower is sure at hande:
Well here ile rest till Mncedorus come. 15
Sfiee sits her downe.

Enter Bremo looking about, hastily laketh
hould of her.

Ile teare thy bodie peecemeale ioynt from

ioynt.

Ama. Ah, now I want my shephards com
pany.
Bre. lie crush thy bones betwixt two oken

trees.
Ama. Hast, shephard, hast, or else them

comst to lat.

Bre. Ile sucke the sweetnes from thy marie

bones. 30

Amu. Ah spare, ah spare to shed my guilt -

lesse blood!
Bre. With this my bat will I beate out thy

braines.
Down, down, I say, prostrate thy selfe vpon

the ground.
Ama. Then, Mucedorus, farewel; my hoped

ioies, farewel.

Yea, farewell life, and welcome present
death! 35

Shee kneeles.
To thee, O God, I yeeld my dying ghost.

Bre. Now, Bremo, play thy part.
How now, what sudden chaunce is this?
My limmes do tremble and my sinewea

shake,

My vnweakned armes haue lost their former
force: 40

Ah Bremo, Bremo, what a foyle hast thou,
That yet at no time euer wast afraide
To dare the greatest gods to fight with thee,

he strikes.
And now want strength for one downe driuing

blow!

Ah, how my courage failes when I should
strike: 45

Some newe come spirit, abiding in my breast,
Bremo. A hapie pray! now, Bremo, feede on Sayth ' spare her, Bremo, spare her do not

flesh. kill .'

Dainties, Bremo, dainties, thy hungry panch to Shall I spare her which neuer spared any?

I To it, Bremo, to it, say againe.

Now glut thy greedie guts with luke warme I cannot weeld my weapons in my hand; 50
bl od j i Me thinkes I should not strik so faire a

Come, fight with me, I long to see thee dead. one:

Ama How can she fight that weapons can- I thinke her beawtie hath bewitcht my force

n Sr 2 i Or else with in me altered natures course.

Bre. What, canst not fight? then lie thou

downe and die.
Ama. What, must I die?
Bre. What needes these words? I thirst to

sucke thy bloud.
Ama. Yet pittie me and let me Hue a while.

Bre. No pittie I, ile feed vpon thy flesh, 25

Ay, woman, wilt thou liue in woods with

me?

Ama. Faine would I liue, yet loth to liue in
woodes. 55

Bre. Thou shalt not chuse, it shalbe as I say,
& therefore, follow me. [Exit.

f>8 Prefix Clo. riM. Q .?
it Ha-. Scene III] Scene

66 thought Qq : thought
IV \CP 2 tan-ing 1

26 lie Q 1-fi : And Q S ff. 27 now Qu : how //-.
28 two] tow Ql 30 Marrow-bones :}, dc. 38

chance F.h.e ' 40 weakened Col. 44 wants
47 Stftb OS. ft,:: Shall I 01-6 48 Shall
etc. : Sayth Q 1-6 49 sav Oq : essay Ha*.
weapon WP 55-C Proxe # I
116

Qfljt:
I QV,
50

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

ACT III, Sc. V.

(SCENE IV. The same.}
Enter Mucedorus solus.
Mu. It was my wil an hower a goe and

more,

As was my promise, for to make returne,
But other busines hindred my pretence.
It is a world to see when man appoints,
And purposelie one certaine thing decrees, 5
How manie things may hinder his intent.
What one would wish, the same is farthest off:
But yet thappoynted time cannot be past,
Nor hath her presence yet preuented mee. 9
Well, heere ilestaie, and expect her comming.
They crie within, 'hould him, staie him, holder
Mu. Some one or other is pursued, no

doubt;

Perhaps some search for me: tis good
To doubt the worst, therefore ilebegone. [Exit.

X SCENE V. The same.}
Crie within 'hold him, hold him.' Enter Mouse
the Clowne with a pot.

Clo. Hold him, hold him, hold him! beers
a stur in deed. Heere came hewe after the
crier: and I was set close at mother Nips
house, and there I calde for three pots of ale,
as tis the manner of vs courtiers. Now, sirra,
I had taken the maiden head of two of them.
Now, as I was lifting vp the third to my mouth,
there came: hold him, hold him! now I coulde
not tell whome to catch hold on, but I am sure
I caught one: perchance a maie be in this pot.
Well, ile see: mas, I cannot see him yet; well,
ile looke a little further. Mas, he is a little
slaue, if a be heere. Why, beers no bodie. Al
this goes well yet: but if the olde trot shoulde
come for her pot I, marrie, theres the matter,
but I care not; ile face her out, and cal her
ould rustle, dustie, mustie, fustie, crustie fire-
bran, and worse then al that, and so face her
out of her pot: but softe, heere she comes. 19
Enter the ould woman.

Old wo. Come on, you knaue: wheres my
pot, you knaue?

Clo. Goe looke your pot; come not to me

Clo. But say I haue him, and thou darste.
Olde. Why, thou knaue, thou hast not
onelie my pot but my drinke vnpaide for. 31
Clo. You lie like an old I will not say
whore.

Old. Dost thou cal me whore? ile cap thee
' for my pot. 35

Clo. Cap me & thou darest, search me whe
ther I haue it or no.

Shee searcheth him, and he drinketh ouer her
head and casts downe the pot; she stumbleth
at it; then they fal together by the eares; she
takes her pot and goes out. [Exit.

Enter Segasto.

Se. How now, sirra, whats the matter?

Clo. Oh, flies, maister, flies.

Se. Flies? where are they? 40

Clo. Oh heere, maister, all about your face.

Se. Why, thou liest; I think thou art mad.

Clo. Why, maister, I haue kild a duncart
ful at the least.

Se. Go to, sirra! leauing this idel talke, giue
eare to me. 46

Clo. How? giue you one of my eares? not
& you were ten maisters.

Se. Why, sir, I bid you giue eare to my
wordes. 5

Clo. I tell you I will not be made a curtail
for no mans pleasure.

Se. I tell thee, attend what I say: goe thy
waies straight and reare the whole towne.

Clo. How? reare the towne? euen goe your
selfe; it is more then I can doe: why, doe you
thinke I can reare a towne, that can scarse
reare a pot of ale to my heade? I should reare
a towne, should I not ? 59

Se. Go to the cunstable and make a priuie
search, for the shephard is runne away with
the Kings daughter.

Clo. How? is the shepheard run away with
the kings daughter? or is the kings daughter
runne away with the shepheard? 65

Se. I cannot tell, but they are both gon
together.

Clo. What a foole is she to runne away
with the shepheard! why, I thinke I am

pot.

Se. Why, dost thou thinke they will be

Clo. You lie, and you say it. I your pot ! I ,, ' 9
know what ile say. r ,' T , ,,

Old. Why, what wilt thou say? go. ^yg*"^ ^ ^ ^

.. nT^T] : rweeV T * ufciVfi rf. ! no place vnsearched for them - [Exit -

Q3 (f. : ion: HH*. Scene V] Scene VI 1V/' : :C> my for Ql UG sauce <l 1
tow (J I 17 erustkie ^ / 2 look for your 1W . 08 ^lie is Jim.

117

51 not] no Q I

Aer III, Sc. V.

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

Clo. Oh now am I in office; now wil I to K. V. Thou not deceiu'st me?

that old firbrands house & wil not leaue one I euer thought thee What I find thee now,

place vnsearched: nay, ile to her ale stand & An vpright, loyall man. But what desire,

drink as long as I can stand, & when I haue Or young -fed humour Nurst within the braine,

done, ile let out al the rest, to se if he be not Drew him so priuatly to Aragon? 30

hid in the barrel. & I find him not there, ile Ans. A forcing Adamant:

to the cubord; ile not leaue one corner of her Loue, mixt with feare and doubtfull ielousie,

house vnsearched: y' faith, ye old crust, I wilbe Whether report guilded a worthlesse truncke,

with you now. [Exit. Or Amadine deserued her high extolment.

K. V. See our prouision be in readinesse ;

[(ACT IV. Collect vs followers of the comliest hue 36

SCENE I. Valentia. The Court.} or our chief e guardions, we will thither wend :

The christall eye of Heauen shall not thrisc
Sound Musicke. wincke,

Enter the King of Valentia, Anselmo, Roderigo, N or the greene Flood sixe times his shoulders

Lord Borachius, with others.

turne,

King Va. Enough of Musicke, it but ads to ! Till we salute the Aragonian King.

torment;

Delights to vexed spirits are as Dates
Set to a sickly man, which rather cloy then

comfort:

Let mee intreate you to intreat no more.
Rod. Let your strings sleepe; haue done
there. 5

Let the musicke cease.
Kin. V. Mirth to a soule disturb'd are

embers turn'd,

Which sudden gleame with molestation,
But sooner loose their sight fort;
Tis Gold bestowd vpon a Ryotor,

Musicke speake loudly now, the season's apt,
For former dolours are in pleasure wrapt.

Exeunt omnes.]

(SCENE H. The Forest.}
Enter Mucedorus to disguise hintselfe.
Mu. Now, Mucedorus, whither wilt thou

goe?

! Home to thy father, to thy natiue soile,
i Or trie 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;

Which not relieues, but murders him: Tis a In Amadine rests my felicitie.

Drugge
Giuen to the healthfull, Which infects, not

cures.

How can a Father that hath lost his Sonne,
A Prince both wise, vertuous, and valiant,
Take pleasure in the idle actes of Time?
No, no; till Mucedorus I shall see againe, 15
All ioy is comfortlesse, all pleasure paine.

Ans. Your Sonne (my Lord) is well.

Ki. V. ~

Then, Mucedorus, do as thou didst decree:
Attire thee hermite like within these groues,
Walke often to the beach and view the well,
Make settles there and seate thy selfe thereon,
And when thou feelest thy selfe to be a thirst,
Then drinke a heartie draught to Amadine.
No doubt she thinkes on thee,
And wil one day come pleg thee at this well.
Come, habit, thou art fit for me: 15

he disguiseth himselfc:
No shepheard now, a hermit I must be.

I pre-thee, speake that thrise.
Ans. The Prince, your Sonne, is safe.
K. V. where, Anselmo? surfet me with \ Me thinkes this fits me verie well;

that.

Ans. In Aragon, my Liege;
And at his parture, Bound my secrecie,

20 Now must I learne to beare a walking staffc.
And exercise some grauitie withall. i ^

By his afEectious loue, not to disclose it:
But care of him, and pittie of your age,

Enter the Clowne.
Clo. Heers throw the wods, and throw th-

Makes my tongue blab what my breast vow'd wods, to looke out a shepheard & a stray
concealment. 25 { kings daugter: but softe, who haue we heere?

what art thou? 23

Mu.

Act IV, ,Sc. /.
repeat conj. Col.

85 y' fayth Q 3, etc. : vc faith J
ndd. Q3 Act IV, Scene" I. WP 4 to
5 yourl yon Hnz. 6 are Qq : is Hnz. ' 8 sight (><i :
light Col. 10, 11 Three lines Oq, (lit. him, health- ,

full. 10 Tis >. Else 18 twice Col. 21 Awd.v
parture (*/ 22 parture #.9-6' : parting <J 8 ff. 2:3
affectious QS-11: affections Q IS ff. loue fa: loss
0uW

I am an hermit.
Clo. An emmet? I neuer saw such (a) big
emmet in all my life before.

118

20-!' Dh. thouslit thee. man. humour Qq : mrr.
>: eil. L'! the] his (} H ff. :S8 eyes Hnz. Scene
I. V'P 8 prouces Q 1 14 pledge 8. rtr. 1 a
Q 1-ti : an Q8/> must I (j :}, itc. 25 a <M. Q 3

THE COMED1E OF MVCEDORVS

ACT IV, St. III.

Mn. I tel you, sir, I am an hermit, one that
leads a solitarie life within these woods.

Clo. 0, I know the now, thou art hee that
eates vp al the hips and hawes; we could not
haue one peece of fat bacon for thee al this
yeare. 32

Mu. Thou dost mistake me; but I pray thee,
tell mee what dost thou seeke in these woods?

Clo. What doe I seeke? for a stray Kings
daughter runne away with a shephard.

Mu. A stray Kings daughter runne away

with a shephearde.
Wherefore? canst thou tell? 38

Clo. Yes, that I can; Us this: my maister and
Amadine, walking one day abrod, nearer to
these woods then they were vsed about what
lean not tell but to warde them comes running
a greate beare. Now my maister, he plaide
the man and runne away, & Amadine crying
after him: now, sir, comes me a shepheard &
strikes off the beares head. Now whether the
bear wre dead before or no I cannot tell, for
bring twentie bears before me and binde their
hands & feete and ile kil them al: now euer
since Amadine hath bin in loue with the shep
heard, and for good wil shees euen runne away
with the shepheard. 52

Mu. What manner of man was a? canst
describe him vnto mee?

Clo. Scrib him? aye, I warrant you, that I
can: a was a littel, low, broad, tall, narrow,
big, wel fauoured fellow, a ierkin of whit
cloath, and buttons of the same cloath.

Mu. Thou discribest him wel, but if I
chaunce to se any such, pray you, wher shal
I find you, or whats your name? 61

Clo. My name is called maister mouse,

Mu. Oh, maister mouse, I pray you what
office might you beare in the court?

Clo. Marry, sir, I am a rusher of the stable.

Mu. 0, vsher of the table. 66

Clo. Nay, I say rusher and ile prooue mine
office good; for looke, sir, when any corns from
vnder the sea or so, and a dog chance to blow
his nose backewarde, then with a whip I giue
him the good time of the day, and strawe
rushes presently: therefore, I am a rusher, a
hie office, I promise ye.

Mu. But where shall I find you in the
Courte? 75

Clo. Why, where it is best being, either in
the kitching a eating or in the butterie drink
ing: but if you come, I will prouide for thee a

peece of beefe & brewis knockle deepe in fat;
pray you, take paines, remember maister
mouse. [Exit.

Mu. Ay, sir, / warrant / will not forget you.
Ah, Amadine, what should become of the? 83
Whither shouldst thou go so long vnknowne?
With watch and warde eche passage is beset,
So that she cannot long escape vnknowne.
Doubtlesse she hath lost her selfe within these

woods 87

And wandring too and fro she seekes the well,
Which yet she cannot finde; therefore will I

seek her out. [Exit.

(SCENE in. The same.}
Enter Bremo and Amadine.
Bre. Amadine, how like you Bremo & his

woodes?

Ama. As like the woods of Bremoes crueltie:
Though I were dombe and could not answer

him,
The beastes themselues would with relenting

teares

Bewaile thy sauage and vnhumaine deedes. 5
Bre. My loue, why dost thou murmur to

thy selfe?

Speake lowder, for thy Bremo heares thee not.
Ama. My Bremo? no, the shepheard is my

loue.
Bre. Haue I not saued thee from sudden

death,

Giuing thee leaue to Hue that thou mightst
loue? j o

And dost thou whet me on to crueltie?
Come kisse me, swete, for all my fauours past.
Am. I may not, Bremo, and therefore par
don me.
Bre. See how shee flings away from me; I

will follow

And giue a rend to her. Denie my louel 15
Ah, worme of beautie, I wil chastice the:
Com, com, prepare thy head vpon the block.
Ama. Oh, spare me, Bremo, loue should

limit life,

Not to be made a murderer of him selfe.
If thou wilt glut thy louing heart with blood,
Encounter with the lion or the beare, 21

And like a wolfe pray not vpon a lambe.

Bre. Why then dost thou repine at me?
If thou wilt loue me thou shalt be my queene:
I will crowne thee with a chaplet made of luie,
And make the rose and lilly wait on thee: 26
Ile rend the burley braunches from the oke,

8=5 the Q I : tlicc Q 3-6 : her Q 8 ff. 86 om. Ha*.
I'll hee <J4. (><:: her (} I. :i :!4 seeke fa : seek 89 her Q V, etc. : hers <} 1 Hcene III. )YP 14-17

fin- KI--I :{."> seek for? IV /' 45 and hec strikes IHt. me, her. beautie Q I 14 flings Q l-(i: flies (fHff.

()3.<t<-. 47 were] where Ql 53 canst tliou WJ J 15 a rend Q 1 : attend QH ff. : attent VI 1 22 like
Or mine Qq \ my Has, 77 a o>. Q5ff. 1 a] a like Ql 25 complet Q 1-4 Ivy 1> : luorie (ft

119

ACT IV, St. III.

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

To shadow thee from burning sunne.

The trees shall spred themselues where thou j

dost go,

And as they spread, ile trace along with thee,
Ama. You may, for who but you? (Aside.) \
Bre. Thou shalt bee fed with quailes and
partridges, . 3 Z

With blacke birds, larkes, thrushes and night- ,

ingales.
Thy drinke shall bee goates milke and christal

water,

Distilled from the fountaines & the clearest
springs. . 35 1

And all the dainties that the woods afforde.
lie freely giue thee to obtaine thy loue.

Ama. You may, for who but you? (Aside.) i
Bre. The day ile spend to recreate my loue
With all the pleasures that I can deuise, 40 !
And in the night ile be thy bedfellow,
And louingly embrace thee in mine armes.
Ama. One may, so may not you. (Aside.',
Bre. The satyres & the woodnimphs shal

attend on the

And lull thee a sleepe with musickes sounde,
And in the morning when thou dost awake, 4 6
The lark shall sing good morne to my queene,
And whilst he singes, ile kisse my Amadine.
Ama. You may, for who but you? (Aside.';
Br. When thou art vp, the wood lanes
shalbe strawed 50

With violets, cowslips, and swete marigolds
For thee to trampel and to trace vpon,
And I will teach thee how to kill the deare,
To chase the hart and how to rowse the roe,
If thou wilt liue to loue and honour mee, 55

Enter Mucedorus.
Bre. Welcome, sir,
An howre ago I lookt for such a gest.
Be merrie, wench, weele haue a frollike feast:
Heeres flesh inough for to suffise vs both. 60
Staie, sirra, wilt thou fight or dost thou yeel to

die?

Mu. I want a weapon; how can I fight?
Bre. Thou wants a weapon? why then thou

yeelst to die.

M u. I say not so; I doe not yeeld to die.
Bre. Thou shalt not choose. I long to see
thee dead. 65

Ama. Yet spare him, Bremo, spare him.
Bre. Away, I say, I will not spare him,
Mu. Yet giue me leaue to speake.

31, 38, 43. 40 Aside ml<l. Hm. 47 zood-morrow

V:<. d>: ~vl trace <fo : tread C,,l. :.0 Aside mid.
IVV r>7 Welcome! Q I M liow 7 : why. how
Else 03 why then Qq : then A'/u

Bre. Thou shalt not speake.
Ama. Yet giue him leaue to speake for my
sake. 7

Bre. Speake on, but be not ouer long.
Mu. In time of yore, when men like brutish

beasts
Did lead their Hues in loathsom celles and

woodes

And wholy gaue themselues to witlesse will,
A rude vnruly rout, then man to man 75

Became a present praie, then might preuailed,
The weak(e)st went to walles:
Right was vnknowen, for wrong was all in all.
As men thus liued in this great outrage,
Behould one Orpheus came, as poets tell, 80
And them from rudenes vnto reason brought,
Who led by reason soone forsooke the woods.
Insteade of caues they built them castles

strong;

Citties and townes were founded by them then:
Glad were they, they found such ease, 85

And in the end they grew to perfect amitie;
Waying their former wickednesse,
They tearmd the time wherein they liued then
A golden age, a goodly golden age.
Now, Bremo, for so I heare thee called, 90
If men which liued tofore as thou dost now,
Wilie in wood, addicted all to spoile,
Returned were by worthy Orpheus meanes,
Let me like Orpheus cause thee to returne
From murder, bloudshed and Hke crueltie. 95
What, should we fight befor we haue a cause?
No, lets liue and loue together faithfully,
lie fight for thee.

Bre. Fight for me or die: or fight or els thou

diest.

Ama. Hold, Bremo, hold! 100

Ere Away, I say, thou troublest mee.
Ama. You promised me to make me your

queenne.

Bre. I did, I meane no less.
Ama. You promised that I should haue my

wil.

Bre. I did, I meane no lesse. 105

Ama. Then saue this hermits life, for he

may saue vs both.

B. At thy request ile spare him, but neuer
any after him. Say, hermit, what canst thou
doe?

Mu. lie waite on thee, somtime vpon the
queene. Such seruice shalt thou shortly haue
as Bremo neuer had. [ Ex'e] unl.

75 Kudu became Qy 77 wall Hm. 7'J this /.
n1. : his Q I : their Q3, etc. 82 Reason, soone

?fi, e/c. : reasonson some Of: Reason, some (/.V 7
15 they, that they //r. nj Wilie ^ 7 : Wild*-

f.i ff. : Wildly /Aiar. '.C. eruelties <) <> ft'. 1UJ

110 the QJ : thy Q3,'iU:

. ldly//,

! your out. Q-'i ff.

120

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

ACT V, Sc. I.

(SCENE IV. The Court.)
Enter Segasto, the Clowne and Rumbelo.

He spareth none and none doth him escape.
Who would continue, -who but onely I, 5

In such a cruell cutthroates company?

Se. Come, sirs; what, shall I neuer haue Yet Amadine is there; how can I choose?
you finde out Amadine and the shepheard? Ah, sillie soule, how often times she sits

Clo. And I haue bin through the woods, and And sighes, and cals: 'come, shepheard, come,
through the woods, and could see nothing but Sweete Mucedorus, come and set me free;' 10
an emet. 5 ; When Mucedorus present standes her by:

R. Why, I see thousand emets; thou meanest But here she comes.

a little one?

Clo. Nay, that emet that I saw was bigger
then thou art. 9

R. Bigger then I? what a foole haue you to ;
your man: I pray you, maister, turne him away.

Se But dost thou heare? was he not a man?

Clo. (I) thinke he was, for he saide he did
lead a saltseller life about the woods.

Se. Thou wouldest say a solitarie life about
the woods. 16

Clo. I thinke it was so, indeed.

R. I thought what a foole thou art.

Clo. Thou art a wise man! why, he did
nothing but sleepe since he went. 20

Se. But tell me, Mouse, how did he goe?

Enter Amadine.
What newes, faire Ladie, as you walke these

woods.
Arna. Ah, hermit, none but bad & such as

thou knowest.
Mu. How doe you like your Bremo and his

woods? 15

Ama. Not my Bremo nor Bremo his woods.
Mu. And why not yours? me thinks he

loues you wel.
Ama. I like him not, his loue to me is

nothing worth.
Mu. Ladie, in this me thinkes you offer

wrong,

Clo. In a whit gowne and a whit hat on his To hate the man that euer loues you best. 20

head, and a staffe in his hande.

Se. I thought so: it was a hermit that
walked a solitarie life in the woods. Well, get
you to dinner, and after neuer leaue seeking
til you bring some newes of them, or ile hang i
you both. [Exit.

Clo. How now, Rombelo? what shall we do
now? 30

Ama. Ah hermit, I take no pleasure in his

loue;
Neither yet doth Bremo like me best.

Mu. Pardon my boldnes, faire ladie: sith

we both

May safely talke now out of Bremos sight,
Vnfould to me, if so you please, the full dis
course 25

R. Faith, ile home to dinner, and after- How, when, and why you came into these

warde to sleep.

Clo. Why, then, thou wilt be hanged.
R. Faith, I care not, for I know I shal neuer

woods,

And fell into this blodie butchers hands.
Ama. Hermit, I wil;

find them: wel, ile once more abroad, & if I Of late a worthie shepheard I did loue.
cannot find them, ile neuer come home againe. ! Mu. A shephard, lady? sure a man vnfit

Clo. I tel thee what, Rombelo, thou shalt go j To match with you.
in at one end of the wood and I at the other,
and wee wil meete both together at the midst.

R. Content! lets awaie to dinner. [Exeunt.

(ACT V.

SCENE I. The Forest.)
Enter Mucedorus solus.

Mu. Vnknowne to any heere within these

woods

With bloodie Bremo do I lead my life.
The monster, he doth murther all he meets,

Scene IV. Pnrdllttfi Sruie rn>t/iti(fl T 3 And

fiw. (j S/. a thousand Q .?, dc. tlion . . one add.
p Cioirn is spetch WP lSIndd.08 14 Salt-

sellers <?.?. tic. 17 so it was Q 11 ff. 25 Prtfiv

?\rtnenftd Uforc Well Q 1 3d at Q I : in 03, etc.
Act \ , Scene I. pr. cd.: Scene V. UY>

Ama. Hermit, this is true, and when we

had

Mu. Stale there, the wild man comes.
Referre the rest vntill another time.

Enter Bremo.

(Bre.) What secret tale is this? what whisper
ing haue wee heere? 35
Villaine, I charge the tell thy tale againe.

Mu. If needes I must, loe, here it is againe:
When as we both had lost the sight of thee,
It greeud vs both, but specially thy queene,
Who in thy absence euer feares the worst, 40

1 1 present Ha z. : pesent Q 1 : Peasant Q 3 ff.
S. D. it/If r l:t Q I 14 as oni. \\'P 16 Bremo his
): id. : his Bremo 0/i : my Bremo's F.lze : Bremo's
Haz. 18 wroth 01 33 "men 01 :U Defer Way.
35 Bre. add. Q 3 37 If Q 3, etc. '.IQ1

121

ACT V,' St. I.

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

Least some mischance befal your royall grace. ! Mu. But tell me, ladie; sith I set you free,

Shall my swecte Bremo wander through the

woods?

Toile to and fro for to redresse my want,
Hazard his life; and all to cherishe me?
I like not this,' quoth she, 45

And thereupon craude to know of me
If I coulde teach her handle weapons well.
My aunswer was I had small skill therein,
But glad, most mightie king, to learne of thee.
And this was all. 5

Bre. Wast so? none can dislike of this.

He teach

You both to fight: but first, my queene, begin.
Here, take this weapon; see how thou canst

vse it.
Ama. This is to big, I cannot weeld it in

my arme.

Bre. 1st so? weele haue a knotty crabtree

staffe 55

For thee. But, sirra, tell me, what saist thou?

Mu. With all my heart I willing am to

learne.
Bre. Then take my stafe & see how canst

weeld it.
Mu. First teach me how to hold it in my

hand.

Bre. Thou houldest it well. 60

Looke how he doth; thou maist the sooner

learne.
Mu. Next tell me how and when tis best to

strike.
Bre. Tis best to strike when time doth

serue,
Tis best to loose no time.

Mu. Then now or neuer is my time to
strike. (Aside.]

Bre. And when thou strikest, be sure thou
hit the head. 6 6

Mu. The head?
Bre. The verie heade.
Mu. Then haue at thine! [he striks him

downe deade.\ So, lie there and die,
A death no dout acording to desert, 70

Or else a worse as thou deseruest a worse.
Ama. It glads my heart this tirants death

to see.

Mu. Now, ladie, it remaines in you
To end the tale you latelie had begunne,
Being enterrupted by this wicked wight. 75
You said you loued a shepheard.

Ama. I, so I doe, and none but only him,
And will do stil as long as life shall last.

43 wants Hm. 46 she crav'd Has. 51 Whast
<? 1 Line ends this Qg 55 Line ends thee Oa 65
is my Qlf.i it is Q 8 ff. 66 thou hit Q 1 : to hit
QO, Sff. : to hid Q4 : 'to hide Q5, 6 73-5 Prose Ql

What course of life do you intend to take? 80

Ama. I wil disguised wander through the

world,
Til I haue found him out.

Mu. How if you find your shephard in
these woods?

Ama. Ah, none so happie then as Amadinc.
He discloseth himselfe.

Mu. In tract of time a man may alter much;
Say, Ladie, doe you know your shepheard well?

Ama. My Mucedorus! hath he set me free?

(Mu.} Mucedorus he hath set thee free.

Ama. And liued so long vnknowne to Ama-
dine!

Mu. Ay thats a question where of you may
not be resolued. 9 1

You know that I am banisht from the court;
I know likewise each passage is beset,
So that we cannot long escape vnknowne:
There fore my will is this, that we returne 95
Right through the thickets to the wild mans

caue,

And there a while liue on his prouision,
Vntil the search and narrow watch be past.
This is my counsel, and I thinke it best.

Ama. I thinke the verie same. 100

Mu. Come, lets begone.

[(Enter} The Clowne (who} searches and jalsouer
the wild man and so carry him away.

Clo. Nay, soft, sir; are you heere? a bots on
you! I was like to be hanged for not finding
you. We would borrow a certaine stray kings
daughter of you: a wench, a wench, sir, we
would haue. 106

Mu. A wench of me! ile make the eate my
sword.

Clo. Oh Lord! nay, and you are so lustie,
lie cal a cooling card for you. Ho, maister,
maister, come away quicklie. in

Enter Segasto.

Se. Whats the matter?

Cl. Looke, maister, Amadine & the shep
heard: oh, braue! 114

Se. What, minion, haue I found you out?

Clo. Nay, thats a lie, I found her out my self e.

Se. Thou gadding huswife,
What cause hadst thou to gad abroade,
When as thou knowest our wedding day so nie?

Ama. Not so, Segasto, no such thing in
hand; 120

Shew your assurance, then ile answere you.

84 S. I), discloseth Q 6. etc. : disguiseth Q 7-5 88
Mu. add. tit: ed. Mucedorus he Q 1 : Muc. He Q ? f.
101 S. />. Enter, who add. Haz.

122

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

ACT V, St. II.

Se. Thy fathers promise my assurance is.
Ama. But what he promist he hath not

performde.

Se. It rests in thee for to per for me the same.
Ama. Not I. r 25

Se. And why?

Ama, So is my will, and therefore euen so.
Clo. Maister, with a nonie, nonie, noe!
Se. A, wicked villane, art thou here?
Mu. What needes these wordes? we way
them not. 130

Se. We way them not, proud shepheard! I

skorne thy companie.

Clo. Weele not haue a corner of thy com
panie.
Mu. I scorne not thee, nor yet the least of

thine.

Clo. Thats a lie, a would haue kild me with

his pugsnondo. x 35

Se. This stoutnesse, Amadine, contents me

not.
Ama. Then seeke an other that may you

better please.

Mu. Well, Amadine, it onelie rests in thee

Without delay to make thy choice of three:

There stands Segasto, here a shepheard stands,

There stands the third; now make thy choise.

Clo. A Lord at the least I am. 142

Am. My choise is made, for I will none but

thee.

Se. A worthy mate, no doubt, for such a wife.
Mu. And, Amadine, why wilt thou none
but me? 145

I cannot keepe thee as thy father did;
I haue no landes for to maintaine thy state.
Moreouer, if thou meane to be my wife,
Commonly this must be thy vse:
To bed at midnight, vp at fowre, 150

Drudge all daie and trudge from place to place,
Whereby our dailie vittel for to winne;
And last of al, which is the worst of all,
No princes then but plaine a shepheards wife.
Clo. Then, god ge you god morrow, goody
shepheard! 155

Ama. It shall not neede; if Amadine do

Hue,
Thou shalt be crowned king of Arragon.

Clo. Oh, maister, laugh! when bees King,
then ile be a queene.

Mu. Then know that which nere tofore was
known: 160

I am no shepheard, no Arragonian I,
But borne of Royall blood my fathers of

128 nonny, nonnv, no -Haz. : none, none, noe
I? 1-4 : none, none so Q 5 ff. 129 villant <j 1 134
with his) with's Q14, 15 140 here . . stands Q 1-ti :
a. second here Q 6' jf. 151 all the day Wl' 154
plaine a Q 7-o : a plaine Q 6 ff.

Valentia King, my mother queene who for
Thy secret sake tooke this hard task in hand.
Ama. Ah how I ioy my fortune is so good.
Se. Well now I see, Segasto shall not speede ;
But, Mncedorus, I as much do ioy, 167

To see thee here within our Court of Arragon,
As if a kingdoms had befalne me. This time
I with my heart surrender it to thee,
He giueth her vnto him.
And loose what right to Amadine I haue. 171
Clo. What (a) barnes doore, and borne

where my father
Was cunstable! a bots on thee, how dost

thee?
Mu. Thanks, Segaslo; but yet you leueld

at the crowne.

Clo. Maister, beare this and beare all. 175
Se. Why so, sir?
Clo. He saies you take a goose by the

crowne.

Se. Go to, sir: away, post you to the king,
Whose hart is fraught with carefull doubts,
Glad him vp and tell him these good newes,
And we will follow as fast as we may. 18 1
Clo. I goe, maister; I runne, maister.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE n. Open Place necr the Court of

the King of Arragon.}
Enter the King and Gotten.
K. Break, heart, and end my paled woes,
My Amadine, the comfort of my life,
How can T ioy except she were in sight?
Her absence breedes sorrow to my soule
And with a thunder breakes my heart in
twaine. 5

Col. Forbeare those passions, gentle King,
And you shall see twill turne vnto the best,
And bring your soule to quiet and to ioie.

K. Such ioie as death, I do assure me that,
And naught but death, vnlesse of her I heare,
And that with speede; I cannot sigh thus
long i x

But what a tumult doe I heare within?
The crie within, ' ioie and happinesse ! '
Col. I heare a noyse of ouer -passing ioie
Within the court; my Lord, be of good com
fort^
And heere comes one in hast. 15

162-3 End Valentia, sake Q 1 : King, sake Q3 ff. :
ron: in: al. K59 me this 1, tff. 170 it Ql : her
Q3/. 171 loose Has. : looke Qq 172 a add Haz.
173 thee Q 1-6 : thou Q 8ff. Ill saiesl sees sees

Q 1 : sees Q 3-6 : sayes (J 8, etc. Scene II. pr, td.:
Act V, Scene I. 1VP 3 in my sight Q 14, Jo 4
breedes OJ-6: breeds great Q 8 ff. : breedeth WP
t>, 1U Pnjif. Clo. <J I S. I>. The # 7, 8 : They Q 3 ff.
happinesse] gladness Q14, 15

123

ACT V, St. II.

THE COMED1E OF MVCEDOKVS

Enter the Clowne running.

do. A King 1 a King I a King!

Col. Why, how now, sirra? whats the

matter?
do. 0, tis newes for a king, 'tis woorth

money.
K. Why, sirra, thou shalt haue siluer and

gold if it bee good.
do. 0, tis good, tis good.

Amadine 20

Mu. No shepheard I, but a worthy prince.
King. In farre conceit, not princelie borne.
Mu. Yes, princely borne: my father is a

king,

My mother Queene, and of Valentia both.
K. What, Mucedorusf welcome to our

court.

What cause hadst thou to come to me dis-
guisde? 55

Mu. No cause to feare; I caused no offence
But this:
Desiring thy daughters vertues for to see

K. Oh, what of her? tell me, & I will make
thee a knight.

do. How a spright? no, by ladie, I will not | Disguised my selfe from out my fathers court,
be a spright. Maisters, get ye away; if I be j Vnknowen to any, in secret I did rest, 60
a spright, I shall be so leane I shall make you ! And passed many troubles neere to death;

all afraide. 2 5

Col. Thou sot, the King meanes to make

thee a gentleman.
do. Why, I shall want parrell.
King. Thou shalt want for nothing.
Clo. Then stand away, trick vp thy selfe:

heere they come.

Enter Segasto, Mucedorus, and Amadine.
Ama. My gratious father, pardon thy dis
loyal daughter. 30
K. What do mine eies be hould? my daugh -

ter Amadinel
Rise vp, dere daughter & let these, my embras -

ing armes,

Shew some token of thy fathers ioie,
Which euer since thy departure hath lan
guished in sorrow.

Ama. Deare father, neuer were your sorrows
Greater then my grief es, 36

Neuer you so desolate as I comfortlesse;
Yet, neuerthelesse, acknowledging my selfe
To be the cause of both, on bended knees
I humblie craue your pardon. 40

King. He pardon thee, deare daughter: but

as for him

Ama. Ah, father, what of him?
King. As sure as I am a king, and weare

the crowne,

I will reuenge on that accursed wretch.
Mu. Yet, worthy prince, worke not thy will
in wrath; 45

Shew fauour.

K. I, such fauour as thou deseruest.
Mu. I do deserue the daughter of a king.
K. Oh, impudent I a shepheard and so

insolent !

23, 2-t sprifdit Q :]#'.: spirit (spin-it) Ql !V>

ere om. tf* * my o,. (^ /. 33 father Q 1

t Prefix Mu. Q 1 :t8 acknowledging 01 f.\ know-
43 a OJH. (? .9, fc. 47 as on*. 1V/'

50 am 1 #-. but am a Co/.

So hath your daughter my partaker bin,
As you shall know heereafter more at large,
Desiring you, you will giue her to mee, 64
Euen as mine owne and soueraigne of my life;
Then shall I thinke my trauels are wel spent.

King. With all my heart, but this
Segasto claimes my promise made to fore,
That he should haue her as his onely wife,
Before my counsel when we came from war.
Segasto, may I craue thee let it passe, 71

And giue Amadine as wife to Mucedorus'!

Se. With all my heart, were it far a greater

thing,

And what I may to furnish vp there rites
With pleasing sports and pastimes you shall
see. 75

King. Thankes, good Segasto, I will thinke
of this.

Mu. Thankes, good my Lord, & while I

liue
Account of me in what I can or maie.

Ama. And, good Segasto, these great cur-

tesies
Shall not be forgot. 80

Clo. Why, harke you, maister: bones, what
haue you done? What, giuen away the wench
you made me take such paines for? you are
wise indeed ! mas, and I had knowne of that
I would haue had her my selfe! faith, master,
now wee maie goe to breakefast with a wood-
coke pie. 8 7

Se. Goe, sir, you were best leaue this kna-
uerie.

K. Come on, my Lordes, lets now to court,
Where we may finish vp the ioyfullest dale
That euer hapt to a distressed King, 91

[Were but thy Father, the Valencia Lord,
Present in view of this combining knot.

51 farre Ql: faire ().?, dr. CO are Q 1-0 : all
Q S ff. 73 far a Q 1 : a far Q 3, (tc. <.V, ft,: <1<1. Q :!
For flu coiii-liiiliiu/ liiifx tiftln scan in 01 cf. .Inuoidis,
p. 120 93 combined Q'4 ff.
124

THK COMKDIK OF MYCKDORYS

Ki'ii.oorE

A shout within. Enter a Messenger.

What shout was that?

Mes. My Lord, the great Valencia King,
Newly arriued, intreates your presence. 96

Mu. My Father?

King A. Prepared welcomes giuehim enter-

tainement:

A happier Planet neuer raigned then that,
Which gouernes at this houre. [Sound.

Enter the King of Valencia, Anselmo, Rodrigo,
Borachius, with others; the King runnes
and imbraces his Sonne,
King V. Rise, honour of my age, food to
my rest: 101

Condemne not (mightie King of Aragon)
My rude behauiour, so compeld by Nature,
That manners stood vnknowledged.

King A. What we haue to recite would
tedious prooue 105

By declaration; therefore, in, and feast:
To morrow the performance shall explaine,
What Words conceale; till then, Drummes

speake, Belles ring,

Giue plausiue welcomes to our brother King.

Sound Drummes and Trumpets. Exeunt

omnes.]

(EPILOGUE.)

Enter Comedie and Enuie.
Comedie. How now, Enure? what, blushest

thou all readie?

Peepe forth, hide not thy head with shame,
But with a courage praise a womans deeds.
Thy threates were vaine, thou couldst doe me

no hurt.

Although thou seemdst to crosse me with

despite, 5

I ouerwhelmde, and turnde vpside downe thy

blocke

And made thy selfe to stumble at the same.
En. Though stumbled, yet not ouerthrowne.

(Com. Enuie, spit thy gall; 15

Plot, worke, contriue; create new fallacies,
Teame from thy Wombe each minute a blacke

Traytor,

Whose blood and thoughts haue twins con
ception:

Studie to act deedes yet vnchronicled,
Cast natiue Monsters in the moldes of Men, 20
Case vicious Diuels vnder sancted Rochets,
Vnhaspe the Wicket where all periureds roost,
And swarme this Ball with treasons: doe thy

worst;
Thou canst not (hel -hound) crosse my steare

to night,

Nor blind that glorie, where I wish delight. 25
Enn. I can, I will.
Com. Neffarious Hagge, begin,
And let vs tugge, till one the mastrie winne.

jBnu. Comedie, thou art a shallow Goose;
He ouer throw thee in thine owne intent, 30
And make thy fall my Comick merriment.

Com. Thy pollicie wants grauitie; thou art
Too weake. Speake, Fiend, as how?

Enu. Why, thus:

From my foule Studie will I hoyst a Wretch,
A leane and hungry Meager Canniball, 36
Whose iawes swell to his eyes with chawing

Malice:

And him He make a Poet.
Com. What's that to th' purpose?
Enu. This scrambling Rauen, with his

needie Beard, 40

Will I whet on to write a Comedie,
Wherein shall be compos'd darke sentences,
Pleasing to factious braines:
And euery other where place me a lest,
Whose high abuse shall more torment then

blowes: 45

Then I my selfe (quicker then Lightning)
Will flie me to a puisant Magistrate,
And waighting with a Trencher at his backe,
In midst of iollitie, rehearse those gaules,
(With some additions) 50

So lately vented in your Theater.

Thou canst not draw my heart to mildenesse; i He, vpon this, cannot but make complaint,

Yet must I needes confesse thou hast don
well, i o

And plaide thy part with merth and pleasant
glee:

Saie all this, yet canst thou not conquer mee;

Although this time thou hast got yot not the
conquest neither

A double reuenge another time ile haue.

08 Prepare a welcome Else, welcomes : giue Q .9 :
con: <?,S ,V. />. Barcliins Q .9-6: Baracliins Q8-13 :
BrachiusO/5 104 unacknowledged fW., WP 100

planshie Qq : pleasant Col. Epilosue WP 5

seemest 1-8

To your great danger, or at least restraint.
Com. Ha, ha, hat I laugh to heare thy

folly;
This is a trap for Boyes, not Men, nor such, 55

nrfrf. Q .9. For the conclusion of il<( play ' Q 1
cf. Appendix, n. 12fi 18 twin Ha*. 21 Minted
Woo. Rochets QS-fi : robes QSff. 22 Unclasp Col.
wicked WP periureds Q 8-6 : periures Q 8 : penu
ries Q 9 ff. 31 Comict Q .9 32 Ends weake Qq :
con: Wf 30 Meager Q5 ff.: Neaper Q3, 4 : negro
ffaz. 50-1 One line Qq, etc. 51 So lately an m-
tfri>olatir,n according to Simpson 53 vour Q 8-6 :
our QSff.

125

EPILOGUE

THE COMEDIE OF MVCEDORVS

the

Especially desertfull in their doinges,
Whose stay'd discretion rules their purposes
I and my faction doe eschew those vices.
But see, seel the weary Sunne for rest
Hath laine his golden compasse to

West,

Where he perpetuall bide and euer shine,
As Dauids of -spring, in his happy Clime.
Stoope, Enuie, stoope, bow to the Earth with

mee,

Lets begge our Pardons on our bended knee.

They kneele.
Enn. My Power has lost her Might; Enuies

date's expired. 65

Yon splendant Maiestie hath feld my sting,
And I amazed am. Fall downs, and quake.

60 to Qq : in Col. 62 his Qq : this Col. 64

pardon Q9 ff. 65 and Envy's WP QQom.Q4/.

Com. Glorious and wise Arch -Caesar on

this earth,

> At whose appearance, Enuie's stroken dumbe,
I And all bad thinges cease operation: 70

i Vouchsafe to pardon our vnwilling errour,
So late presented to your Gracious view,
And weele endeuour with excesse of paine,
To please your senses in a choyser straine.
Thus we commit you to the armes of Night, 75
Whose spangled carkasse would, for your

delight,

Striue to excell the Day; be blessed, then:
Who other wishes, let him neuer speake.

Enn. Amen. 7 9

To Fame and Honour we commend your rest;
Liue still more happie, euery houre more blest.

FINIS.]
76 carkasse Qq : darkness Col.

APPENDIX TO MVCEDORVS

In Ad V, Scene I, and the Epilogue, Q 1 has different endin&s, given below.

After line 91 of Act V, Scene I.

With mirth and ioy and greate solemnitie,
Weele finish vp these hymens rightes most
pleasantlie.

Clo. Hoe, Lordes, at the first, I am one to;
but heare, maister King, by your leaue, a cast:
now you haue done with them, I praie you
begin with me. 96

K. Why, what wouldest thou haue?

Clo. you forgot! now, a little apparrell to
makes handsome: what, should Lordes goe so
beggerlie as I doe? I00

K. What I did promise thee, I will performe;
attende on mee. Come, lets depart.

They all speake.
Weele waite on you with all our hearts.

Uo. And with a peece of my liuer to.

[Exeunt omnes.

After line 14 of the Epilogue.
Co. Then, caitife cursed, stoope vpon thy

GGj

Yeelde to a woman, though not to mee,
And pray we both togither with our hearts,

That she thrice Nestors yeares may with vs rest,
And from her foes high God defend her still,
That they against her may neuer worke thir

will. 20

En. Enuie, were he neuer so stoute,
Would becke and bowe vnto her maiestie.
Indeede, Comedie, thou hast ouerrunne me

now.

And forst me stoope vnto a womans swaie.
! God grant her grace amongest vs long may

raigne, 25

And those that would not haue it soe,
Would that by enuie soone their heartes they

might forgoe.

Co. The Counsell, Nobles, and this Realme,
Lord guide it stil with thy most holy hand;
The Commons and the subiectes grant them

grace, 36

Their prince to serue, her to obey, & treason

to deface:

Long maie sheraine, in ioy and greatefelicitie!
Each Christian heart do saie amen with me.

[Exeunt.

FINIS.
20 wooke Q 1 28 Noble Q 1

126

The firft part
i j

Ut the true and ono
rable hiftorie, of the life of Sir
<fobn Old'Caftlejhegood
Lord Cobham.

It hath been lately aBedby the right
honorable the Earle of 3\otingkam
Lord high <tAdmir all of England his
feruantt.

LONDON

Printed by V.S. for Thomas Pauicr, and veto be folde at
his &op at the figne of the Catte and Parrots
necre the Exchange.
I 6 O 0.

Q 1 -- Anonymous quarto of 1 600

Q 2 = Quarto bearing Shakespeare's name, 1600

F 1 = (Third) Shakespeare Folio, 1664

F3 = (Fourth) 1685

P. = Rowe, 1709

M = Malone, 1780

Th. = Theobald, ibid.

St. = Steevens, ibid.

S = Simms, 1848

T = Tyrrell, 1851

Hat. = Hazlitt, 1852

pr. ed. - present editor

128

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT I, Sc. II

Sher, About religion, as I heard, my Lord.
Lord Powesse detracted from the power of

Rome,

Affirming Wickliffes doctrine to be true, 95
And Romes erroneous. Hot reply was made
By the lord Herbert, they were traytors all
That would maintaine it: Powesse answered,
They were as true, as noble, and as wise
As he, that would defend it with their liues;
He namde for instance sir lohn Old -castle 101
The Lord Cobham: Herbert replide againe,
" He, thou, and all are traitors that so hold."
The lie was giuen, the seuerall factions drawne,
And so enragde, that we could not appease it
1. Judge. This case concernes the Kings

prerogatiue, 106

And':; dangerous to the State and common

wealth.
Gentlemen, Justices, master Maior, and master

Shrieue,

It doth behouc vs all, and each of vs
In generall and particular, to haue care no
For the suppressing of all mutinies,
And all assemblies, except souldiers musters
For the Kings preparation into France.
We heare of secret conuenticles made,
And there is doubt of some conspiracies, 115
Which may breake out into rebellious armes
When the King's gone, perchance before he go:
Note as an instance, this one perillous fray;
What factions might haue growne on either

part,

To the destruction of the King andRealme. 1 20
Yet, in my conscience, sir lohn Old-castle,
Innocent of it, onely his name was vsde.
We, therefore, from his Highnesse giue this

charge:

You, maister Maior, iooke to your citizens;
You, maister Sherife, vnto your shire; and you
As Justices, in euery ones precinct, 126

There be no meetings. When the vulgar sort
Sit on their Ale -bench, with their cups and

kannes,

Matters of state be not their common talke,
Nor pure religion by their lips prophande. 130
Let vs returne vnto the Bench againe,
And there examine further of this fray.

Enter a Baily and a Serieant.
Sher. Sirs, haue ye taken the lord Powesse

yet?

Ba. No, nor heard of him.
Ser. No, hee's gone farre enough. 135
2. lu. They that are left behind shall

answer all. [Exeunt.

100 that] they 31
Dldcustle'.s f'f

107 And 'tis Q2, etc.

1-21

SCENE II. Eltham. An antechamber in the

palace.';

Enter Suffolke, Bishop of Rochester, Butler,
parson of Wrotham.

Suffolke. Now, my lord Bishop, take free

liberty

To speake your minde: what is your sute to vs?
Bishop. My noble Lord, no more than what

you know,

And haue bin oftentimes inuested with:
Grieuous complaints haue past betweene the

lippes 5

Of enuious persons to vpbraide the Cleargy,
Some carping at the liuings which we haue,
And others spurning at the ceremonies
That are of auncient custome in the church.
Amongst the which, Lord Cobham is a chief e:
What inconuenience may proceede hereof, 1 1
Both to the King and to the common wealth,
May easily be discernd, when like a frensie
This innouation shall possesse their mindes.
These vpstarts will haue followers, to vphold 1 5
Their damnd opinion, more than Harry shall
To vndergoe his quarrell gainst the French.
Suffolke. What proofe is there against them

to be had,

That what you say the law may iustifie?
Bishop. They giue themselues the name of

Protestants, 20

And meetc in fields and solitary groues.
Sir lohn. Was euer heard, my Lord, the like

til now?

That theeues and rebells s bloud, heretikes,
Playne heretikes, lie stand toote to their

teeth-
Should haue, to colour their vile practises, 25
A title of such worth as Protestant?

Enter one wyth a letter.
Suf. 0, but you must not sweare; it ill

becomes

One of your coate to rappe out bloudy oathes.
Bish. Pardon him, good my Lord, it is his

zeale;

An honest country prelate, who laments 30
To see such foule disorder in the church.
Sir lohn. Theres one they call him Sir

lohn Old -castle
He has not his name for naught: for like a

castle

Doth he encompasse them within his walls;
But till that castle be subuerted quite, 35

We ne're shall be at quiet in the realme.
Bish. That is our sute, my Lord, that he be

tane,
Scene II. (/f. mlil 3! 23 s bloud] s'blooct, my lord M

131

ACT I, Sc. II. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

And brought in question for his heresie.
Beside, two letters brought me out of Wales,
Wherin my Lord Herford writes to me, 40
What tumult and sedition was begun,
About the Lord Cobham at the Sises there,
(For they had much ado the calme the rage),
And that the valiant Herbert is there slaine.

Suf. A fire that must be quencht. Wei, say
no more, 45

The King anon goes to the counsell chamber,
There to debate of matters touching France:
As he doth passe by, He informe his grace
Concerning your petition: Master Butler,
If I forget, do you remember me. 5

But. I will, my Lord. [Offer him a purse.

Bish. Not for a recompence,
But as a token of our loue to you,
By me my Lords of the cleargie do present
This purse, and in it full a thousand Angells,
Praying your Lordship to accept their gift. 56

Suf. I thanke them, my Lord Bishop, for

their loue,

But will not take their mony; if you please
To giue it to this gentleman, you may.

Bish. Sir, then we craue your furtherance
herein. 60

But. The best I can, my Lord of Rochester.

Bish. Nay, pray ye take it; trust me but you
shal.

Sir lohn. Were ye all three vpon NewMar-

ket heath,
You should not neede straine curtsie who

should ha'te;
Sir lohn would quickely rid ye of that care. 65

Suf. The King is comming. Feare ye not,

my Lord;

The very first thing I will breake with him
Shal be about your matter.

Enter K. Harry and Huntington in lalke.

Har. My Lord of Suff olke,
Was it not saide the Cleargy did refuse 70
To lend vs mony toward our warres in France?

Suf. It was, my Lord, but very wrongfully.

Har. I know it was, for Huntington here

tells me,
They haue bin very bountifull of late.

Suf. And still they vow, my gracious Lord,
to be so, _ s

Hoping your maiestie will thinke of them
As of your louing subiects, and suppresse
All such malitious errors as begin
To spot their calling, and disturb the church.

40 Herford] Hertford QS,Ff: of Hereford conj. M
54 (my Lords) the Clergy dotli 2, etc. 62 prav

" 1 Qs ' F/: pray y u tak * *

Har. God else forbid: why, Suffolke, is
there 80

Any new rupture to disquiet them?

S/. No new, my Lord; the old is great

enough,

And so increasing as, if not cut downe,
Will breede a scandale to your royall state,
And set your Kingdome quickely in an vp-
roare. 85

The Kentish knight, Lord Cobham, in despight
Of any law, or spirituall discipline,
Maintaines this vpstart new religion still,
And diuers great assemblies by his meanes
And priuate quarr ells are commenst abroad, 90
As by this letter more at large, my liege,
Is made apparant.

Har. We do find it here:
There was in Wales a certaine fray of late,
Betweene two noblemen, but what of this? 95
Followes it straight, Lord Cobham must be he
Did cause the same? I dare be sworne, good

knight,
He neuer dreampt of any such contention.

Bish. But in his name the quarrell did

begin,
About the opinion which he held, my liege. 100

Har. How if it did? was either he in place,
To take part with them, or abette them in it?
If brabling fellowes, whose inkindled bloud,
Seethes in their fiery vaines, will needes go
fight, 104

Making their quarr ells of some words that passt
Either of you, or you, amongst their cuppes,
Is the fault yours, or are they guiltie of it?

Suffolke With pardon of your Highnesse,

my dread lord,

Such little sparkes, neglected, may in time
Grow to a mighty flame: but thats not all; no
He doth, beside, maintaine a strange religion,
And will not be compel Id to come to masse.

Bish. We do beseech you, therefore, gra
cious prince,

Without offence vnto your maiesty,
We may be bold to vse authoritie. 115

Harry As how?

Bishop To summon him vnto the Arches,
Where such offences haue their punishment.

Harry To answere personally? is that your
meaning?

Bishop It is, my lord. 1 20

Harry How, if he appeale?

Bishop He cannot, my Lord, in such a case
as this.

Suffolke Not where Religion is the plea, my
lord.

91-2 Om lint, in QS, Ff 101 How] What Q3, (tc.
12:2 My Lord, he cannot Q?, etc.

132

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT I, Sc. III.

Harry I tooke it alwayeo, that our selfe

stoode out,

As a sufficient refuge, vnto whome 1 25

Not any but might lawfully appeale.
But weele not argue now vpon that poynt.
For sir lohn Old -castle, whom you accuse,
Let me intreate you to dispence awhile
With your high title of prehemincnce. 130

[in scorne.

Report did neuer yet condomne him so,
But he hath alwayes beene reputed loyall:
And in my knowledge I can say thus much,
That he is vertuous, wise, and honourable.
If any way his conscience be seduc'de, 135
To wauer in his faith, He send for him,
And school e him priuately; if that serue not,
Then afterward you may proceede against him.
Butler, be you the messenger for vs,
And will him presently repaire to court, [f xeunl .

sir lohn How now, my lord, why stand you
discontent? 141

In sooth, me thinkes the King hath well
decreed.

Bishop Yea, yea, sir lohn, if he would keepe

his word;

But I perceiue he fauours him so much,
As this will be to small effect, I feare. 145

sir lohn Why, then, He tell you what y'are

best to do:

If you suspect the King will be but cold
In reprehending him, send you a processe too
To serue vpon him: so you may be sure
To make him answer't, howsoere it fall. 150

Bishop And well remembred! I will haue

it so.
A Sumner shall be sent about it strait. | E.xi7.

sir lohn Yea, doe so. In the meane space

this remaines

For kinde sir lohn of Wrotham, honest lacke.
Me thinkes the purse of gold the Bishop gaue
Made a good shew; it had a tempting looke.
Beshrew me, but my fingers ends do itch
To be vpon those rudduks. Well, tis thus:
I am not as the worlde does take me for; 159
If euer woolfe were cloathed in sheepes coate,
Then I am he, olds huddle and twang, yfaith,
A priest in shew, but in plaine termes a theefe.
Yet, let me tell you too, an honest theefe,
One that will take it where it may be sparde,
And spend it freely in good fellowship. 1 65
I haue as many shapes as Proteus had,
That still, when any villany is done,
There may be none suspect it was sir lohn.
Besides, to comfort me, for whats this life,

Except the crabbed bitternes thereof 170

Be sweetened now and then with lechery?
I haue my Doll, my concubine, as t'were,
To frollicke with, a lusty bounsing gerle.
But whilst I loyter here, the gold may scape,
And that must not be so. It is mine owne; 175
Therefore, He meete him on his way to court,
And shriue him of it: there will be the sport.

[xi7.

(SCENE HI. Kent. An outer court before

lord Cobhum's house.}
Enter three or foure poore people: somesouldiers,

some old men.
1. God helpl God help I there's law for

punishing,

But theres no law for our necessity:

There be more stockes to set poore soldiers in,

Than there be houses to releeue them at.

Old man. Faith, housekeeping decay es in

euery place, 5

Euen as Saint Peter writ, still worse and worse.

4. Maister maior of Rochester has giuen

commaundenvent, that none shall goe abroade

out of the parish; and they haue set an order

downe forsooth, what euery poore housholder

must giue towards our reliefe: where there be

some ceased, I may say to you, had almost as

much neede to beg as we. 1 3

1 . It is a hard world the while.

Old man. If a poore man come to a doore
to aske for Gods sake, they aske him for a
licence, or a certificate from a lustice.

2. Faith we haue none but what we beare
vppon our bodies, our maimed limbs, God
help vs. 20

4. And yet, as lame as I am, He with the
king into France, if I can crawle but a ship-
boorde. I hadde rather be slaine in France,
than starue in England. 24

Olde man. Ha, were I but as lusty as I was
at the battell of Shrewsbury, I would not dee
as I do: but we are now come to the good lord
Cobhams, to the best man to the poore that
is in all Kent.

4. God blesse him! there be but few such. 30

124 out H,a. : out 07: on't 0?, Ff 143 Yea,
yea] I. I (?:'. Ff 149 you] ye Q 2, Ff 158 those
golden ruddocks Ff, itc.

Enter Lord Cobham with Harpools.
Cob. Thou peeuish, froward man, what

wouldst thou haue?
Harp. This pride, this pride, brings all to

beggarie.

Scene III. tic. dil. M S. D. Enter foure Q?, fj
') Faith] I Q2, Ff : Ay 7?, etc. 8 command Q 2, etc.
9 and has set down an order Q2. etc. 15 man aske
at doore for Q2, etc. 22 but crawle Q ?. ttc. -6
at Shrewsbury battel Q2, etc. 28 Cobhams, the

I Q3,ttc. tlatisom. Q2, ttc.

133

ACT I, Sc. III. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

I seru'de your father, and your grandfather;
Shew me such two men now!
No! No! Your backes, your backes, the diuell
and pride, 35

Has cut the throate of all good housekeeping.
They were the best Yeomens masters,
That euer were in England.

Cob. Yea, except thou haue a crue of seely

knaues

And sturdy rogues still feeding at my gate, 40
There is no hospitalitie with thee.

Harp. They may sit at the gate well enough,
but the diuell of any thing you giue them,
except they will eate stones.

Cob. Tis long, then, of such hungry knaues

as you. [pointing to the ffeggars.

Yea, sir, heres your retinue; your guests be

come. 46

They know their howers, I warrant you.

Old (man). God blesse your honour! God

saue the good Lord Cobham
And all his house!

Soul. Good your honour, bestow your
blessed almes 50

Vpon poore men.

Cob. Now, sir, here be your Almes knights.

Now are you
As safe as the Emperour.

Harp. My Almes knights 1 nay, th' are yours .
It is a shams for you, and He stand too't; 55
Your foolish almes maintain es more vaga
bonds,

Then all the noblemen in Kent beside.
Out, you rogues, you knaues! worke for your

liuings!
Alas, poore men! Lord, they may beg their

hearts out;

Theres no more charitie amongst men then

amongst 60

So many mastiffe dogges! What make you

here,

You needy knaues? Away, away, you villaines.

2. soul. I beseech you, sir, be good to vs.

Cobham Nay, nay, they know thee well

enough. I thinke that all the beggars in this

land are thy acquaintance. Goe bestowe your

almes; none will controule you, sir. 67

Harp. What should I giue them? you are

growne so beggarly, you haue scarce a bitte

:$4 Line end* no. no Q/. Ff 154-8 Font- lines N, etc..
fiidiny no, no, your backs : throat : best ; England
;!7 Line end* that Qy, Ff 39 seely] filthy 2. etr.

45 you] (?) yon 48- 1 ) Prone all lt. " ',> Kn,h

km.L'hts Qq. Ff: con: M 54-62 Prose . 59 O
Lord oin. Q ?, etr. (VJ-J Four Una in Qj, Ff. aifliit//
men; dogges: knaues: villaines 60 amongst:

pi-mi-mtucc 'mongst 00. 70 that you can scareo giue
a bit <l ?, etc.

of breade to giue at your doore. You talke of
your religion so long, that you haue banished
charitie from amongst you ; a man may make
a flaxe shop in your kitchin chimnies, for any
fire there is stirring.

Cobham If thou wiit giue them nothing,
send them hence: let them not stand here
staruing in the colde. 77

Harp. Who! I driue them hence? If I
driue poore men from your doore, He be hangd;
I know not what I may come to my selfe. Yea,
God help you, poore knaues; ye see the world,
yfaithl Well, you had a mother: well, God be
with thee, good Lady; thy soule's at rest. She
gaue more in shirts and smocks to poore chil
dren, then you spend in your house, & yet you
hue a beggar too. 86

Cobham Euen the worst deede that ere my
mother did was in releeuing such a foole as
thou.

Harpoole Yea, yea, I am a foole still. With
all your wit you will die a beggar; go too. 91

Cobham Go, you olde foole; giue the poore
people something. Go in, poore men, into the
inner court, and take such alms as there is to
be had. 95

Souldier God blesse your honor.

Harpoole Hang you, roags, hang you; theres
nothing but misery amongst you; you feare
no law, you. [Exit.

Olde man God blesse you, good maister
Rate, 'God saue your life; you are good to the
poore still. 102

Enter the Lord Powes disguised, and shrowde

himselfe.
Cobham What fellow's yonder comes along

the groue?

Few passengers there be that know this way:
Me thinkes he stops as though he stayd for me,
And meant to shrowd himselfe amongst the
bushes. 106

I know the Cleargie hate me to the death,
And my religion gets me many foes:
And this may be some desperate rogue, subornd
To worke me mischief e. As it pleaseth God!
If he come toward me, sure He stay his com-
ming 1 1 1

Be he but one man what soere he be.

The Lord Powis comes on.
I haue beene well acquainted with that face.
Powis Well met, my honorable lord and
friend.

72 amongst nm. OS. t!c. 80, 82 yea. yf'aith "in.

Ql>. (tc. ' 81 help ye .?. ftr. 82 we'll. <Jod] U

God Q ?, elr. 90 Yea, yea] 1 QS 107 hates <) ;'.
etr. 109-12 Isi'tieis end in QJ rogue: it; sure:

man. be : con: -V

134

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT I, Sc. III.

Cobham You are welcome, sir, what ere

you be; "5

But of this sodaine, sir, I do not know you.
Powis I am one that wisheth well vnto your

honor;

My name is Powes, an olde friend of yours.
Cobham My honorable lord, and worthy

friend,

What makes your lordship thus alone in Kent,
And thus disguised in this strange attire? 121

Powis My Lord, an vnexpected accident
Hath at this time inforc'de me to these parts;
And thus it hapt: Not yet ful fiue dayes since,
Now at the last Assise at Hereford, 1 25

It chanst that the lord Herbert and my selfe,
Mongst other things, discoursing at the table,
Did fall in speech about some certaine points
Of Wickdiffes doctrine gainst the papacie
And the religion catholique, maintaind 1 30
Through the most part of Europe at this day.
This wilfull teasty lord stucke not to say
That Wickcliffe was a knaue, a schismatike,
His doctrine diuelish and hereticall, 134

And what soere he was maintaind the same,
Was traitor both to God and to his country.
Being moued at his peremptory speech,
I told him some maintained those opinions,
Men, and truer subjects then lord Herbert was:
And he replying in comparisons, 140

Your name was vrgde, my lord, gainst his

chalenge,

To be a perfect fauourer of the trueth.
And to be short, from words we fell to blowes,
Our seruants and our tenants taking parts
Many on both sides hurt and for an

houre MS

The broyle by no meanes could be pacified,
Vntill the ludges, rising from the bench,
Were in their persons forc'de to part the fray.
Cobham I hope no man was violently slaine.
Powis Faith, none, I trust, but the lord

Herberts selfe, 150

Who is in truth so dangerously hurt,
As it is doubted he can hardly scape.
Cobham I am sory, my good lord, of these

ill newes.
Powis This is the cause that driues me into

Kent, 154

To shrowd my selfe with you, so good a friend,
Vntill I heare how things do speed at home.
Cobham Your lordship is most welcome

vnto Cobham;

But I am very sory, my good lord,
My name was brought in question in this

matter,

115 very welcome J/ 128 Did M : To 7. Ff

139 (.?) Truer men and subjects 141 his] this Ff

Considering I haue many enemies, 1 60

That threaten malice, and do lie in waite
To take aduantage of the smallest thing.
But you are welcome: and repose your lordship,
And keepe your selfe here secret in my house,
Vntill we heare how the lord Herbert speedes.
Here comes my man. [Enter Harpoole.

Sirra, what newes?

Harpoole Yonders one maister Butler of
the priuie chamber, is sent vnto you from the
King. 1 70

Powis I pray God the lord Herbert be not

dead,

And the King, hearing whither I am gone,
Hath sent for me.

Cob. Comfort your selfe my lord, I warrant
you. 174

Harpoole Fellow, what ailes thee? doost
thou quake? dost thou shake? dost thou trem
ble? ha?

Cob. Peace, you old foole! Sirra, conuey
this gentleman in the backe way, and bring the
other into the walke. 180

Harpoole Come, sir; you are welcome, if
you loue my lorde.

Powis God haue mercy, gentle friend.

[exeunt.

Cob. I thought as much: that it would not

be long,
Before I heard of something from the King

About this matter.

185

Enter Harpoole with Maister Butler.
Harpoole Sir, yonder my lord walkes, you

see him;

Ilo haue your men into the Celler the while.
Cobh. Welcome, good maister Butler.
Buthr Thankes, my good lord: his Maies-

tie dooth commend

His loue vnto your lordship, 190

And wils you to repaire vnto the court.
Cobh. God blesse his Highnesse, and con
found his ennemies!
I hope his Maiestie is well.
Butler In health, my lord.
Cobh. God long continue it! Mee thinkes
you looke 195

As though you were not well: what ailes you,

sir?

Butler Faith, I haue had a foolish odde
mischance,

162 advantage On : the vantage Ff, etc. 171 I

OIH. 3, etc. the] that the 3t 171-3 Prone Qq, Ff:

Q 2, etc.

182 God haue mercy! Gramercy (

186-7 Prose M " 189-

corr. M

183-5 Prose Qq, Ff: coir. R

!-l I'weiti nil (rf'l. 192-3 Prone Qq, Ff: corr. 31

14 In good health Ff, etc. 1% ailes you] ayle ye

Q2, ttc. Iffl-Xt Prose Qq, Ff: con: M

135

ACT I, Sc. III. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

That angers mee: comming ouer Shooters hill,
There came a fellow to me like a Sailer,
And asked me money; and whilst I staide my
horse 20

To draw my purse, he takes th' aduantage of
A little banck and leapes behind me, whippes
My purse away, and with a sodaine ierke,
I know not how, threw me at least three yards
Out of my saddle. I neuer was so robbed 205
In all my life.

Cobh. I am very sorie,sir,f or your mischance.
Wee will send our warrant foorth, to stay such
suspitious persons as shal be found. Then,
maister Butler, we wil attend you. 210

Butler I humbly thanke your lordship, I
will attend you.

(ACT H.
SCENE I. The same.}

Enter the Sumner.

Sum. I haue the law to warrant what I do;
and though the Lord Cobham be a noble man,
that dispenses not with law: I dare serue pro-
cesse were a fiue noble men. Though we
Sumners make sometimes a mad slip in a
corner with a prettie wench, a Sumner must
not goe alwayes by seeing: a manne may be
content to hide his eies, where he may feele
his profit. Well, this is my Lord Cobhams
house if I can deuise to speake with him; if
not, lie clap my citation vpon's doore: so my
lord of Rochester bid me. But me thinkes
here comes one of his men. 13

Enter Harpoole.

Harp. Welcome, good fellow, welcome;
who wouldst thou speake with?

Sum. With my lord Cobham I would speake,
if thou be one of his men.

Harp. Yes, I am one of his men, but thou
canst not speake with my lord.

Sam. May I send to him then? 20

Harp. lie tel thee that, when I know thy
errand.

Sum. I will not tel my errand to thee.

Harp. Then keepe it to thy selfe, and walke
like a knaue as thou earnest. 25

Sam. I tell thee, my lord keepes no knaues,
sirra.

Harp. Then thou seruest him not, I beleeue :
what lord is thy master?

199 a fellow] one Q 2, ifc. 200 ask'd my J/ 207-
10 Vent M 208 stay all such M 210 we'll attend
on you M Act II. etc. add. M 3-4 serue a pro
cesse were lie Q8, e'c. 9 my om. OS, etc. 10
house ; if I cannot speak with him, lie Q 2 etc !>
bad Q 3, etc.

136

Sam. My lord of Rochester. 30

Harp. In good time! And what wouldst
thou haue with my lord Cobham?

Sum. I come, by vertue of a processe, to
ascite him to appeare before my lord in the
court at Rochester. 35

Harp, (aside). Wei, God grant me patience!
I could eate this conger. My lord is not at
home; therefore it were good, Sumner, you
caried your 'processe backe.

Sam. Why, if he will not be spoken withall,
then will I leaue it here; and see you that he
take knowledge of it. 42

Harp. Swounds, you slaue, do you set vp
your bills here! go to; take it downe againe.
Doest thou know what thou dost? Dost thou
know on whom thou seruest processe?

Sam. Yes, marry, doe I; Sir lohn Old -castle,
Lord Cobham. 43

Harp. I am glad thou knowest him yet;
and, sirra, dost not thou know, that the lord
Cobham is a braue lord, that keepes good beef e
and beere in his house, and euery day feedes
a hundred poore people at's gate, and keepes
a hundred tall f ellowes?

Sum. Whats that to my processe? 55

Harp. Mary, this, sir I is this processe
parchment?

Sum. Yes, mary.

Harp. And this seale waxe?

Sum. It is so. 60

Harp. If this be parchment, & this wax,
eate you this parchment and this waxe, or I
will make parchment of your skinne, and beate
your brains into waxe: Sirra Sumner, dispatch;
deuoure, sirra, deuoure. 65

Sum. I am my lord of Rochesters Sumner;
I came to do my office, and thou shalt answere
it.

Harp. Sirra, no railing, but betake you to
your teeth. Thou shalt eate no worse then
thou bringst with thee: thou bringst it for my
lord, and wilt thou bring my lord worse then
thou wilt eate thy selfe? 73

Sum. Sir, I brought it not my lord to eate.

Harp. 0, do you sir me now? all's one for
that: but ile make you eate it, for bringing it.

Sam. I cannot eate it.

Harp. Can you not? sbloud ile beate you
vntil you haue a stomacke. \he beates him.

Sum. hold, hold, good master seruing-
man! I will eate it. 81

34 scite Q2 : cite R 41 you OIH. OP, Ff 45
Dost thou] dost thee Q 1 46 a processe Ff,'e(c. 47
on Sir lohn QS, etc. .10 thou om. Ff, R dost
thou not M 58 marry is it Ff, d<: '62 this waxe]
wax Q 2 C9 you] your self //, < V. 76 but om.
Q2,ttc. 79 till Q 2, etc.

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT II, Sc. I.

Harp. Be champping, be chawing, sir; or He
chaw you, you rogue! the purest of the hony!
Tough waxe is the purest of the hony.

Sum. Lord, sir! oh! oh! [he eatts.

Harp. Feed, feed] wholsome, rogue, whol-
some! 86

Cannot you, like an honest Sumner, walke with
the diuell your brother, to fetch in .your
Bailiffes rents, but you must come to a noble
mans house with processe? Sbloud ! if thy seale
were as broad as the lead that couers Rochester
church, thou shouldst eate it. 92

Sum. 0, I am almost choaked! I am
almost choaked!

Harp. Who's within there? wil you shame
my Lord? is there no beere in the house?
Butler! I say. 97

Enter Butter.

But. Heere, here.

Harp. Giue him Beere. [he drinkes.

There; tough old sheepskins bare, drie meate.

Sum. sir, let me go no further; He eate
my word. 101

Harp. Yea, mary, sir! so I meane: you shall
eate more then your own word, for ile make
you eate all the words in the processe. Why,
you drab monger, cannot the secrets of al the
wenches in a sheire serue your turne, but you
must come hither with a citation? with a poxc!
Ile cite you. [He has then done.] A cup of
sacke for the Sumner.

But. Here, sir, here. no

Harp. Here, slaue, I drinke to thee.

Sum. I thanke you, sir.

Harp. Now if thou findst thy stomacke
well because thou shalt see my Lord keep's
meate in's house if thou wilt go in, thou shalt
haue a peece of beefe to thy break fast.

Sum. No, I am very well, good M(aister)
seruing-man, I thanke you; very well sir. 118

Harp. I am glad on't. Then be walking
towards Rochester to keepe your stomack
warme: and Sumner, if I may know you dis
turb a good wench within this Diocesse; if I
do not make thee eate her peticote, if there
were four yards of Kentish cloth in't, I am
a villaine. 1 25

Sum. God be with you, M aister) seruing-
maan. (Exit.}

Harp. Farewell, Sumner.

tu Sum. Oq, Ff : of the oin.
Q '.'. i./i: 83-4 Tough wax is the purest houey.

*4 Tough . . hony i/i
'.'. i./i: 83-4 To

Sum. The purest of the honey : J/ 85 0. . on !

given to Harp. QIJ, Ff 86 tis wholsome Rogue Q 2.
etc. 90 Sbloud oin. 2, etc. 100 bare] but conj. M
121 may] do 03, etc. 126

. &. 1>. whl. Q2

102 so out. Q?, ii>\
Avith you] w'ye <J ;', clc.

Enter Constable.

Con. God saue you M(aister) Harpoole.

Harp. Welcome, Constable, welcom, Con
stable; what news with thee? 130

Con. And't please you, M(aister) Harpoole,
I am to make hue and crie, for a fellow with
one eie that has rob'd two Clothiers, and am to
craue your hindrance, for to search all sus
pected places; and they say there was a woman
in the company. 136

Harp. Hast thou bin at the Alehouse? hast
thou sought there?

Con. I durst not search, sir, in my Lord
Cobhams libertie, except I had some of his
seruants, which are for my warrant. 141

Harp. An honest Constable! an honest
Constable! Cal forth him that keepes the
Alehouse there.

Con. Ho! who's within there? 145

(Enter Ale-mari)

Ale man Who calls there? come neere a
Gods name! Oh, is't you, M(aister) Constable
and M(aister) Harpoole? you are welcome with
all my heart. What make you here so earely
this morning? 150

Harp. Sirra, what strangers do you lodge?
there is a robbery done this morning, and we
are to search for all suspected persons.

Aleman. Gods bores! I am sory for't:
yfaith, sir, I lodge no body but a good honest
mery priest, they call him sir lohn a
Wrootham and a handsome woman that is
his neece, that he saies he has some sute in
law for; and as they go vp & down to London,
sometimes they lie at my house. 1 60

Harp. What, is he here in thy house now?

Ale-m. She is, sir. I promise you, sir, he
is a quiet man; and because he will not trouble
too many roomes, he makes the woman lie
euery night at his beds feete. 1 65

Harp. Bring her forth! Constable, bring
her forth! let's see her, let's see her.

Ale-m. Dorothy, you must come downe
to M^aister, Constable. 169

Dol. Anon, forsooth. [she enters.

Harp. Welcome, sweete lasse, welcome.

Dol. I thank you, good M ^aister) seruing-
man, and master Constable also.

Harp. A plump girle by the mas, a plump

128 God out. Q2, etc. 132 line to crie QJ 134
for uiu. Q i", etc. 139 sir oin. Ff, etc. 141 which
are oin. QS, etc. 142 An honest Constable once in

?2, etc. S. D. add. M 146-7 come. . name OKI.
S, etc. 156 mery om. Ff, etc. cal'd sir lohn Q 2,
e'c. 161 he] she Q S, etc. 162, 168 Pnjti C'ou.

<l<l : '.KIT. Ff

137

ACT II, Sc. I THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

girle! Ha, Dol, ha! Wilt thou forsake the
priest, and go with me? 1 7 6

Con. A! well said, M(aister) Harpoole; you
are a merrie old man, yfaith. Yfaith, you wil
neuer be old. Now, by the macke, a prettie
wench indeed ! 1 8o

Harp. Ye old mad mery Constable, art thou
aduis'de of that. Ha, well said, Dol! fill some
ale here.

Dol. (aside). Oh, if I wist this old priest
would not sticke to me, by loue, I would ingle
this old seruing-man. 186

Harp. Oh you old mad colt! yfaith, He
feak you! fil all the pots in the house there.

Con. Oh, wel said, M(aister) Harpoole! you
are heart of oake when all's done. 190

Harp. Ha, Dol, thou hast a sweete paire of
lippes, by the masse.

Doll Truely you are a most sweet olde man,
as euer I sawe; by my troth, you haue a face,
able to make any woman in loue with you. 1 95

Harp. Fill, sweete Doll; He drinke to thee.

Doll ' I pledge you, sir, and thanke you

therefore,
And I pray you let it come.'

Harp, (imbracing her). Doll, canst thou loue
me? A mad merry lasse! would to God I had
neuer scene thee! 201

Doll I warrant you, you will not out of my
thoughts this tweluemonth; truely you are as
full of fauour, as a man may be. Ah, these
sweete grey lockes! by my troth, they are most
louely. 206

Constable Gods boores, maister Harpoole,
I will haue one busse too.

Harp. No licking for you, Constable! hand
off, hand off! 210

Constable Bur lady, I loue kissing as wel as
you.

Doll Oh, you are an od boie; you haue a
wanton eie of your owne! ah, you sweet sugar
lipt wanton, you will winne as many womens
hearts as come in your company. 216

Enter Priest.

Wroth. Doll, come hither.

Harp. Priest, she shal not.

Doll lie come anone, sweete loue.

Wroth. Hand off, old fornicator. 220

Harp. Vicar, He sit here in spight of thee.
Is this fitte stuffe for a priest to carry vp and
downe with him?

Wrotham Ah, sirra, dost thou not know,

176 with mee, Doll QS, etc. 178 yfaith once 02,
etc. 188 feak Q 1 : ferke Q2, etc. 197-8 Prose

Qq, Ff: con: M. I'art of an old Imllad conj. M 207
Gods] Cud Q2, etc. 209-10 hands .. hands M 213
o 1] old M 2->0 hands 31 224 Ah om. Q 3, etc.

that a good fellow parson may haue a chappel
of ease, where his parish Church is farre off?

Harp. You whooreson ston'd Vicar!

Wroth. You olde stale ruffin! you lion of
Cots wold!

Harp. Swounds, Vicar, He geld you! 230
[flies upon him.

Constable Keepe the Kings peace!

Doll Murder! murder! murder!

Ale man Holde! as you are men, holde!
for Gods sake be quiet! Put vp your weapons;
you drawe not in my house. 235

Harp. You whooreson bawdy priest!

Wroth. You old mutton monger!

Constable Hold, sir lohn, hold!

Doll (to the Priest) I pray thee, sweet heart,
be quiet. I was but sitting to drinke a pot of ale
with him, euen as kinde a man as euer I met
with. 242

Harp. Thou art a theefe, I warrant thee.

Wroth. Then I am but as thou hast beene
in thy dayes. Lets not be ashamed of our
trade; the King has beene a theefe himself e.

Doll Come, be quiet. Hast thou sped?

Wroth. I haue, wench: here be crownes,
ifaith.

Dell Come, lets be all friends then. 250

Constable Well said, mistris Dorothy, ifaith.

Harp. Thou art the madst priest that euer
I met with.

Wroth. Giue me thy hand, thou art as good
a fellow. I am a singer, a drinker, a bencher, a
wencher! I can say a masse, and kisse a
lasse! Faith, I haue a parsonage, and
bicause I would not be at too much charges,
this wench serues me for a sexton. 260

Harp. Well said, mad priest, weele in and
be friends. [exeunt.

(SCENE II. London. A room in the Axe Inn,

without Bishop -gate.}
Enter sir Roger Acton, master Bourne, master

Beuerley, and William Murley the brewer

of Dunstable.
Acton Now, maister Murley, I am well

assurde

You know our arrant, and do like the cause,
Being a man affected as we are.

M.U. Mary, God dild ye, daintie my deere!
no master, good sir Roger Acton Knight, mais
ter Bourne, and maister Beuerley esquires,
gentlemen, and iustices of the peace no
maister I, but plaine William Murly, the
brewer of Dunstable, your honest neighbour,

251 ifaith om. QS, etc. S. I). Scene II. etc. add. M
5 Knight om. QS, etc. 6 esquires om. QS, etc.

138

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT II, So. II.

and your friend, if ye be men of my profes
sion, ii

Beuerley Professed friends to Wickliffe,
foes to Rome.

Murl. Hold by me, lad; leane vpon that
staff e, good maister Beuerley: all of a house.
Say your mind, say your mind. 1 5

Acton You know our faction now is growne

so great,
Throughout the realme, that it beginnes to

smoake

Into the Cleargies eies, and the Kings eares.
High time it is that we were drawne to head,
Our generall and officers appoynted; 20

And warres, ye wot, will aske great store of coine.
Able to strength our action with your purse,
You are elected for a colonell
Ouer a regiment of fifteene bands. 24

Murley Fue, paltrie, paltrie! in and out, to
and fro! be it more or lesse, vppoa occasion.
Lorde haue mercie vppon vs, what a world is
this I Sir Roger Acton, I am but a Dunstable
man, a plaine brewer, ye know: will lusty
Caualiering captaines, gentlemen, come at my
calling, goe at my bidding? Daintie my deere,
theile doe a dogge of waxe, a horse of cheese,
a pricke and a pudding. No, no, ye must
appoint some lord, or knight at least, to that
place. 35

Bourne Why, master Murley, you shall be

a Knight:

Were you not in election to be shrieue?
Haue ye not past all offices but that?
Haue ye not wealth to make your wife a lady?
I warrant you, my lord, our Generall 40

Bestowes that honor on you at first sight.

Murley Mary, God dild ye, daintie my

deare!

But tell me, who shalbe our Generall?
Wheres the lord Cobham, sir lohn Old -castle,
That noble almes -giuer , housekeeper, vertuous,
Religious gentleman? Come to me there, boies,
Come to me there! 47

Acton Why, who but ho shall be our
Generall?

Murley And shall he knight me, and make
me colonell?

Acton My word for that: sir William
Murley, knight. 50

Murley Fellow sir Roger Acton, knight, all
fellowes I meane in armes how strong arc
we? how many partners? Our enemies beside
the King are mightie ; be it more or lesse vpon
occasion, reckon our force. 55

Acton There are of vs, our friends, and fol
lowers,
Three thousand and three hundred at the least;

Of northerne lads foure thousand, beside horse;
From Kent there comes with sir lohn Old-

castle

Seauen thousand; then from London issue out,
Of maisters, seruants, strangers, prentices, 61
Fortie odde thousands into Ficket field,
Where we appoynt our speciall randeuous.

Murley Fue, paltry, paltry, in and out, to
and fro! Lord haue mercie vpon vs, what a
world is this! Wheres that Ficket field e, sir
Roger? 67

Acton Behinde saint Giles in the field neere
Holborne.

Murley Newgate, vp Holborne, S. Giles in
the field, and toTiborne: an old saw. For the
day, for the day?

Acton On friday next, the foureteenth day
of January. 74

Murley Tyllie vallie, trust me neuer if I
haue any liking of that day! fue, paltry, paltry!
friday, quoth a! Dismall day! Childermasse
day this yeare was friday.

Beuerley Nay, maister Murley, if you

obserue such daies,

We make some question of your constancie.
All daies are like to men resolu'de in right. 81

Murley Say Amen, and say no more; but
say, and hold, master Beuerley: friday next,
and Ficket field, and William Murley, and his
merry men shalbe al one. I haue halfe a score
iades that draw my beere cartes, 86

And euery iade shall beare a knaue,
And euery knaue shall weare a iacke,
And euery iacke shal haue a scull,
And euery scull shal shew a speare, 99

And euery speare shal kill a foe
At Ficket field, at Ficket field,
lohn and Tom, and Dicke and Hodge,
And Rafe and Robin, William & George,
And all my knaues shall fight like men, 95
At Ficket field on friday next.

Bourne What summe of money meane you
to disburse?

Murley It may be modestly, decently,
soberly, and handsomely I may bring fiue
hundreth pound. zoo

Acton Fiue hundreth, man! fiue thousand's

not enough!

A hundreth thousand will not pay our men
Two months together. Either come preparde
Like a braue Knight, and martiall Colonell,
In glittering golde, and gallant furniture, 105
Bringing in coyne a cart loade at the least,
And all your followers mounted on good horse,
Or neuer come disgracefull to vs all.

77 quotli-a. a dismal M 87-96 Prone all idd.
93-4 Tom, Dicke and Hodge, Eafe Q S, etc.

130

ACT II, Sc. II. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

Benerley Perchance you may be chosen

Treasurer.

Tenne thousand pound's the least that you can
bring. II0

Murley Paltry, paltry! in and out, to and
fro, vpon occasion I haue ten thousand pound
to spend, and tenne too. And rather than the
Bishop shall haue his will of mee for rny con
science, it shall out all. Flame and flaxe, flame
and flaxe! it was gotte with water and mault,
and it shal flie with fire and gunne powder.
Sir Roger, a cart loade of mony til the axetree
cracke, my self e and my men in Ficket field on
friday next: remember my Knighthoode, and
my place. There's my hand; He bee there. 121

[Exit.
Acton See what Ambition may perswade

men to,

In hope of honor he will spend himselfe.
Bourne I neuer thought a Brewer halfe so

rich.

Beuerley Was neuer bankerout Brewer yet

but one, ' 2 5

With vsing too much mault, too little water.

Acton Thatsno fault in Brewers now -adayes.

Come, away, about our businesse. [exeunt.

(SCENE III. An audience -chamber in the

palace at Eltham.}

Enter K. Harry, Suffolke, Butler, and Old-
castle kneeling to the King.
Harry Tis not enough, Lord Cobham, to

submit;

You must forsake your grosse opinion.
The Bishops find themselues much iniured,
And though, for some good seruice you haue

done,

We for our part are pleasde to pardon you, 5
Yet they will not so soone be satisfied.

Cobham My gracious Lord, vnto your
' Maiestie,

Next vnto my God, I owe my life;
And what is mine, either by natures gift,
Or fortunes bountie, al is at your seruice. 10
But, for obedience to the Pope of Rome,
I owe him none, nor shall his shaueling priests
That are in England alter my beliefe.
If out of holy Scripture they can proue,
That I am in an errour I will yeeld, 1 5

And gladly take instruction at their hands;
But otherwise, I do beseech your grace,
My conscience may not be incroacht vpon,

115 out om. Q8, etc. shall all go FS, dr.. Flame
and flaxe, flaxe and flame Q?, etc. 118 axletree

Q 2, etc. 128 Come, let's awav J/ K. V. Scene III.
ttc. add. M 8 do owe JI

Har. We would be loath to presse our sub-

iects bodies,

Much lesse their soules, the deere redeemed
part 20

Of him that is the ruler of vs all;
Yet let me counsell ye, that might command:
Do not presume to tempt them with ill words,
Nor suffer any meetings to be had
Within your house, but to the vttermost, 25
Disperse the flockes of this new gathering sect.

Cobham My liege, if any breathe, that dares

come forth,

And say my life in any of these points
Deserues th' attainder of ignoble thoughts,
Here stand I, crauing no remorce at all, 30
But euen the vtmost rigor may be showne.

Har. Let it suffice; we know your loyaltie.
What haue you there?

Cob. A deed of clemencie;
Your Highnesse pardon for Lord Powesse life,
Which I did beg, and you, my noble Lord, 36
Of gracious fauour did vouchsafe to grant.

Har. But yet it is not signed with our hand.

Cob. Not yet, my Liege.

[one ready with pen and incke.

Har. The fact, you say, was done, 40

Not of prepensed malice, but by chance.

Cob. Vpon mine honor so, no otherwise.

Har. There is his pardon; bid him make
amends, [writes.

And cleanse his soule to God for his offence.
What we remit, is but the bodies scourge

Enter Bishop.
How now, Lord Bishop? 4 5

Bishop Justice, dread Soueraigne!
As thou art King, so graunt I may haue iustice.
Har. What meanes this exclamation? lot vs

know.

Bish. Ah, my good Lord, the state's abusde,
And our decrees most shamefully prophande.
Har. How? or by whom? 5-

Bish. Euen by this heretike,
This lew, this Traitor to your maiestie.

Cob. Prelate, thou liest, euen in thy greasie

maw,

Or whosoeuer twits me with the name
Of either traitor, or of heretike.

Her. Forbeare, I say; and, Bishop, shea
the cause

From whence this late abuse hath bin deriu'df.
Bish. Thus, mightie King: By general I
consent, 60

A messenger was sent to cite this Lord,
To make appearance in the consistorie;

22 ye] you OS, clc. 41 pretensod Q ?, Ft, -V:

propenscil It. J'"/ic 50 is miu-li abu^'d 11

140

THE LIFE OF SIK IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT III, Sc. I.

And comming to his house, a ruffian slaue,
One of his daily followers, met the man,
Who, knowing him to be a parator, 65

Assaults him first and after, in contempt
Of vs and our proceedings, makes him cate
The written processe, parchment, scale and all:
Whereby his maister neither was brought

forth,
Nor we but scornd for our authoritie. 70

Har. When was this done?

Bish. At sixe a clocke this morning.

Har. And when came you to court?

Cob. Last night, my Lord. 74

Har. By this it seemes, he is not guilty of it, '
And you haue done him wrong t' accuse him so.

Bish. But it was done, my lord, by his

appointment,
Or else his man durst ne're haue bin so bold.

Har. Or else you durst be bold to inter
rupt,

And fill our eares with friuolous complaints. 80
Is this the duetie you do beare to vs?
Was't not sufficient we did passe our word
To send for him, but you, misdoubting it,
Or which is worse intending to forestall
Our regall power, must likewise summon him?
This sauours of Ambition, not of zeale, 6
And rather proues you malice his estate,
Than any way that he offends the law.
Go to, we like it not; and he your officer,
That was imployde so much amisse herein, 90
Had his desert for being insolent.

Enter Huntington.

So, Cobham, when you please you may depart.
Cob. I humbly bid farewell vnto my liege.

[Exit.
Har. Farewell. What's the newes by Hunt-

ington ?

Hunt. Sir Roger Acton and a crue, my Lord, ,
Of bold seditious rebels are in Armes, 96 ,

Intending reformation of Religion.
And with their Army they intend to pitch
In Ficket field, vnlesse they be repulst.

Har. So nere our presence? Dare they be so

bold? ioo

And will prowd warre, and eager thirst of

bloud,

Whom we had thought to entertaine farre off,
Presse forth vpon vs in our natiue boundes?
Must wee be forc't to hansell our sharp blades
In England here, which we prepar'd for France?
Well, a Gods name be it! What's their num
ber, say,
Or who's the chief e commander of this rowt?

Hunt. Their number is not knowne, as yet,

my Lord,

But tis reported Sir lohn Old -castle
Is the chief e man on whom they do depend, no
Har. How, the Lord Cobham?
Hunt. Yes, my gracious Lord.
Bish. I could haue told your maiestie as

much

Before he went, but that I saw your Grace
Was too much blinded by his flaterie. 1 1 5
Suf. Send poast, my Lord, to fetch him

backe againe.
But. Traitor vnto his country, how he

smooth'de,

And seemde as innocent as Truth it self el
Har. I cannot thinke it yet he would te

false;

But if he be, no matter; let him go. 120

Weele meet both him and them vnto their wo.

Exeunt (ell but Eishop^.

Bish. This falls out well, and at the last I

hope
To see this heretike die in a rope.

(ACT m.
SCENE I. An avenue leading to lord Cobham' s

house in Kent.}
Enter Earle of Cambridge, Lord Scroope, Cray,

and Chartres the French factor.
Scroop. Once more, my Lord of Cambridge,

make rehersal,

How you do stand intiteled to the Crowne.
The deeper shall we print it in our mindes,
And euery man the better be resolu'de,
When he perceiues his quarrell to be iust. s
Com. Then thus, Lord Scroope, sir Thomas

Gray, & you,

Mounsieur de Chartres, agentfor the French:
This Lionel!, Duke of Clarence, as I said,
Third sonne of Edward (Englands King) (he

third, 9

Had issue Phillip, his sole daughter and heyre;
Which Phillip afterward was giuenin marriage
To Edmund Mortimer, the Earle of March,
And by him had a son cald Roger Mortimer;
Which Roger, likewise, had of his discent
Edmund, Roger, Anne, and Elianor 15
Two daughters and two sonnes but those

three

Dide without issue. Anne, that did suruiue,
And now was left her fathers onely heyre,
My fortune was to marry, being too
By my grandfather of King Edwardes line: 20

78 ne're] not Q ?. < /< . 70 durst not be -V
90 <did 91 trttnuponed Q?, etc.

Linen

121 S. D. Exeunt follows ntxt line in Ql : fit end cf
KI-UK 02, efc. Act IIP. dr. utM. M 10 but of

those, three Ff, efc. 19 My] By Q?, Ff

141

ACT III, Sc. I. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

So of his sirname, I am calde, you know,
Richard Plantagenet. My father was
Edward, the Duke of Yorke, and son and heyre
To Edmund Langley, Edward the third's fifth

sonne.

Scroop So that it seemes your claime comes

by your wife, 25

As lawfull heyre to Roger Mortimer,

The son of Edmund, which did marry Phillip,

Daughter and heyre to Lyonell, Duke of

Clarence.
Cam. True, for this Harry and his father

both,

Harry the first, as plainely doth appeare, 3
Are false intruders and vsurp the Crowne.
For when yong Richard was at Pomfret slaine,
In him the title of prince Edward dide,
That was the eldest of king Edwards sonnes:
William, of Hatfield, and their second brother,
Death in his nonage had before bereft: 30
So that my wife, deriu'd from Lionell,
Third sonne vnto king Edward, ought proceede,
And take possession of the Diademe
Before this Harry, or his father king, 40

Who fetcht their title but from Lancaster,
Forth of that royall line. And being thus,
What reason ist but she should haue her right?
Seroope I am resolu'de our enterprise is

iust.

Gray Harry shall die, or else resigne his

crowne. 45

Chart. Performe but that, and Charles, the

king of France,

Shall ayde you, lordes, not onely with his men,

But send you money to maintaine your warres.

Fiue hundred thousand crowues he bade me

proffer, 49

If you can stop but Harries voyage for France.

Scrope We neuer had a fitter time than now,

The realme in such diuision as it is.

Camb. Besides, you must perswade ye,

there is due
Vengeance for Richards murder, which,

although

It be deferrde, yet will it fall at last, 55

And now as likely as another time.
Sinne hath had many yeeres to ripen in,
And now the haruest cannot be farre off,
Wherein the weedes of vsurpation
Are to be cropt, and cast into the fire. 60

Seroope No more, earle Cambridge; here I

plight my faith,
To set vp thee and thy renowned wife.

Gray Gray will performe the same, as he is
knight.

24 fifthl first
the fourth 31

Ff: con: Percy in M
53 yej you Q2, tic.

30 Harry

Chart. And to assist ye, as I said before,
Charters doth gage the honor of his king. 65
Seroope We lacke but now Lord Cobhams

fellowship,

And then our plot were absolute indeede.
Camb. Doubt not of him, my lord; his life's

pursu'de

By th'incensed Cleargy, and of late,
Brought in displeasure with the king, assures
He may be quickly wonne vnto our faction. 71
Who hath the articles were drawne at large
Of our whole purpose?

Gray That haue I, my Lord.
Camb. We should not now be farre off from
his house; 75

Our serious conference hath beguild the way.
See where his castle stands. Giue me the

writing.

When we are come vnto the speech of him,
Because we will not stand to make recount,
Of that which hath beene saide, here he shall
reade [enter Cob.

Our mindes at large, and what we craue of

him.
Seroope A ready way. Here comes the man

himselfe,
Booted and spurrd; it seemes he hath beene

riding.

Camb. Well met, lord Cobham.
Cobh. My lord of Cambridge? 85

Your honor is most welcome into Kent,
And all the rest of this faire company.
I am new come from London, gentle Lordes:
But will ye not take Cowling for your host,
And see what entertainement it affordes? 90
Camb. We were intended to haue beene

your guests:

But now this lucky meeting shall suffise
To end our businesse, and deferre that kind-

nesse.
Cobh. Businesse, my lord ? what businesse

should you haue

But to be mary? We haue no delicates, 95
But this He promise you: a peece of venison,
A cup of wine, and so forth hunters fare;
And if you please, weele strike the stagge our

selues

Shall fill our dishes with his wel-fed flesh.
Seroope That is, indeede, the thing we all
desire. 100

Cobh. My lordes and you shall haue your

choice with me.
Camb. Nay, but the stagge which we desire

to strike

Liues not in Cowling: if you will consent,
And goe with vs, weele bring you to a forrest,

68 life 31 94-5 should Let you to be Q ;', itc,
142

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT III, Sc. I.

Where runnes a lusty hierd; amongst the

105

which

There is a stagge superior to the rest,
A stately beast that, when his fellows runne,
He leades the race, and beates the sullen earth,
As though he scornd it, with his trampling

hoofes.

Aloft he beares bis head, and with his breast,
Like a huge bulwarke, counter -checkes the
wind: m

And when he standeth still, he stretcheth forth
His prowd ambitious necke, as if he meant
To wound the firmament with forked homes.
Cobh. Tis pitty such a goodly beast should
die. us

Camb. Not so, sir lohn, for he is tyrannous,
And gores the other deere, and will not keep
Within the limites are appointed him.
Of late hees broke into a seueral, 119

Which doth belong to me. and there he spoiles
Both corne and pasture. Twojof his wilde race,
Alike for stealth and couetous incroatching,
Already are remou'd; if he were dead,
I should not onely be secure from hurt,
But with his body make a royall feast. 125
Scroope How say you, then; will you first

hunt with vs?
Cobh. Faith, Lords, I like the pastime;

where's the place?
Camb. Peotse this writing; it will shew you

all,
And what occasion we haue for the sport.

[he reades

Cobh. Call ye this hunting, my lords? Is
this the stag 130

You faine would chase Harry our dread king?
So we may make a banquet for the diuell,
And in the steedo of wholsome meate, prepare
A dish of poison to confound our selues.
Camb. Why so, lord Cobharn? See you not
our claime? 135

And how imperiously he holdes the crowne?
Scroope Besides, you know your selfe is in

disgrace,

Held as a recreant, and pursude to death.
This will defend you from your enemies, 139
And stablish your religion through the land.
Cobh. Notorious treason! yet I will conceale

[aside

My secret thoughts, to sound the depth of it.
My lord of Cambridge, I doe see your claime,
And what good may redound vnto the land
By prosecuting of this enterprise. 145

But where are men? where's power an'd furni
ture
To order such an action? We are weake;

105 among QP, etc, 131 our most dread )1 \ 178-81 Frost Q?,

143

Harry, you know's a mighty potentate.

Camb. Tut, we are strong enough: you are

belou'de,

And many will be glad to follow you; 150
We are the like, and some will follow vs.
Besides, there is hope from France: heres an

embassador

That promiseth both men and money too.
The commons likewise (as we heare) pretend
A sodaine tumult; we wil ioyne with them. 1 55
Cobh. Some likelihoode, I must confesse, to

speede:

But how shall I beleeue this is plaine truth?
You are, my lords, such men as liue in Court,
And highly haue beenc fauour'd of the king,
Especially lord Scroope, whomc oftentimes 1 60
He maketh choice of for his bedfellow;
And you, lord Gray, are of his priuy councell:
Is not this a traine to intrappc my life?

Camb. Then perish may my soule! What,

thinke you so?

Scroope Weele sweare to you. 1 65

Gray Or take the sacrament.
Cobh. Nay, you are noble men, and I

imagine,

As you are honorable by birth and bloud,
So you will be in heart, in thought, in word.
I craue no other testimony but this: 170

That you would all subscribe, and set your

hands

Vnto this writing which you gaue to me.
Camb. With all our hearts. Who hath any

pen and inke?
Scroope My pocket should haue one: yea,

heere it is.

Camb. Giue it me, lord Scroope. There is
my name. i?5

Scroope And there is my name.
Gray And mine.
Cobh. Sir, let me craue,
That you would likewise write your name with

theirs,

For confirmation of your maisters word, 1 80
The king of Fraunce.

Char. That will I, noble Lord.
Cobh. So now this action is well knit to
gether,
And I am for you. Where's our meeting,

lords?

Camb. Here, if you please, the tenth of luly
next. 185

Cobh. In Kent? agreed: now let vs in to

supper.
I hope your honors will not away to night.

151 like Fl: light Qq
traine laide to 02, etc.
\Ff

157 is] in <?2, etc.
174 yea] ^

163
etc,

ACT III, Sc. I. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

Camb. Yes, presently; for I haue farre to

ride,

About soliciting of other friends.
Scroope And we would not be absent from
the court, J 9

Lest thereby grow suspition in the king.
Cobh. Yet taste a cup of wine before ye go.
Camb. Not now, my lord, we thanke you:
so farewell. (Exeunt all but Cobham.)
Cob. Farewell, my noble lordes. My noble

lords?

My noble villaines, base conspirators. 1 95
How can they looke his Highnesse in the face,
Whome they so closly study to betray?
But ile not sleepe vntill I make it knowne.
This head shall not be burdned with such

thoughts,

Nor in this heart will I conceale a deede 200
Of such impietie against my king.
Madam, how now?

Enter Harpoole and the rest.

Lady Cobh. You are welcome home, my Lord.
Why seeme ye so disquiet in your lookes?
What hath befalne you that disquiets your
minde? 205

Lady Po. Bad newes, I am afraide, touch
ing my husband.

Cobh. Madam, not so: there is your hus
bands pardon.

Long may ye liue, each ioy vnto the other.
Powesse So great a kindnesse as I knowe

not howe

To make reply; my sense is quite confounded.

Cobh. Let that alone: and madam, stay me

not, 211

For I must backe vnto the court againe

With all the speede I can. Harpoole, my horse.

Lady Cob. So soone, my Lord? what, will

you ride all night?

Cobham All night or day; it must be so,

sweete wife. 215

Vrge me not why or what my businesse is,

But get you in. Lord Powesse, beare with me,

And madam, thinke your welcome nere the

worse:

My house is at your vse. Harpoole, away.

Harp. Shall I attend your lordship to the

court? 220

Cobh. Yea, sir; your gelding! mount you

presently. exe(unf).

Lady Cobh. I prythee, Harpoole, looke vnto

thy Lord.
I do not like this sodaine posting backe.

193 S. D. add. E : Exit Q?, Ff 204 ye] you 31
unquiet Ff, etc. 205 disturbe's your minde 02. etc.
209-10 Prose m Qq, Ff : con: 31 210 make om. Ff

Powes Some earnest businesse is a foote

belike;

Whate're it be, pray God be his good guide. 225
Lady Po. Amen! that hath so highly vs

bested.
Lady Co. Come, madam, and my lord, weele

hope the best;

You shall not into Wales till he returne.
Powesse Though great occasion be we

should departe,

Yet madam will we stay to be resolude 230
Of this vnlookt for, doubtful accident. [Exeunt.

(SCENE II. A road near Highgate.}
Enter Murley and his men, prepared in some
filthy order for warre.

Murly. Come, my hearts of flint, modestly,
decently, soberly, and handsomly, no man
afore his Leader; follow your master, your
Captaine, your Knight that shal be, for the
honor of Meale-men, Millers, and Mault-men.
Dunne is the mowse. Dicke and Tom, for the
credite of Dunstable, ding downe the enemie
to morrow; ye shall not come into the field like
beggars. Where be Leonard and Laurence,
my two loaders? Lord haue mercie vpon vs,
what a world is this? I would giue a couple of
shillings for a dozen of good fethers for ye,
and forty pence for as many skarffes to set ye
out withaU. Frost and snow! a man has no
heart to fight till he be braue. 1 5

Dicke Master, I hope we be no babes. For
our manhood, our bucklers and our towne
foote-balls can beare witnesse: and this lite
parrell we haue shall off, and weel fight naked
afore we runne away. 20

Tom. Nay, I am of Laurence mind for that,
for he meanes to leaue his life behind him; he
and Leonard, your two loaders, are making
their wills because they haue wiues. Now we
Bachellers bid our friends scramble for our
goods if we die: but, master, pray ye, let me
ride vpon Cutte. 27

Murly Meale and salt, wheat and mault,
fire and tow, frost and snow! why, Tom, thou
shalt. Let me see: here are you, William and
George are with my cart, and Robin and Hodge
holding my owne two horses; proper men,
handsom men, tall men, true men. 33

Dicke But, master, master, me thinkes you
are a mad man to hazard your owne person
and a cart load of money too.

229-31 Prose Qq, Ff: con: K Scene II. etc. ndJ. M
16 I hope om. Q2, etc. be] are Q S. etc. 16-17 For
. . bucklers and om. Q S. <tc. 18 lite] little Q i>, dc.
20 before Q2, etc. 24 Now] and 31 35 a mad

man] mad Ff. etc.

! It

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE ACT III, Sc. III.

Tom. Yea, and, maister, theres a worse
matter in't. If it be as I heard say, we go to
fight against all the learned Bishops, that
should giue vs their blessing; and if they curse
vs, we shall speede nere the better. 41

Dicke Nay, fair lady, some say the King
takes their part; and, master, dare you fight
against the King?

Murly Fie, paltry, paltry! in and out, to
and fro, vpon occasion; if the King be so vn-
wise to come there, weele fight with him too.

Tom. What, if ye should kill the King?

Mur. Then weele make another. 49

Dicke Is that all? do ye not speake treason?

Mur. If we do, who dare trippe vs? we come
to fight for our conscience, and for honor.
Little know you what is in my bosome; looke
here, madde knaues, a paire of guilt spurres.

Tom. A paire of golden spurres? Why do
you not put them on your heeles? Your
bosome's no place for spurres. 57

Mur. Bee't more or lesse vpon occasion,
Lord haue mercy (vpon) vs, Tom, th'art a
foole, and thou speakest treason to knight
hood. Dare any weare golden or siluer spurs
til he be a knight? No, I shall be knighted to
morrow, and then they shall on. Sirs, was it
euer read in the church booke of Dunstable,
that euer mault man was made knight? 65

Tom. No, but you are more: you are meal-
man, maultman, miller, corne -master and all.

Dicke Yea, and halfe a brewer too, and the
diuell and all for wealth. You bring more
money with you, than all the rest. 70

Mur. The more's my honor. I shal be a
knight to morowl Let me spose my men:
Tom vpon cutte, Dicke vpon hobbe, Hodge
vpon Ball, Raph vpon Sorell, and Robin vpon
the forehorse. 75

Enter Acton, Bourne, and Beuerley.

Tom. Stand, who comes there?

Act. Al friends, good fellow.

Murl. Friends and fellowes, indeede, sir
Roger.

Act. Why, thus you shew your selfe a Gen
tleman, 80
To keepe your day, and come so well preparde.
Your cart stands yonder, guarded by your men,
Who tell me it is loaden well with coine.
What summe is there? 84

Mur. Ten thousand pound, sir Roger; and
modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely,
see what I haue here against I be knighted.

Act. Gilt spurs? tis well.

48 yel you M 50 ye] you M 59 mercy vs 7 :
corr.'QS' Glgold^?, etc.

Mur. But where's our armie, sir?

Act. Disperst in sundry villages about: 90
Some here with vs in Hygate, some at Finchley,
Totnam, Enfield, Edmunton, Newington,
Islington, Hogsdon, Pancredge, Kenzington;
Some neerer Thames, Ratclifte, Blackwall and

Bow;

But our chiefe strength must be the Londoners,
Which, ere the Sunne to morrow shine, 96
Will be nere fiftie thousand in the field.

Mur. Mary, God dild ye, daintie my deerel
but vpon occasion, sir Roger Acton, doth not
the King know of it, and gather his power
against vs? 101

Act. No, hee's secure at Eltham.

Mur. What do the Cleargie?

Act. Feare extreamly, yet prepare no force.

Mur. In and out, to and fro, Bullie my

boikin, we shall carry the world afore vs! I

! vow by my worshippe, when I am knighted,

! weele take the King napping, if he stand on

their part. 109

Act. This night we few in Higate will repose.
With the first cocke weele rise and arme our

selues,

To be in Ficket fielde by breake of day,
And there expect our General!.

Mur. Sir lohn Old-castle? what if he come
not? 115

Bourne Yet our action stands.
Sir Roger Acton may supply his place.

Mur. True, M(aister) Bourne, but who shall
> make me knight?

Beuer. He that hath power to be our
Generall. 120

Act. Talke not of trifles; come, let's away.
Our friends of London long till it be day.

[exeunt.

(SCENE in. A high road in Kent.}
Enter sir John of Wrootham and Dott.

Doll. By my troth, thou art as ielous a man
as Hues.

Priest Canst thou blame me, Doll? thou art
my lands, my goods, my iewels, my wealth,
my purse. None walks within xl. miles of
London, but a plies thee as truely as the parish
does the poore mans boxe. 7

Doll. I am as true to thee as the stone is in
the wal; and thou knowest well enough, sir
lohn, I was in as good doing, when I came to
thee, as any wench neede to be; and therefore

89 But om. Q2, etc. 104 They fear M 114 Sir
lohn Oldcastle add. in Ar.ton'xxrxcrli, M Scene III.
(tc. odd. M S. li. IJittr Priest and Q2, Ff 9-10
sir lohn om. QS, etc.

145

ACT III, Sc. III. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

thou hast tried me, that thou hast: by Gods
body, I wil not bs kept as I haue bin, that I
will not. r 4

Priest Doll, if this blade holde, theres not
a pedler walkes with a pack, but thou shalt as
boldly chuse of his wares, as with thy ready
mony in a Marchants shop. Weele haue as
good siluer as the King coynes any.

Doll What, is al the gold spent you tooke
the last day from the Courtier? 21

Priest Tis gone, Doll, tis flown; merely
come, merely gon: he comes a horse backe
that must pay for all. Weelo haue aa good
meate as mony can get, and as good gownes
as can be bought for gold. Be mery, wench,
the mault-man comes on munday. 27

Doll You might haue left me at Cobham,
vntil you had bin better prouided for.

Priest. No, sweet Dol, no; I do not like that.
Yond old ruffian is not for the priest: I do not
like a new cleark should come in the old bel-
frie. 33

Doll Ah, thou art a mad priest, yfaith.

Priest Come, Doll; He see thee safe at some
alehouse here at Cray, and the next sheepe that
comes shall leaue his fleece.

[exeunt.

(SCENE IV. Blackheath.)

Enter the King, Suffolke and Butler.
King (in great hast). My lord of Suffolk,

poste away for life,

And let our forces of such horse and foote,
As can be gathered vp by any meanes,
Make speedy randeuow in Tuttle fields.
It must be done this euening, my Lord; 5
This night the rebells meane to draw to head
Neere Islington, which if your speede preuent

not,

If once they should vnite their seuerall forces,
Their power is almost thought inuincible.
Away, my Lord; I will be with you soone. 10
Suf. I go, my Soueraigne, with all happie

speede. [exrt.

King Make haste, my lord of Suffolke, as

you loue vs.

Butler, poste you to London with all speede;
Commaund the Maior and shrieues, on their

alegiance,

The cittie gates be presently shut vp 15

And guarded with a strong sufficient watch,
And not a man be suffered to passe
Without a speciall warrant from our selfe.
Command the Posterne by the Tower be kept,

12-13 by Gods body] and Q 2, etc. 30 I like not
that 3, etc. 34 Ah om. Q ?, etc. 37 leaue be
hind his Q3, etc. Scene IV. etc. add. Jl

And proclamation, on the paine of death, 20
That not a citizen stirre from his doores,
Except such as the Maior and Shrieues shall

chuse
For their owne guarde and safety of their

persons.

Butler, away; haue care vnto my charge.
But. I goe, my Soueraigne. 25

King Butler!
But. My Lord.

King Goe downe by Greenewich, and com
mand a boate

At the Friers bridge attend my comming downe.
But. I will, my Lord. [exit.

King It's time, I thinke, to looke vnto
rebellion, 31

When Acton doth expect vnto his ayd
No lesse then fiftie thousand Londoners.
Well, He to Westminster in this disguise,
To heare what newes is stirring in these
brawles. 35

Enter sir lohn (and Dolt}.
Sir lohn Stand, true-man! saies a thief e.
King Stand, thief e! saies a true man. How
if a thief e?

Sir lohn Stand, thief e, too. 39

King Then, thief e or true -man, I see I must

stand. I see, how soeuer the world wagges,

the trade of theeuing yet will neuer downe.

What art thou?

sir lohn A good fellow. 44

King So am I too. I see thou dost know
me.

sir lohn. If thou be a good fellow, play the
good fellowes part: deliuer thy purse without
more adoe.

King I haue no mony. 50

sir lohn I must make you find some before

we part. If you haue no mony, you shal haue

ware: as many sound drie blows as your skin

can carrie.

King Is that the plaine truth? 55

sir lohn Sirra, no more adoe; come, come,
giue me the mony you haue. Dispatch, I can
not stand all day.

King. Wei, if thou wilt needs haue it, there
tis: iust the prouerb, one thief e robs another.
Where the diuel are all my old theeues, that
were wont to keepe this walke? Falstaffe, the
villaine, is so fat, he cannot get on's horse, but
me thinkes Poines and Peto should be stirring
here abouts. 65

S. D. Enter Priest Q 8, Ff and Doll add. M
40 true-man, I must 02, etc. 53 drie om.

Q2, etc. 61-2 that . . walke om. 3, etc. 62 tlu-J
that Q2, etc.

14G

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT IV, Sc. I.

sir lohn How much is there on't, of thy
word?

King A hundred pound in Angels, on my

word.

The time has beene I would haue done as much

For thee, if thou hadst past this way, as I haue

now. 7

sir lohn Sirra, what art thou? thou seem'st
a gentleman.

King I am no lesse; yet a poore one now,
for thou hast all my mony.

sir lohn From whence cam'st thou? 75

King From the court at E It ham.

sir lohn Art thou one of the Kings seruants?

King Yes, that I am, and one of his cham
ber. 79

sir lohn I am glad thou art no worse; thou
maist the better spare thy mony: & thinks t
thou thou mightst get a poor thief e his pardon,
if he should haue neede.

haue bin a King; he was so braue a thiefe.
But, sirra, wilt remember my pardon if neede
be? 120

King Yes, faith, will I.

sir lohn Wilt thou? well then, because thou
shalt go safe for thou mayest hap (being so
earely) be met with againe before thou come
to Southwarke if any man, when he should
bid thee good morrow, bid thee stand, say thou
but sir lohn, and he will let thee passe. 127

King Is that the word? well, then, let me
alone.

sir lohn Nay, sirra, because I thinke indeede
I shall haue some occasion to vse thee, & as
thou comst oft this way, I may light on thee
another time not knowing thee, here! ile
breake this Angell. Take thou halfe of it; this
is a token betwixt thee and me. 135

King. God haue mercy; farewell. [exit.

sir lohn my fine golden slaues! heres for

King. Yes, that I can. 84 j thee, wench, yfaith. Now, Dol, we wil reuel

sir John Wilt thou do so much for me, when ! in our bouer! this is a tyth pigge of my vica-
I shall haue occasion? j ridge. God haue mercy, neighbour Shooters

King Yes, faith will I, so it be for no hill; you paid your tyth honestly. Wei, I

murther.

sir John Nay, I am a pittifull thiefe; all the
hurt I do a man, I take but his purse; He kill
no man. 91

King Then, of my word, Ile do it.

sir John Giue me thy hand of the same.

King There tis. 94

sir John Me thinks the King should be
good to theeues, because he has bin a thiefe
himselfe, though I thinke now he be turned
true -man.

King Faith, I haue heard indeed he has had
an il name that way in his youth; but how
canst thou tell he has beene a thiefe? 101

sir John How? Because he once robde me
before I fell to the trade my selfe; when that
foule villainous guts, that led him to all that
rogery, was in's company there, that Falstaffe.

King (aside). Well, if he did rob thee then,
thou art but euen with him now, Ile be sworne.
Thou knowest not the king now, I thinke, if
thou sawest him? 109

sir John Not I, yfaith.

King (aside). So it should seeme.

heare there is a company of rebelles vp against
the King, got together in Ficket field neere
Holborne, and as it is thought here in Kent,
the King will be there to night in's owne per
son; well, ile to the Kings camp, and it shall
go hard, but, if there be any doings, lie make
some good boote amongst them. [exit.

(ACT IV.
SCENE I. A field near London. King Henry's

camp.}
Enter King Henry, Suffolke, Huntington,

and two with lights.
K. Hen. My Lords of Suffolke and of Hun-

.tington,

Who skouts it now? or who stands Sentinells?
What men of worth? what Lords do walke the

round?

Suff. May it please your Highnesse
K. Hen. Peace, no more of that. 5

The King's asleepe; wake not his maiestie
With termes nor titles; hee's at rest in bed.

sir John Well, if old King Henry had liu'de, Kings do not vse to watch themselues; they

this King that is now had made theeuing the

best trade in England.

King Why so? us

sir John Because he was the chiefe warden

of our company. It's pittie that ere he should

70 Ttco lines M, dii: nflir I 92 of] on M 93

ofl on M 97 although Ff, dc. 101 tell that he
^ S, etc. 1 1 2 uldc King Harry Q 2, etc.

sleepe,

And let rebellion and conspiracie
Reuel and hauocke in the common wealth.
Is London lookt vnto? XI

128 well om. Ff, etc. 136 God a mercy QS, etc.

139 bower conj. M : beuer Qq 140 God a mercy QS,
etc. 141 paid] ha paide ^ 2, etc. 148 boote] booty
conj. ^ Act IV. tic. udd. M

ACT IV, Sc. I. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

Hunt. It is, my Lord:
Your noble Vncla Exceter is there,
Your brother Gloucester and my Lord of War-

wicke,

Who, with the maior and the Aldermen, 1 5
Do guard the gates, and keepe good rule

within;

The Earle of Cambridge and sir Thomas Gray
Do walke the Round; Lori Scroope and

Butler skout.

So, t iouh it please your maiestie to iest,
Werj you in bed, well might you take your

rest. 20

K. Hen. I thank ye, Lords, but you do know

of old,

That I haue bin a perfect night-walker.
London, you say, is safely lookt vnto

Har. Master Parson? We play nothing but
gold.

sir lohn. And, fellow, I tel thee that the
priest hath gold. Gold? sbloud, ye are but
beggerly souldiers to me. I thinke I haue more
gold than all you three. 5 7

Hunt. It may be so, but we beleeue it
not.

Har. Set, priest, set. I passe for all that
gold.

sir lohn Ye passe, indeede.

Harry Priest, hast thou any more ? 61

sir lohn Zounds, what a question's that?
I tell thee I haue more then all you three.
At these ten Angells!

Harry. I wonder how thou comst by all
this gold; 65

Alas, poore rebels, there your ayd must faile How many benefices hast thou, priest?

And the Lord Cobham, sir lohn Old-castle, 25
Hee's quiet in Kent. Acton, ye are deceiu'd;
Reckon againe, you count without your host;
To morrow you shall giue account to vs.

sir lohn Yfaith, but one. Dost wonder how
I come by gold? I wonder rather how poore
souldiers should haue gold; for He tell thee,
good fellow: we haue euery day tythes, offer-

Til when, my friends, this long cold winters ings, christnings, weddings, burialls; and you

night

How can we spend? King Harry is a sleeps
And al his Lords, these garments tel vs so; 31
Al friends at footebal, fellowea all in field,
Harry, and Dicke, and George. Bring vs a

drumme;

poore snakes come seldome to a bootie. He
speake a prowd word: I haue but one par
sonage, Wrootham; tia better than the Bishopp-
rick of Rochester. Theres nere a hill, heath,
nor downe in all Kent, but tis in my parish:
Barrham downe, Chobham downe, Gads hill,

Giue vs square dice, weele keepc this court of ; Wrootham hill, Blacke heath, Cockes heath,

guard

For al good fellowes companies that como. 35
Wheres that mad priest ye told me was in

AXIOM,

To fight, as well as pray, if neede required?
Suff. Hees in the Camp, and if he know of

this,

I vndertake he would not be long hence.
Har. Trippe, Dicke; Trippe, George. 40
[they trjppe.

Hunt. I must haue the dice.
What do we play at? [the(y] play al dice.

Suff. Passage, if ye please.
Hunt. Set round then: so; at all.
Har. George, you are out. 45

Giue me the dice. I passe for twentie pound.
Heres to our luckie passage into France.
Hunt. Harry, you passe indeede, for you

sweepe all.

Suff. A signe king Harry shal sweep al in
France.

ent(er) sir lohn.

sir lohn Edge ye, good fellowes; take a
iresh gamster in. s ,

49 5. D. Enter Priest

Birchen wood, all pay me tythe. Gold, quoth
a? ye passe not for that. 80

Suff. Harry, ye are out; now, parson, shake
the dice.

sir lohn. Set, set; He couer ye at al. A
plague on't, I am out: the diuc-11, and dice, and
a wench, who will trust them? 85

Suff. Saist thou so, priest? Set faire; at all
for once.

Har. Out, sir; pay all.

sir lohn Sbloud, pay me angel gold.
He none of your crackt French crownes nor
pistolets. 90

Pay me faire angel gold, as I pay you.

Har. No crackt french crownes? I hope to
see more crackt french crownes ere long.

sir lohn Thou meanest of French mens
crownes, when the King is in France. 95

Hunt. Set round, at all.

sir lohn Pay all: this is some lucke.

Har. Giue me the dice, tis I must shread the

priest:
At all, sir lohn.

55 sbloud] what ?. dr. 61 thou OH?. Q i 5 , (if-

62 Zounds] more Q >. dr. 67 Faith Q ?. ftc.

ye] you .V S) : bloud] Sir Q ?, itc.
shrieve con;.

148

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE ACT IV, Sc. L.

sir lohn The diuell and all is yours. At
that! Sdeath, what casting is this? 101

Suff. Well throwne, Harry, yfaith.

Har. lie cast better yet.

sir lohn Then lie be hangd. Sirra, hast
thou not giuen thy soule to the diuell for
casting? 106

Har, I passe for all.

sir lohn Thou passest all that ere I playde

withall.
Sirra, dost thou not cogge, nor foist, nor slurre?

Har. Set, parson, set; the dice die in my

hand: no

When parson, when? what, can ye finde no

more?
Alreadie drie? wast you bragd of your store?

sir lohn Alls gone but that.

Hunt. What? halfe a broken angell?

sir lohn Why sir, tis gold.

Har. Yea, and lie couer it.

Har. Agreede! I charge ye do not boudge

a foot.

Sir lohn, haue at ye.
sir John Souldier, ware your skonce.

[Here, as they are ready to strike, enter
Butler and drawes his weapon and
steps betwixt them.

But. Hold, villaines, hold I my Lords, what
do you meane, 150

To see a traitor draw against the King?
sir lohn The King! Gods wil, I am in a

proper pickle.
Har. Butler, what newes? why dost thou

trouble vs?
But. Please it your Highnesse, it is breake

of day,

And as I skouted neere to Islington, 155

The gray ey'd morning gaue me glimmering
115 ! Of armed men comming downe Hygate hill,
Who by their course are coasting hither ward.

sir lohn. The diuell do yc good on't, I am Har. Let vs withdraw, my Lords. Prepare
blinde, yee haue blowne me vp. our Iroopes

Har. Nay, tarry, priest; ye shall not leaue To charge the rebels, if there be such cause.

vs yet.

Do not these peeces fit each other well?
sir lohn What if they do?
Har. Thereby beginnes a tale:
There was a thief e, in face much like sir lohn
But t'was not hee, that thiefe was all in

greene
Met me last day at Blacke Heath, neere the

parke, 1 25

With him a woman. I was al alone
And weaponlesse, my boy had al my tooles,
And was before prouiding me a boate.
Short tale to make, sir lohn the thiefe, I

meane

For this lewd priest, this diuellish hypocrite,
1 20 | That is a thiefe, a gamster, and what not, 1 62
Let him be hang'd vp for example sake.

sir lohn Not so my gracious soueraigne.
I confesse I am a frayle man, flesh and bloud
as other are: but, set my imperfections aside,
by this light, ye haue not a taller man, nor a
truer subiect to the Crowne and State, than sir
lohn of Wrootham.

Har. Wil a true subiect robbe his King? 1 70
sir lohn Alas, twas ignorance and want,

my gracious liege.

Har. Twas want of grace. Why, you
should be as salt

Tooke a iust hundreth pound in gold from me.
I storm'd at it, and swore to be reueng'de 13'
If ere we met. He, like a lusty thiefe,
Brake with his teeth this Angel iust in two,
To be a token at our meeting next,
Prouided I should charge no Officer 135

To apprehend him, but at weapons point
Recouer that and what he had beside.
Well met, sir lohn; betake ye to your tooles
By torch light, for, master parson, you are he

To season others with good document,
Your liues as lampes to giue the people light,
As shepheards, not as wolues to spoile the
flock. 175

Go hang him, Butler.

But. Didst thou not rob me?

sir lohn I must confesse I saw some of
your gold. But, my dread Lord, I am in no
humor for death; therefore, saue my life. God
will that sinners liue; do not you cause me die.

That had my gold. 1 40 j Once in their liues the best may goe astray, and

sir lohn Zounds, I won't in play, in faire if the world say true, your selfe (my liege) haue
square play, of the keeper of Eltham parke;
and that I will maintain e with this poore whin-

bin a thiefe.

Har. I confesse I haue, 185

yard, be you two honest men to stand and But I repent and haue reclaimd my selfe.
looke vpon's, and let's alone, and take neither ,
part.

tnam is Q2, etc.
rinttx one Hnz,

117 do] giue QS, clc. 118 yce] you Q?, etc.

ll!i yc] you Ff, etc. 138 vc] you M 145 take out.
Ff, Jt, Pope

149

150 villaine OS, clc. what d'ye Q S, Ff 154

M6 Please your Maiesty 03, etc. 166 others N J07
hv this light OHI. Q 2, d<: ye] you 31 169 Wru-

177 Tliitt 8)Kcclt added to the pn-
180 therefore .. life cm. Q2, etc,
181 wills 31 me to dye (J ?, d<:.

ACT IV, Sc. I. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

sir lohn So will I do, if you will giue me

time.
Ear. Wilt thou? My lords, will you be his

suerties?
Hunt. That when he robs agame, he shall

be hang'd.

sir lohn laskenomore. T 9

Har. And we will grant thee that.
Liue and repent, and proue an honest man,
Which when I heare, and safe returne from

France,

He giue thee liuing: till when take thy gold ;
But spend it better then at cards or wine, 1 95
For better vertues fit that coate of thine.

sir lohn Viuat Rex & currat lex! My liege,
if ye haue cause of battell, ye shal see sir lohn
of Wrootham bestirre himself in your quarrel.

[exeunt.

(SCENE II. A field of Battle near London.}
After an alarum enter Harry, Suffolk, Hunting -

ton, sir lohn, bringing forth Acton, Beuerly,

and Murley prisoners.
Har. Bring in those traitors, whose aspiring

minds

Thought to haue triumpht in our ouerthrow.
But now ye see, base villaines, what successe
Attends ill actions wrongfully attempted.
Sir Roger Acton, thou retainst the name 5
Of knight, and shouldst be more discreetly

temperd,

Than ioyne with peasants: gentry is diuine,
But thou hast made it more then popular.
Act. Pardon, my Lord; my conscience vrg'd

me to it.
Har. Thy conscience? then thy conscience

is corrupt, 10

For in thy conscience thou art bound to vs,
And in thy conscience thou shouldst loue thy

country;

Else what's the difference twixt a Christian
And the vnciuil manners of the Turke?

Beuer. We meant no hurtvnto your maiesty,

But reformation of Religion. 1 6

Har. Reforme Religion? was it that ye

sought?

I pray who gaue you that authority?
Belike, then, we do hold the scepter vp
And sit within the throne but for a cipher. 20
Time was, good subiects would make knowne

their griefe

And pray amendment, not inforce the same,
Vnlesse their King were tyrant, which I hope
You cannot iustly say that Harry is.

l'J9 of Wrootham om. Q3, elc. Scene II. etc. add.
M 17 ye] you Q S, etc.

What is that other? 25

Suff. A mault-man, my Lord,
And dwelling in Dunstable as he sales.
Har. Sirra, what made you leaue your barly

broth,
To come in armour thus against your King?

Mur. Fie, paltry, paltry; to and fro, in and
out vpon occasion; what a worlde's this!
Knight-hood (my liege) twas knight-hood
brought me hither. They told me I had wealth
enough to make my wife a lady.

Har. And so you brought those horses
which we saw, 35

Trapt all in costly furniture, and meant
To weare these spurs when you were knighted

once?

Mur. In and out vpon occasion, I did.
Har. In and out vppon occasion, therefore,
You shall be hang'd, and in the sted of wearing
These spurres vpon your heeles, about your
necke 4:

They shall bewray your folly to the world,
sir lohn In and out vpon ocasion, that goes

hard.

Mur. Fie, paltry, paltry, to and fro; good
my liege, a pardon. I am sory for my fault. 4S
Har. That comes too late: but tell me, went

there none
Beside sir Roger Acton, vpon whom
You did depend to be your gouernour?

Mur. None, none, my Lord, but sir lohn

Old-castle.
Har. Beares he part in this conspiracie? 50

enter Bishop.
Act. We lookt, my Lord, that he would meet

vs here.
Har. But did he promise you that he would

come?

Act. Such letters we receiued forth of Kent.
Bish. Where is my Lord the King? Health

to your grace.

Examining, my Lord, some of these caitiue
rebels, 55

It is a generall voyce amongst them all,
That they had neuer come vnto this place,
But to haue met their valiant general,
The good Lord Cobham, as they title him;
Whereby, my Lord, your grace may now per-
ceiue, 60

His treason is apparant, which before
He sought to colour by his flattery.

Har. Now, by my roialtie, I would haue
sworne,

39-42 Prose in Qq, Ff: con: JH 49 None once Qq,
Ff: No_ne, my good lord M 50 a part Q i", ttr.
55 caitiue om. 02, etc. 56 among 0;', itc. 57
into QS, etc.

150

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT IV, St. II.

But for his conscience, which I beare withall,

There had not liude a more true hearted sub-

iect. 65

Bisk. It is but counterfeit, my gracious

lord,

And therefore, may it please your maiestie
To set your hand vnto this precept here,
By which weel cause him forthwith to appeare,
And answer this by order of the law. 70

Har. Bishop, not only that, but take com

mission

To search, attach, imprison, and condemne
This most notorious traitor as you please.

Bish. It shall be done, my Lord, without

delay.

So now I hold, Lord Cobham, in my hand, 75
That which shall finish thy disdained life.

Har. I thinke the yron age begins but now,
(Which learned poets haue so often taught)
Wherein there is no credit to be giuen, 79
To either wordes, or lookes, or solemne oathes.
For if there were, how often hath he sworne,
How gently tun'de the musicke of his tongue,
And with what amiable face beheld he me,
When all, God knowes, was but hypocrisie.

enter Cobham.

Cob. Long life and prosperous raigne vnto

my Lord. 85

Har. Ah, villaine, canst thou wish pros-

peritie,

Whose heart includeth naught but treacherie?
I do arrest thee here my selfe, false knight,
Of treason capitall against the state.

Cob. Of treason, mightie prince? your grace
mistakes. 90

I hope it is but in the way of mirth.

Har. Thy necke shall feele it is in earnest

shortly.

Darst thou intrude into our presence, knowing
How haynously thou hast offended vs?
But this is thy accustomed deceit; 95

Now thou perceiust thy purpose is in vaine,
With some excuse or other thou wilt come,
To cleere thy selfe of this rebellion.

Cob. Rebellion, good my Lord? I know of

none.

Har. If you deny it, here is euidence. i oo
See you these men? you neuer councelled,
Nor offerd them assistance in their warres?
Cob. Speake, sirs. Not one but all; I craue

no fauour.

Haue euer I beene conuersant with you,
Or written letters to incourage you, 105

Or kindled but the least or smallest part

66 lords / 71 Bishop om. OS, etc.
ivQ2, /y BbyntoQl

81 there]

" 151

Of this your late vnnaturall rebellion?
Speake, for I dare the vttermost you can.
Mur. In and out vpon occasion, I know you

not.

Har. No? didst not say that sir lohn Old-

castle no

Was one with whom you purposde to haue

met?

Mur. True, I did say so, but in what respect?
Because I heard it was reported so.

Har. Was there no other argument but

that?

Act. To cleere my conscience ere I die, my
lord, 115

I must confesse, we haue no other ground
But only Rumor, to accuse this lord,
Which now I seo was merely fabulous.
Har. The more pernitious you to taint him

then,

Whome you knew not was faulty, yea or no. 120
Cobh. Let this, my Lord, which I present

your grace,

Speake for my loyalty: reade these articles,
And then giue sentence of my life or death.
Har. Earle Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray

corrupted

With bribes from Charles of France, either to
winne i 25

My Crowne from me, or secretly contriue
My death by treason? Is this possible?
Cobh. There is the platforme, and their

hands, my lord,

Each generally subscribed to the same. 1 29
Har Oh neuer heard of, base ingratitude!
Euen those I huggc within my bosome most
Are readiest euermore to sting my heart.
Pardon me, Cobham, I haue done thee wrong;
Heereafter I will Hue to make amends.
Is, then, their time of meeting so neere hand?
Weele meete with them, but little for their
ease, 136

If God permit. Goe, take these rebells hence;
Let them haue martiall law: but as for thee,
Friend to thy king and country, still be free.

[Exeunt.

Murl. Bo it more or lesse, what a world is

this? 14

Would I had continued still of the order of

knaues,
And neuer sought knighthood, since it costes

so deere.
Sir Roger, I may thanke you for all.

Acton Now tis too late to haue it remedied,
I prithee, Murley, doe not vrge me with it. 1 45

110 didst thou not 02, tic. 120 know was not

OS, etc. 127 Is this] 1st QS, Ff: Is it M 14;'
nds costes Qq, Ff: corr. M

ACT IV, St. II. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

Hunt. Will you away, and make no more

to do?
Marl Fy, paltry, paltry! to and fro, as

occasion serues;

If you be so hasty, take my place.
Hunt. No, good sir knight, you shall begin

in your hand. x 49

Murl. I could be glad to giue my betters

place. [ xean/ -

(SCENE IH. Kent. Court before lord Cobham' s

house.}
Enter Bishop, lord Warden, CroamertheShrieue,

Lady Cob. and attendants.
Bishop I tell ye, Lady, its not possible
But you should know where he conueiea him-

selfe,

And you haue hid him in some secret place.
Lady My Lord, beleeue me, as I haue a

soule,
I know not where my lord my husband is. 5

Bishop Go to, go to, ye are an heretike,
And will be forc'de by torture to confesse,
If faire meanes will not serue to make ye tell.

Lady My husband is a noble gentleman,
And neede not hide himself e for anie fact 10
That ere I heard of; therefore wrong him not.
Bishop Your husband is a dangerous schis-

maticke,

Traitor to God, the King, and common wealth:
And therefore, master Croamer, shrieue of

Kent,

I charge you take her to your custodie, i s
And ceaze the goods of Sir lohn Old -castle
To the Kings vse. Let her go in no more,
To fetch so much as her apparell out.
There is your warrant from his maiestie.
L. War. Good my Lord Bishop, pacific your
wrath 20

Against the Lady.

Bish. Then let her confesse
Where Old -castle her husband is conceald.

Shew him his highnesse warrant, M(aister)

Shrieue.

L. War. I am sorie for the noble gentle
man

Enter Old-castle & Harp.

Bish. Peace, he comes here; now do your
office.

Old -castle Harpoole, what businesse haue

we here in hand?

What makes the Bishop and the Shiriff e here?
(1) feare my comming home is dangerous, 36
(I) would I had not made such haste to Cobham.

Harp. Be of good cheere, my Lord: if they
be foes, weele scramble shrewdly with them:
if they be friends, they are welcome. One cf
them (my Lord Warden) is your friend; but
me thinkes my ladie weepes; I like not that.

Croo. Sir lohn Old -castle, Lord Cobham,
in the Kings maiesties name, I arrest ye of
high treason. 45

Oldca. Treason, M(aister) Croomer?

Harp. Treason, M(aister) Shrieue? sbloud,
what treason?

Oldca. Harpoole, I charge thee, stirre not,

but be quiet still. 48

Do ye arrest me, M 'aister) Shrieue, for treason?

Bish. Yea, of high treason, traitor, heretike.

Oldca. Defiance in his face that calls me so.
I am as true a loyall gentleman
Vnto his highnesse, as my prowdest enemie.
The King shall witnesse my late faithfull ser-

uice,
For safety of his sacred maiestie. 55

Bish. What thou art the kings hand shall

testifie:
Shewt him, Lord Warden.

Old. lesu defend me!
Is't possible your cunning could so temper
The princely disposition of his mind, 60

To signe the damage of a loyall subiect?
Well, the best is, it beares an antedate,
Procured by my absence, and your malice,

L. War. I dare engage mine honor and my ! But I, since that, haue shewd my selfe as true
life,

Poore gentlewoman, she is ignorant 25

And innocent of all his practises,
If any euill by him be practised.

Bish. If, my Lord Warden? nay, then I
charge you,

As any churchman that dare challenge me.
Let me be brought before his maiestie;
If he acquite me not, then do your worst.

Bish. We are not bound to do kind offices
For any traitor, schismatike, nor heretike.

Be laid forthwith, that he escape vs not. 30

The kings hand is our warrant for our workc,

7'
: (

That all the cinque Ports, whereof you are Who is departed on his way for France,

chiefe.

3< feare Q 1 : I ftare Q : } , clc. '-ft would

would Q ?, etc. 40-2 One . . like net that i.-m.
etc.

149 you., hand] eene tak't your selfe Q2, etc.
S. D. Exeunt] Between Scene II. and Scene III. H inserts
I"., 7. Scene III. etc. add. M 6 Go too, go yc
Q ?, F/: coir. It ye] you M 8 yc] you Q :', etc.

44 majesties 0111. Q 2, etc. ye] you M 46
Croomes Qq : corr. f 47 sbloud oni. ;'. etc.

48 still OHI. 03, etc. 49 ve] you M of Treas
Si She

M. Sheriffe QS, etc.

61 royall Qq, F/: con: It

ou M of Treason
Shewt] Shew l> :'. dc.

152

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE ACT IV, Sc. HI.

And at Southampton doth repose this night.
Harp. that it were the blessed will of God,
that thou and I were within twenty mile of it,
on Salisbury plaine! I would lose my head if
euer thou broughtst thy head hither againe.

[aside.

Oldca. My Lord Warden o'th cinque Ports,
& my Lord of Rochester, ye are ioynt Commis
sioners: fauor me so much,
On my expence to bring me to the king. 80
Bish. What, to Southhampton?
Oldca. Thither, my go(o)d Lord,
And if he do not cleere me of al guilt,
And all suspition of conspiracy e,
Pawning his princely warrant for my truth:
I aske no fauour, but extreamest torture. 86
Bring me, or send me to him, good my

Lord:

Good my Lord Warden, M(aister) Shrieue,
entreate.

[Here the Lord Warden, and Cromer
vncouer to the Bishop, and secretly
whispers with him.
Come hither, lady nay, sweet wife, for-

beare

To heape one sorrow on anothers necke: 90
Tis grief e enough falsly to be accusde,
And not permitted to acquite my selfe;
Do not thou with thy kind respectiue teares,
Torment thy husbands heart that bleedes for

thee,

But be of comfort. God hath help in store 95
For those that put assured trust in him.
Deere wife, if they commit me to the Tower,
Come vp to London to your sisters house:
That being neere me, you may comfort me.
One solace find I setled in my soule, xoo

That I am free from treasons very thought:
Only my conscience for the Gospels sako
Is cause of all the troubles I sustaine.

Lady. my deere Lord, what shall betide
of vs? 104

You to the Tower, and I turnd out of doores,
Our substance ceaz'd vnto his highnesse vse,
Euen to the garments longing to our backes.
Harp. Patience, good madame, things at

worst will mend,

And if they doe not, yet our Hues may end.
Bish. Vrge it no more, for if an Angell
spake, 1 1 o

I sweare by sweet saint Peters blessed keyes,
First goes he to the Tower, then to the stake.
Crom. But by your leaue, this warrant doth
not stretch

73 that.. God om. Q2, dr. 74 miles Q :'. dr.

76 euer om. <?, etc. 78 my om. QS, etc. ,S. />.
They both entreat for him Q2, etc.

To imprison her.

Bishop No, turne her out of doores, 115
[L. Warden and Oldcastle whisper.
Euen as she is, and leade him to the Tower,
With guard enough for f eare of rescuing.
Lady 0, God requite thee, thou bloud-

thirsty man.

Oldca. May it not be, my Lord of Rochester?
Wherein haue I incurd your hate so farre, 1 20
That my appeale vnto the King's denide?
Bish. No hate of mine, but power of holy

church,
Forbids all fauor to false heretikes.

Oldca. Your priuate malice, more than
pub like power, 124

Strikes most at me, but with my life it ends.
Harp. that I had the Bishop in that f eare,

[aside.

That once I had his Sumner by our seluesl
Crom. My Lord, yet graunt one sute vnto

vs all,
That this same auncient seruing man may

waite
Vpon my lord his master in the Tower. 1 30

Bish. This old iniquitie, this heretike?
That, in contempt of our church discipline,
Compeld my Sumner to deuoure his processe!
Old Ruffian past -grace, vpstart schismatike,
Had not the King prayd vs to pardon ye, 135
Ye had fryed for it, ye grizild heretike.

Harp. Sbloud, my lord Bishop, ye do me
wrong. I am neither heretike nor puritane,
but of the old church: ilo sweare, drinke ale,
kisse a wench, go to masse, eate fish all Lent,
and fast fridaies with cakes and wine, fruit e
and spicerie, shriue me of my old sinnes afore
Easter, and beginne new afore whitsontide.
Crom. A merie, mad, conceited knaue, my

lord.

Harp. That knaue was simply put vpon

the Bishop. 145

Bish. Wei, God forgiue him and I pardon

him.

Let him attend his master in the Tower,
For I in charity wish his soule no hurt.
Oldca. God blesse my soule from such cold

charitie!

Bish. Too'th Tower with him, and when
my leisure serues, 150

I will examine him of Articles.
Looke, my lord Warden, as you haue in

charge,

The Shriuo performe his office.
L. Ward. Yes, my lord.

115,?. D. om. QS,ctc.
ye wrong me QS, etc.
Q2,Ff: Ay/?, etc.

153

1 36 You. .you M 137-8
137 ye] you // 154 Yes] I

ACT IV, St. III. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

Enter the Sumner with bookes.
Bish. Whatbringst thou there? what, bookes
ofheresie? '55

Som. Yea, my lord, heres not a latme

Lief ten. My lord of Rochester! your honor's
welcome. 20

Bish. Sir,' heres my warrant from the Coun -
sell,

booke no, not so much as our ladies Psalter, j For conference with sir lohn Old-castle,
Heres 'the 'Bible, the testament, the Psalmes in j Vpon some matter of great consequence,
meter, the sickemans salue, the treasure of
gladnesse, and al in English, not so much but
the Almanack's English. '61

Bish. Away with them, to'th fire with them,

Clun!

Now fie vpon these vpstart heretikes.
Al English! burne them, burne them quickly,
Clun! '64

Harp. But doe not, Sumner, as youle
answere it, for I haue there English bookes,
my lord, that ile not part with for yourBishopp-
ricke: Beuis of Hampton, Owleglasse, the
Frier and the Boy, Ellenor Rumming, Robin
hood, and other such godly stories, which if ye
burne, by this flesh, ile make ye drink their
ashes in S(aint) Margets ale. [exeunt.

Lieften. Ho, sir lohn!

Harp. Who calls there? 25

Lieften. Harpoole, tel Sir lohn, that my

lord of Rochester

Comes from the counsell to conferre with him.
Harp. I will, sir.
Lief. I thinke you may as safe without sus-

pition,

As any man in England, as I heare, 30

For it was you most labor'd his commitment.
Bish. I did, sir, and nothing repent it, I
assure you.

(SCENE IV. The entrance of the Tower.}

Enter the Bishop of Rochester with his men in
liuerie coates.

1. Ser. Is it 'your honors pleasure we shal

stay,
Or come backe in the afternoone to fetch

you?
Bish. Now you haue brought me heere into

the Tower,

You may go backe vnto the Porter.? Lodge,
And send for drinke or such things as you

want,

Where if I haue occasion to imploy you,
lie send some officer to cal you to me.
Into the cittie go not, I commaund you:
Perhaps I may haue present neede to vse

you.

2 We will attend your worship here without.
Bish. Do so, I pray you. 1 1

3 Come, we may haue a quart of wine at

the Rose at Barking, I warrant you, and come
backe an hower before he be ready to go.
1 We must hie vs then.

Enter sir lohn Old-castle (and Harpoot).

M aister) Lieftenant, I pray you giue vs leaue,
I must conferre here with sir lohn a little.

Lief. With all my heart, my lord. 35

Harp (aside). My lord, be rulde by me: take
this occasion while tis offered, and on my life
your lordship shal escape.

Old-ca. No more, I say; peace, lest he should
suspect it. 39

Bish. Sir lohn, I am come vnto you from
the lords of his highnesse most honorable
counsell, to know if yet you do recant your
errors, conforming you vnto the holy church.

Old-ca. My lord of Rochester, on good

aduise,

I see my error, but yet, vnderstand me, 45
5 I meane not error in the faith I hold,
But error in submitting to your pleasure;
Therefore, your lordship, without more to do,
Must be a meanes to help me to escape.

Bish. What meanes, thou heretike? 50
Darst thou but lift thy hand against my calling?

sir lohn No, not to hurt you for a thousand
pound.

Harp. Nothing but to borrow your vpper

3 Let's away.

Bish. Ho, M(aister) Lieftenant.
Lieften. Who calls there?
Bish. A friend of yours.

15
[exeunt.

150-61 Yer. e
no not ?, etc.

160 and om. Q S, etc. All English,
167 with] withal Q9, etc. 169
Ellen ot #7, Ff: con: M Fcenc IV. etc. mil. .If

Act Vlfijins hire in S 5 om. 02, etc. 10 worship]
honoi- <j 2, etc. 11 om. Q?, etc. 13 I warrant you
cm. Q '-, etc. 14 lefore he'l go (J?, etc.

garments a little; not a word more, for if you
do, you die: peace, for waking the children.
There; put them on; dispatch, my lord. The
window that goes out into the leads is sure
enough, I told you that before: there, make

28 om. OS, etc. S. D. and Harpool atlil. R 36-8
Verse Jtf 38 shal] wil Q 2, etc. 40 vnto] to Q ?,
dr. 41-2 of the Counsell Q2, rfr. 4_> vet ot.

Q?, etc. 43 conforming. . church nm. OS, itc.

54-5 for if. . die om. Q ?, etc. 58-60 I told you . .

roome] and as for you, Ile bind you surely in the
inner roome QS: as for you, etc. Ff, M, etc, : but
for you. etc. I{, Pope

154

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHX OLDCASTLE

ACT IV, Sc. IV.

you ready; ile conuay him after, and bind him

surely in the inner roome. 60

(Carries (he bishop into the Tower, and

returns.}
Old-ca. This is wel begun; God send vs

happic speed,

Hard shift you see men make in time of need.
Harpoole.

(Puts on the bishop's cloak.'
Harp. Heere my Lord; come, cor&e away.

Enter seruing men againe.

1 I maruell that my lord should stay so
long.

2 He hath sent to seeke vs, I dare lay my
life. 65

3 We come in good time; see, where he is
comming.

Harp. I beseech you, good my lord of
Rochester, be fauorable to my lord and maister.

Old-ca. The inner roomes be very hot and

close,
I do not like this ayre here in the Tower. 70

Harp. His case is hard my lord. You shall
safely get out of the Tower; but I will downe
vpon them, in which time get you away.

Old-ca. Fellow, thou troublest me. 74

Harp. Heare me, my Lord! Hard vnder
Islington wait you my comming ; I will bring my
Lady, ready with horses to conuay you hence.

Old-ca. Fellow, go back againe vnto thy
Lord and counsell-him. 79

Harp. Nay, my good lord of Rochester, ile
bring you to S s aint; Albons through the woods,
I warrant you.

Old-ca. Villaine, away. 83

Harp. Nay, since I am past the Towers
libertie, thou part'st not so. [he drawes.

Old-ca. Clubbes, clubs, clubs!

1 Murther, murther, murther!

2 Downe with him! [they fight.

3 A villaine traitor!

Harp. You cowardly rogues! 90

[sir John escapes.

Enter Lief tenant and his men.
Lieft. Who is so bold as dare to draw a

sword,

So neare vnto the entrance of the Tower?
1 This ruffian, seruant to sir lohn Old-
castle,

60, 62 5. 7). fi. ,i(]<L M r>_>-3 Harpoole . . come away
<im. Q2. etc. 1-2 safely] scarcely M 74-5 Old-ca".
. .my Lord om. Q2, ftc. 77 to get lience 02, etc.

85 you part Q ?. etc. 86 Prtfr Bish. Qq, Ff:

Cob. R 89 oi. Q2. dr. 00 You] Out you Q ?.

(I,-. f-1 as to clnre Ff : t- dart- /.'. <'c. ' '.13-4

J'i^( Qf. Ft': rrn-r. M

Was like to haue slaine my Lord.

Lieft. Lay hold on him. 95

Harp. Stand off if you loue your puddings.

Rochester calls within.
Roch (within). Help, help, help! M(aister)
Lieftenant, help!

Lief. Who's that within? some treason in

the Tower

Vpon my life. Looke in; who's that which
calls? zoo

enter Roch. bound.
Lief. Without your cloke, my lord of

Rochester?
Harp. There, now it workes, then let me

speed, for now

Is the fittest time for me to scape away. [exit.
Lief. Why do you looke so ghastly and

affrighted?

Roch. Old -castle, that traitor, and his
man, 105

When you had left me to conferre with him,
Tooke, bound, and stript me, as you see,
And left me lying in his inner chamber,
And so departed, and I
Lief. And you? ne're say that the Lord
Cobhams man no

Did here set vpon you like to murther you.

1 And so he did.

Roch. It was vpon his master then he

did,

That in the brawle the traitor might escape.
Lief. Where is this Harpoole? 115

2 Here he was euen now.
Lief. Where? can you tell?
(2) They are both escap'd.

(Lie/.) Since it so happens that he is

escap'de,

I am glad you are a witnesse of the same, 1 20
It might haue else beene laid vnto my

charge,

That I had beene consenting to the fact.
Roch. Come, search shal be made for him

with expedition,

The hauens laid that he shall not escape,
And hue and crie continue thorough Eng
land, 1 25
To find this damned, dangerous heretike.

[exeunt.

99-100 Prone Qq. Ff: con: M 100 Vpon] on Q ?
Ff 102-3 Frost Q 1 102 now I see it M 103 for
me om. Q 2, etc. 108 his] this Ff 109 and I ginn
to 1 Scr. M 110 you ? ne're] you now M 111

vpon] on Q2, f/c. 117 Where fled, can M 118
They .. escap'd ginn to lief. Qq, Ff: alteration conj.
S'. V_>3-6 Jm Qq. Ff: rnrr. R 124 Haven's

Ff. dr. 125 through Q ?. //: throughout J/,

An V, Sc. I. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

(ACT V.

are *bl e * d much, 35

, . . And silent night is Treason's fittest friend.
SCENE I. A room in lord Cobham s house in Now> Cambridge) in hig getting hence for

Kent.) France,

Enter Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray, as in a Q T ^ y t ne way, or as he goes aboord,
chamber, and set downe at a table, consult- f ,j o the deed, that was indifferent too,
ing about their treason: King Harry and Ye t somewhat doubtful, might I speake my
Suffolke listning at the doore. mind, 40

Comb. In mine opinion, Scroope hath well For many reasons needelesse now to vrge.

aduisde ; Mary, Lord Gray came something neare the

Poison will be the only aptest meane,
And fittest for our purpose to dispatch him.
Gray But yet there may be doubt in their
deliuery. 4

Harry is wise; therefore, Earle of Cambridge,
I ludge that way not so conuenient.

Scroop What thinke ye then of this? I am

his bedfellow,

And vnsuspected nightly sleepe with him.
What if I venture in those silent houres,
When sleepe hath sealed vp all mortall eies, 10
To murder him in bed? how like ye that?
Comb. Herein consistes no safetie for your

selfe,

And, you disclosde, what shall become of vs?
But this day (as ye know) he will aboord
The winds so faire and set away for France.
If, as he goes, or entring in the ship, 1 6

It might be done, then it were excellent.
Gray Why any of these, or, if you will, He

cause

A present sitting of the Councell, wherein
I will pretend some matter of such weight, 20
As needes must haue his royall company,
And so dispatch him in the Councell chamber.
Camb. Tush, yet I heare not any thing to

purpose.

I wonder that lord Cobham staies so long;
His counsell in this case would much auaile vs.
[They rise from the table, and the King
steps in to them, with his Lordes.
Scroop What, shal we rise thus, and deter
mine nothing? 26
Har. That were a shame indeede; no, sit

againe,

And you shall haue my counsell in this case.
If you can find no way to kill this King,
Then you shall see how I can further ye: 30
Scroopes way by poison was indifferent,
But yet, being bed-fellow vnto the King,
And vnsuspected sleeping in his bosome,
In mine opinion, that's the likelier way,

Act V. etc. add. M Ad 1", Sc. IfoUoirx IV. IIS

4 their] the M 5 and therefore R 15 wind 7
17 then were it Q 3, elf. 18, 19 Linen end will,
Councell Qq, Ff: con: M 22 so OS, c'c. : to 01
the] his Q S. etc. 29 this] the OS, etc. :?0 further]
furnish Ff, etc.

point:

To haue the King at councell, and there mur
der him,

As Caesar was, amongst his dearest friends:
None like to that, if all were of his mind. 45
Tell me, oh tel me, you, bright honors

ye] you J/ 32 vnto] to Q 3, etc. '

staines,

For which of all my kindnesses to you,
Are ye become thus traitors to your king,
And France must haue the spoile of Harries

life?

All. Oh pardon vs, dread lord. 50

[all kneeling.

Har. How, pardon ye? that were a sinne

indeed.

Drag them to death, which iustly they deserue,
\they leade them away.
And France shall dearely buy this villany,
So soone as we set footing on her breast.
God haue the praise for our deliuerance; 55
And next, our thankes, Lord Cobham, is to

thee,
True perfect mirror of nobilitie. [exeunt.

(SCENE II. A high road near St. Albans.)
Enter Priest and Doll.

sir lohn Come, Dol, come; be mery, wench.
Farewell, Kent, we are not for thee. .
Be lusty, my lasse, come, for Lancashire,
We must nip the Boung for these crownes.

Doll Why, is all the gold spent already that
you had the other day? 6

sir lohn Gone, Doll, gone; flowne, spent,
vanished: the diuel, drinke and the dice has
deuoured all.

Doll You might haue left me in Kent, that
you might, vntil you had bin better prouided,
I could haue staied at Cobham. 1 2

sir lohn No, Dol, no, ile none of that;
Kent's too hot, Doll, Kent's too hot. The
weathercocke of Wrotham will crow no longer:

40 Yet] But Q S. etc. 40-1 miplit I . . vrge om. Q S,
etc. 42 something] verie Q2,etc. 45o;. Q ;'. </<:
57 S. I), exeunt] The fullniriitf/scnirs hare, ban tUtptHCtt
in QIJ, Ff, the order be/tin : 4-7. i*. .?. 8: con: R
Scene IT. cfr. nrfd. M 10-11 Kent till QS, etc. 12
I . . Cobham oin. Q S, etc. 13 ile . . that om.Q?, c/c.

156

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHN OLDCASTLE

ACT V, Sc. III.

we haue pluckt him, he has lost his leathers;
I haue prunde him bare, left him thrice; is
moulted, is moulted, wench.

Doll Faith, sir lohn, I might haue gone to
seruice againe; old maister Harpoole told me
he would prouide me a mistris. 21

sir lohn Peace, Doll, peace. Come, mad
wench, He make thee an honest woman; weele
into Lancashire to our friends: the troth is, He
marry thee. We want but a little mony to
buy vs a horse, and to spend by the way; the
next sheep that comes shal loose his fleece,
weele haue these crownes, wench, I warrant
thee. 29

enter the Irish man with his master slaine.

Stay, who comes here? some Irish vil-

laine, me thinkes, that has slaine a man, and

drawes him out of the way to rifle him. Stand

close, Doll, weele see the end. 33

[The Irish man falls to rifle his master.

(Irishman.) Alas, poe mester, S(ir) Rishard
Lee, be saint Patricke is rob and cut thy trote
for dee shaine, and dy money, and dee gold
ring be me truly: is loue thee wel, but now
dow be kil, thee bee shit ten kanaue.

sir lohn. Stand, sirra; what art thou?

Irishman. Be saint Patricke, mester, is pore
Irisman, is a leufter. 41

sir lohn Sirra, sirra, you are a damned
rogue; you haue killed a man here, and rifled
him of all that he has. Sbloud, you rogue,
deliuer, or ile not leaue you so much as an
Irish haire aboue your shoulders, you whorson
Irish dogge. Sirra, vntrusse presently; come,
off and dispatch, or by this crosse ile fetch your
head off as cleane as a barke. 49

Irishman. Wees me, saint Patricke 1 Ise
kill me mester for chaine and his ring, and
nows be rob of all: mees vndoo.

[Priest robs him.

sir lohn Auant, you rascal! Go, sirra, be
walking. Come, Doll, the diuel laughes, when
one theefe robs another: come, madde wench,
weele to saint Albons, and reuel in our bower;
hey, my braue girle. 57

Doll. O thou art old sir lohn when all's done,
yfaith. (Exeunt.)

17 prun'd him, left him bare thrice roni. St. 17-
18 is . . is] he is . . lie is M 19 Faith, sir lohn om.
Q 3, etc. 25-7 to buy . . fleece om. Q 3, etc. 28

weele . . wench] & money we will haue Q3, etc.
31-2 and drawes . . rifle him] and nowe is rifling on
him Q 3 : and now he is, etc. Ff 36 dee gold] dy
golde 3, etc. 37 dee well Q 3, etc. 38 kil dee Q 2.
Ff: kill, dow M 46 Irish om. Q3, tic. 47-9

Sirra . . barke om. Q3, etc. 50 by saint J/ 51

for his shain M 52 now 1 se M 57 hey om.

Q3, etc. S. D. add. K

(SCENE III. St. Albans. The entrance of a
carrier's inn.)

Enter the hoste of the Bell with the Irish man.

Irishman Be me tro, mester, is pore Irisman,
is want Judging, is haue no mony, is starue
and cold: good mester, giue her some meate;
is famise and tie. 4

Host Yfaith, my fellow, I haue no lodging,
but what I keep for my guesse, that I may not
disapoint; as for meate thou. shalt haue such
as there is, & if thou wilt lie in the barne,
theres faire straw, and roome enough. 9

Irishman Is thanke my mester hartily, de
straw is good bed for me.

Host Ho, Robin!

Robin Who calls? 13

Host Shew this poore Irishman into the
barne; go, sirra. [exeunt.

Enter carrier and Kate.

Club. Ho, who's within here? who lookes
to the horses? Gods hatte! heres fine worke:
the hens in the manger, and the hogs in the
litter. A bots found you all; heres a house
well lookt too, yvaith. 20

Kate Mas, goffe Club, Ise very cawd.

Club. Get in, Kate, get in to fier and warme
thee.

Club Ho! lohn Hostler.

(Enter Hostler.)

Hostler What, gaffer Club? welcome to
saint Albons. How does all our friends in
Lancashire? 27

Club Well, God haue mercie, lohn; how
does Tom; wheres he?

Hostler O, Tom is gone from hence; hees
at the three horse -loues at Stony -stratford.
How does old Dick Dunne? 32

Club Gods hatte, old Dunne has bin moyerd
in a slough in Brickhil-lane, a plague found it;
yonder is such abliomination weather as neuer
was seene.

Hostler. Gods hat, thiefe, haue one half
pecke of pease and oates more for that: as I am
lohn Ostler, hee has been euer as good a iade
as euer traueld. 4

Club Faith, well said, old lacke; thou art
the old lad stil.

Scene III. etc. add. M 5 Faith fellow Q3, etc.
6 Guests F3, etc. 6-7 that . . disapoint om. Q 3,

etc. 7 such] as much Q3, etc. 10-11 de straw . .
me om. 03, etc. 14 into] to 03, etc. 16 Ho om.

83, etc. 17 Yds hat 03, Ff: Uds heart M 24
o om. 03, etc. 28 God a mercy Q 3, etc. 30

O om. Q3, etc. 33, 37 Yds hat Q3, Ff: Uds heart
31 35 as was neuer Q 3, etc.

157

ACT V, Sc. III. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

Hostler Come, Gaffer Club, vnlode, vnlode,
and get to supper, and He rub dunne the while.
Come. [exeunt.

(SCENE IV. The same. A room in the carrier's
inn.}

Enter the hoste, sir lohn Old-castle, and
Harpoole.

Hoste Sir, you are welcome to this house,
to such as heere is with all my heart, but, by |
the masse, I feare your lodging wilbe the j
woorst. I haue but two beds, and they are
both in a chamber, and the carier and his
daughter lies in the one, and you and your
wife must lie in the other. 7

L. Cobh. In faith, sir, for my selfe I doe not

greatly passe.

My wife is weary, and would be at rest,
For we haue traueld very far to day; 10

We must be content with such as you haue.

Hoste But I cannot tell how to doe with
your man.

Harpoole What, hast thou neuer an empty
roome in thy house for me? 1 5

Hoste Not a bedde, by my troth: there came
a poore Irish man, and I lodgde him in the
barne, where he has faire straw, though he
haue nothing else.

Harp. Well; mine hoste, I pray thee heipe
mee to a payre of faire sheetes, and lie go
lodge with him. 2 2

Hoste By the masse, that thou shalt; a good
payre of hempen sheetes, were neuer laine in:
Come. [exeunt.

(SCENE V. The same. A street.}
Enter Constable, Maior, and Watch.
Maior What? haue you searcht the towne?
Const. All the towne, sir; we haue not left
a house vnsearcht that vses to lodge.

Maior Surely, my lord of Rochester was

then deoeiude,

Or ill informde of sir lohn Old -castle, 5

Or if he came this way hees past the towne.
He could not else haue scapt you in the

search.
Const. The priuy watch hath beene abroad

all night,

And not a stranger lodgeth in the towne
But he is knowne: onely a lusty priest 10

44-5 and He. . Come om. Q2, etc. Scene IV. etc.
add. M 1 Sir, y'are 02, Ff 2 is heere 02, etc.
2-3 by the masse oi. 02, etc. 8 Faith 02, etc.

1-2 how] what 31 16 in troth Q2, etc. 18 al

though Q 2, etc. prethee Q 2 : pry thee Ff, etc.

21 faire] cleane QS, etc. Scene V. tic. add. 31

We found in bed with a pretty wench,

That sayes she is his wife yonder at the

sheer es:
But we haue chargde the hoste with his forth

comming
To morow morning.

Maior What thinke you best to do? 15
Const. Faith, maister maior, heeres a few
stragling houses beyond the bridge, and a little
Inne where cariers vse to lodge, though I
thinke surely he would nere lodge there: but
weele go search, & the rather, because there
came notice to the towne the last night of an
Irish man, that had done a murder, whome
we are to make search for. 23

Maior Come, I pray you, and be circum
spect, [exeunt,

(SCENE VI. The same. Before the Carrier's
inn. Enter Watch.}

1 Watch. First beset the house, before you
begin the search.

2 Watch. Content; euery man take a seuerall
place. [heere is heard a great noyse within.
Keepe, keepe, strike him downe there, downe

with him. 5

Enter Constable with the Irish man in Har-
pooles apparell.

Con. Come, you villainous heretique, con-
fesse where your maister is.

Irish man Vat mester?

Maior Vat mester, you counterfeit rebell?
this shall not serue your turne. i o

Irish man Be sent Patrike I ha no mester.

Con. Wheres the lord Cobham, sir lohn
Old-castle, that lately is escaped out of the
Tower.

Irish man. Vat lort Cobham? 15

Maior You counterfeit, this shal not serue
you; weele torture you, weele make you to
confesse where that arch -heretique, Lord Cob-
ham, is: come, binde him fast.

Irish man Ahone, ah one, ahone, a Cree! 20

Con. Ahone, you crafty rascall! [exeunt.

(SCENE VH. The same. The yard of the Inn.)
Lord Cobham comes out in his gowne stealing.

Cobh. Harpoole, Harpoole, I heare a mar-
uelous noyse about the house: God warant vs,
I feare wee are pursued: what, Harpoole.

11 a young pretty Jtf 18 although Q 2. dr. 24
Come] Come, then J/ Scene VI. dc. add. M 1
Prefix Const. Qq, Ff: allfnd M 3 Prefix Officer Qq,
Ff: a! tend M G^7 confesse] tell vs, <?'i>, etc. 13 is

om. Q 2, etc. 18-19 Lord Cobham om. Q 2, itc. Scene
VII. tic. add. J/ 1-3 IVm -V, </iV. after noise. leaiv

158

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHX OLDCASTLE

ACT V, Sc. VII.

Harp, within. Who calles there?

Cobh. Tis I; dost thou not heare a noyse
about the house? . 6

Harp. Yes, mary , doe I : zwounds, I can not

finde my hose; this Irish rascall that was lodgde

with me all night hath stolne my apparell,

and has left me nothing but a lowsie mantle,

and a paire of broags. Get vp, get vp, and if

the carier and his wench be asleep, change you

with them as he hath done with me, and see

if we can escape. (Exit lord Cobham.}

[A noyse againe heard about the house,

a pretty while; then enter the Constable,

meeting Harpoole in the Irish mans

apparrell.

Con. Stand close, heere comes the Irish
man that didde the murther; by all tokens, this
is he. 17

Maior And perceiuing the house beset,
would get away. Stand, sirra.

Harp. What art thou that bidst me stand?

Con. I am the Officer, and am come to
search for an Irish man, such a viUaine as thy
selfe, that hast murthered a man this last
night by the hie way. 24

Harp. Sbloud, Constable, art thou madde?
am I an Irish man?

Maior Sirra, weele finde you an Irish man
before we part: lay hold vpon him.

Con. Make him fast. thou bloudy rogue!

Enter Lord Cobham and his lady in the carrier

and wenches apparrell.
Cobham What, will these Ostlers sleepe all
day? 30

Good morow, good morow. Come, wench,

come.
Saddle! saddle! Now afore God too fair dayes,

ha?

Con. Who comes there?
Maior Oh, tis Lankashire carier; let him
passe. 35

Cobham What, will no body open the gates

here?

Come, lets int stable to looke to our capons.
(Exeunt Cobham and his Lady.}
The carrier calling.

Club (calling) Hoste! why ostler! zwookes,
heres such a bomination company of boies.
A pox of this pigstie at the house end; it filles
all the house full of fleas. Ostler! ostler! 41

7-14 Verse M, Air. after find, me, and, mantle, and
if, asleep, me 14 S. D. add. M Scene VIII. The

same add. M 32 foord-dayes Q 1 : farre-dayes Q 3 : T ... ____ . .

eon: Ff 33 comes] goes QS, dr. 34 liim] them ! 73-4 now . . too too om. Q2, etc. 77-92 Verse

Ff, etc. 36 ope QS, etc. 37 capuls COH>. Percy \ 80 haue] they have M 83 villaine om. Q2, etc.

(Enter Ostler.}

Ostler Who calles there? what would you
haue?

Club Zwookes, do you robbe your ghests?
doe you lodge rogues and slaues, and scoun
drels, ha? they ha stolne our cloths here: why,
ostler! 47

Ostler A murrein choake you, what a bawl
ing you keepe.

(Enter Host.}

Hoste How now, what woulde the carrier
haue? looke vp there. 51

Ostler They say that the man and woman
that lay by them haue stolne their clothes.

Hoste What, are the strange folkes vp yet
that came in yester night?

Const. What, mine hoste, vp so early? 56

Hoste What, maister Maior, and maister
Constable!

Maior We are come to seeke for some sus
pected persons,

And such as heere we found, haue appre
hended. 60

Enter the Carrier and Kate in lord Cobham
and ladies apparell.

Con. Who comes heere?

Club Who comes here? a plague found ome!
you bawle, quoth a! ods hat, He forzweare your
house: you lodgde a fellow and his wife by \s
that ha runne away with our parrel, and left
vs such gew-gawes here! Come Kate, come
to mee, thowse dizeard, yfaith. 67

Maior Mine hoste, know you this man?

Hoste Yes, maister Maior, He giue my word
for him. Why, neibor Club, how comes this
geare about? 71

Kate Now, a fowle ont, I can not make this
gew-gaw stand on my head: now the lads and
the lasses won flowt me too too

Const. How came this man and woman
thus attired? 76

Hoste Here came a man and woman hither
this last night, which I did take for substantial!
people, and lodgde all in one chamber by these
folkes, mee thinkes, haue beene so bolde to
change apparell, and gone away this morning
ere they rose. 82

Maior That was that villaine traitour, Old-
castle, that thus escaped vs: make out huy and
cry yet after him, keepe fast that traiterous

41, 49 S. D. D. add. M 44-7 Verse Q S, etc., dir.

after guests, ha 52 that om. Ff and the woman
() 3, etc. 54 yet om. J/ 63 foreweare Q 3, Ff

TO A *-.iir 4-nn 4-f\r* >, fl O f4n T7_Q-> Vavon ,!/

S. 1). add. R

\ 84 out om. Q?, (tc.
159

AcrV.Sc. VII. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

rebell, his seruant, there: farewell, mine
hoste.

Carter Come, Kate Owdham, thou and Ise
trimly dizard. 8 9

Kate Ifaith, neame Club, Ise wot nere what
to do, Ise be so flowted and so showted at: but
byth messe Ise cry. [exeunt.

(SCENE VIII. A wood near St. Albans.}
Enter sir lohn Old-castle, and his Lady

disguisde.
Oldca. Come, Madam, happily escapt; here

let vs sit.

This place is f arre remote from any path,
And here awhile our weary limbs may rest,
To take refreshing, free from the pursuite
Of enuious Rochester. 5

Lady But where, my Lord,
Shall we find rest for our disquiet minds?
There dwell vntamed thoughts that hardly

stoupe,

To such abasement of disdained rags.
We were not wont to trauell thus by night, 10
Especially on foote.

Oldca. No matter, loue;
Extremities admit no better choice,
And were it not for thee, say froward time
Imposde a greater taske, I would esteeme it 1 5
As lightly as the wind that blowes vpon vs;
But in thy sufferance I am doubly taskt.
Thou wast not wont to haue the earth thy

stoole,

Nor the moist dewy grasse thy pillow, nor
Thy chamber to be the wide horrison. 20
Lady How can it seeme a trouble, hauing

you

A partner with me in the worst I feele?
No, gentle Lord, your presence would giue

ease

To death it selfe, should he now seaze vpon me.
Behold what my foresight hath vndertane 25
[heres bread and cheese & a bottle.
For feare we faint; they are but homely cates,
Yet saucde with hunger, they may seeme as

sweete

As greater dainties we were wont to taste.
Oldca. Praise be to him whose plentie sends

both this

And all things else our mortall bodies need; 30
Nor scorne we this poore feeding, nor the state
We now are in, for what is it on earth,
Nay, vnder heauen, continues at a stay?
Ebbes not the sea, when it hath ouerflowne?
Followes not darknes when the day is gone? 35

Scene Vllf. etc.] Scene IX. etc. M 5 Winchester
1 35 Flowes Q 1 : con: Q 2

And see we not sometime the eie of heauen
Dimmd with ouerflying clowdes: theres not

that worke

Of carefull nature, or of cunning art,
(How strong, how beauteous, or how rich it

be)
But falls in time to ruine. Here, gentle

Madame, 40

In this one draught I wash my sorrow downe.

[drinkes.
Lady And I, incoragde with your cheere-

full speech,
Wil do the like.

Oldca. Pray God poore Harpoole come.
If he should fall into the Bishops hands, 45
Or not remember where we bade him meete vs,
It were the thing of all things else, that now
Could breede reuolt in this new peace of mind.
Lady Feare not, my Lord, hees witty to

deuise,

And strong to execute a present shift. 50

Oldca. That power be stil his guide hath

guided vs!

My drowsie eies waxe heauy: earely rising,
Together with the trauell we haue had,
Make me that I could gladly take a nap,
Were I perswaded we might be secure. 55
Lady Let that depend on me: whilst you

do sleepe,

He watch that no misfortune happen vs.
Lay then your head vpon my lap, sweete Lord,
And boldly take your rest.

Oldca. I shal, deare wife, 60

Be too much trouble to thee.

Lady Vrge not that;

My duty binds me, and your loue commands.
I would I had the skil with tuned voyce
To draw on sleep with some sweet melodie, 65
But imperfection, and vnaptnesse too,
Are both repugnant: feare inserts the one,
The other nature hath denied me vse.
But what talke I of meanes to purchase that,
Is freely hapned? sleepe with gentle hand 70
Hath shut his eie -liddes. Oh victorious labour,
How soone thy power can charme the bodies

sense?

And now thou likewise climbst vnto my braine,
Making my heauy temples stoupe to thee. 74
Great God of heauen from danger keepe vs

free. [both sleepes.

Enter sir Richard Lee, and his men.
Lee. A murder closely done, and in my

ground?
Search carefully, if any where it were,

36 sometimes FS, etc.
Lay .. rest om. QS, etc.

160

54 Makes 9 5, etc. 58-9
C6 imperfectoin Q 2

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHX OLDCASTLE

ACT V, Sc. IX.

This obscure thicket is the likeliest place. : Looke on his wounds, looke on his purple hew:

serua.nl. Sir, I haue found the body stiff e I Do we not finde you where the deede was done?

with cold, ; Were notyour kniuesfast closed in your hands?

And mangled cruelly with many wounds. 80 i Is not this cloth an argument beside, 122
Lee Looke if thou knowest him, turne his \ Thus staind and spotted with his innocent

body vp.-

Alacke, it is my son, my sonne and heire,
Whom two yeares since I sent to Ireland,
To practise there the discipline of warre,
And comming home (for so he wrote to me) 85
Some sauage hart, some bloudy diuellish hand,
Either in hate, or thirsting for his coyne,
Hath here slucde out his bloud. Vnhappy

houre,

Accursed place, but most inconstant fate,
That hadst reserude him from the bullets fire,
And suffered him to scape the wood-karnes

fury, 91

Didst here ordaine the treasure of his life,
(Euen here within the armes of tender peace,
And where security gaue greatest hope)
To be consumde by treasons wastefull hand!
And what is most afflicting to my soule, ->o
That this his death and murther should be

wrought
Without the knowledge by whose meanes twas

done.
2 seru. Not so, sir; I haue found the authors

of it.

See where they sit, and in their bloudy fistes,
The f atall instruments of death and sin n e . z o i
Lee lust iudgement of that power, whose

gracious eie,

Loathing the sight of such a hainous fact,
Dazeled their senses with benumming sleepe,
Till their vnhallowed treachery were knowne!
Awake, ye monsters; murderers, awake; 106
Tremble for horror; blush, you cannot chuse,
Beholding this inhumane deed of yours.
Old. What meane you, sir, to trouble weary

soules,

And interrupt vs of our quiet sleepe? no

Lee Oh diuellish! can you boast vnto your

selues

Of quiet sleepe, hauing within your hearts
The guilt of murder waking, that with cries
Deafes the lowd thunder, and sollicites heauen
With more than Mandrakes shreekes for your

offence? 115

Lady Old. What murder? you vpbraid vs

wrongfully.
Lee Can you deny the fact? see you not

heere
The body of my sonne by you mis -done?

78 M tirhJs S. D. Exit a servant. Re-enter Servant
bearing a dead body 94 om. QS. dr. jiaue j>c. eif.:
gate Q 1 105 were] was <J >. etc.

blood?

These speaking characters, were nothing else
To pleade against ye, would conuict you both.
Bring them away, bereauers of my ioy. 126
At Hartford, where the Sises now are kept,
Their liues shall answere for my sonnes lost

life.
Old-castle

speede.
Lee As I am wrongd, so may the law pro-

ceede. [exeunt.

As we are innocent, so may we

(SCENE IX. St. Allans.}
Enter bishop of Rochester, constable of S.
Albons, with sir lohn of Wrotham, Doll
his wench, and the Irishman in Harpooles
apparell.

Bishop What intricate confusion haue we

heere?

Not two houres since we apprehended one,
In habit e Irish, but in speech not so:
And now you bring another, that in speech
Is altogether Irish, but in habite 5

Seemes to be English: yea and more than so,
The seruant of that heretike Lord Cobham.
Irishman Fait, me be no seruant of the

lord Cobhams,

Me be Mack Chane of Vlster.
Bishop Otherwise calld Harpoole of Kent;

go to, sir, 10

You cannot bh'nde vs with your broken Irish.

sir lohn Trust me, my Lord Bishop, whether

Irish,

Or English, Harpoole or not Harpoole, that
I leaue to be decided by the triall:
But sure I am this man by face and speech 1 5
Is he that murdred yong sir Richard Lee
I met him presently vpon the fact
And that he slew his maister for that gold;
Those iewells, and that chaine I tooke from

him.
Bishop Well, our affaires doe call vs backe

to London, 20

So that we cannot prosecute the cause,

124 were] were there Q 2, etc. 125 against you
M 126 oi. Q3, etc. 127 To Hartford with

them, where 2, etc. Scene IX. etc..} Scene X. etc. M
4-6 Tico lines Q?, Ff, (lir. after Irish 5 altogether
CHI. 02, etc. 6 Seemes to be om. Q2, etc. 8 Im
me Q2 12 my om. Q2, etc. Lord] said Fff, It.
Po)>f 12-14 'Tiro line* QS, etc.. dir. after English

14 be decided by om. Q S, etc. 20 fairss Q ?

T. B.

101

ACT V, Sc. IX. THE TRVE AND HONORABLE HISTORIE OF

As we desire to do; therefore we leaue

The charge with you, to see they be conuaide

To Hartford Sise: both this counterfaite

And you, sir lohn of Wrotham, and your

wench, 2 S

For you are culpable as well as they,
Though not for murder, yet for felony.
But since you are the meanes to bring to light
This gracelesse murder, you shall beare with

you

Our letters to the ludges of the bench, 3

To be your friendes in what they lawfull may.
sir lohn I thanke your Lordship.
Bish. So, away with them. [exeunt.

(SCENE X. Hertford. A Hall of Justice.}
Enter Gaoler and his man, bringing forth

Old castle.
Gaoler Bring forth the prisoners, see the

court preparde;

The Justices are comming to the bench.
So, let him stand; away, and fetch the rest.

[exeunt.
Old. Oh, giue me patience to indure this

scourge,

Thou that art fountaine of that vertuous

streame, 5

And though contempt, false witnes, and

reproch

Hang on these yron gyues, to presse my life
As low as earth, yet strengthen me with faith,
That I may mount in spirite aboue the cloudes.

Enter Gaoler, bringing in Lady Old -castle

and Harpoole.

Here comes my lady: sorow, tis for her 10
Thy wound is greeuous; else I scoff e at thee.
What, and poore Harpoole! art thou ith bryars

too?
Harp. Ifaith, my Lord, I am in, get out how

I can.

Lady Say, gentle Lord, for now we are

alone, 1 4

And may conferre, shall we confesse in briefe,

Of whence, and what we are, and so preuent

The accusation is commencde against vs?

Old. What will that helpe vs? being knowne,

sweete loue,

We shall for heresie be put to death,
For so they tearme the religion we professe. 20
No, if it be ordained we must die,
And at this instant, this our comfort be,
That of the guilt imposde, our soules are free.

24 'sizes M 29 we shall Q 2 : ye shall Ff 33
om. Q 2, tic. Scene X. etc.] Scene XI. etc. M 5 of
this M 21-2 if. , instant] if we dye let Q2, etc.

162

Harp. Yea, yea, my lord, Harpcole is so

resolude.

I wreake of death the lesse, in that I die 25
Not by the sentence of that enuious priest
The Bishop of Rochester: oh, were it he,
Or by his meanes that I should suffer here,
It would be double torment to my soule.
Lady Well, be it then according as heauen
please. 30

Enter lord ludge, two lustices, Maior of Saint

Albons, lord Powesse and his lady, and

old sir Richard Lee: the Judge and lustices

take their places.

ludge Now, M(aister) Maior, what gentle*

man is that,

You bring with you before vs and the bench?
Maior The Lord Powes, if it like your

honor,

And this his Lady, trauelling toward Wales,
Who, for they lodgde last night within my
house, 35

And my Lord Bishop did lay search for such,
Were very willing to come on with me,
Lest for their sakes suspition me might wrong.
ludge We crie your honor mercy, good my

Lord,

Wilt please ye take your place. Madame, your

ladyship 40

May here or where you will repose your selfe,

Vntill this businesse now in hand be past.

Lady Po. I will withdraw into some other

roome,

So that your Lordship and the rest be pleasde.
ludge With all our hearts: attend the Lady
there. 45

Lord Po. Wife, I haue eyde yond prisoners

all this while,

And my conceit doth tel me, tis our friend,
The noble Cobham, and his vertuous Lady.
Lady Po. I thinke no lesse: are they sus
pected, trow ye,
For doing of this murder? 50

Lord Po. What it meanes
I cannot tell, but we shall know anon.
Meane space as you passe by them, ask the

question,

But do it secretly, you be not seene,
And make some signe that I may know your
mind. 55

Lady Po. My Lord Cobham? madam?

[as she passeth ouer the stage by them.

24 1, I my Lord Q2, etc. 27-9 om. Q2, etc. 32
and] to Q 2, etc. 33 if] an if M 36 search] waite
OS, etc. 38 mepr. eel.: we Qq, etc. 40 ye] you
Q 2, etc. 46 yon 02, etc. 49 trow ye om. 3, etc.
50 doing of om. Q 2, etc. 53 space] time Q 2, etc.
54 that you M

THE LIFE OF SIR IOHX OLDCASTLE

ACT V, Sc. X.

Old. No Cobham now, nor madam, as you

loue vs,

But lohn of Lancashire, and lone his wife.
Lady Po. Oh tel, what is it that our loue

can do,

To pleasure you? for we are bound to you. 60
Oldca. Nothing but this, that you conceale

our names;

So, gentle lady, passe for being spied.
Lady Po. My heart I leaue, to beare part
of your griefe. [exit,

ludge Call the prisoners to the barre. Sir

Richard Lee,

What euidence can you bring against thesa
people, 65

To proue them guiltie of the murder done?
Lee. This bloudy towell and these naked

kniues,

Beside we found them sitting by the place,
Where the dead body lay, within a bush.
ludge What answer you why law should
not proceed, 70

According to this euidence giuen in,
To taxe ye with the penalty of death?

Old. That we are free from murders very

thought,

And know not how the gentleman was
slaine.

1 lust. How came this linnen cloth so
bloudy then? 75

Lady Cob. My husband hot with trauelling,

my lord,
His nose gusht out a bleeding, that was it.

2 lust. But wherefore were your sharpe
edgde kniues vnsheathde?

Lady Cob. To cut such simple victuall as

we had.
ludge Say we admit this answer to those

articles, 80

What made ye in so priuate a darke nooke,
So far remote from any common path,
As was the thicke where the dead corpes was

throwne?
Old. lournying, my lord, from London from

the terme,

Downe into Lancashire where we do dwell, 85
And what with age and trauell being faint,
We gladly sought a place where we might

rest,

Free from resort of other passengers,
And so we strayed into that secret corner.
ludge These are but ambages to driue of

time, 90

And linger Justice from her purposde end.
But who are these?

72 ye] you M 75 boudy 07 78 wherefore were]
how came Qff, etc. 81 ye] you QS, etc.

Enter the Constable, bringing in the Irishman,

sir lohn of Wrotham, and Doll.
Const. Stay Judgement, and release those

innocents,
For here is hee, whose hand hath done the

deed,

For which they stand indited at the barre,
This sauage vUlaine, this rude Irish slaue. 96
His tongue already hath contest the fact,
And here is witnes to confirme as much.
sir lohn Yes, my good Lords, no sooner had

he slaine

His louing master for the wealth he had, 100
But I vpon the instant met with him,
And what he purchacde with the losse of

bloud:

With strokes I presently bereau'de him of;
Some of the which is spent, the rest remaining
I willingly surrender to the hands 105

Of old sir Richard Lee, as being his.
Beside, my Lord ludge, I greet your honor
With letters from my Lord of Rochester.

[ddiuers a letter.
Lee Is this the wolfe whose thirsty throate

did drinke

My dearesonnes bloud? artthou the snake no
He cherisht, yet with enuious piercing sting
Assaildst him mortally? foule stigmatike,
Thou venome of the country where thou

liuedst,

And pestilence of this: were it not that law
Stands ready to reuenge thy crueltie, us
Traitor to God, thy master, and to me,
These hands should be thy executioner.
ludge Patience, sir Richard Lee, you shall

haue iustice,

And he the guerdon of his base desert.
The fact is odious; therefore, take him hence,
And being hangde vntil the wretch be dead, 121
His body after shall be hangd in chaines
Neare to the place where he did act the murder.
Irish. Prethee, Lord shudge, let me haue
mine own clothes, my strouces there, and let
me be hangd in a with after my cuntry the
Irish fashion. [exit,

ludge Go to; away with him. And now,

sir lohn,

Although by you this murther came to light,
And therein you haue well deseru'd, yet vpright

law, 1 30

So will not haue you be excusde and quit,

107 I do greet J/ 108 Winchester Q 1 : con: Q
110 the cursed snake M 112-14 foule . . of this otn.
Q ?, etc. 119 om. Q 2, etc. 130 And . . deseru'd
om. Q3, etc. 130-1 One line QS, etc. 131 So . .
quit] will not hold you excusde QS, etc.

163

ACT V, St. X. HISTOUIE OF THE LIFE OF SIR 1OHN OLDCASTLE

For you did rob the Irishman, by which
You stand attainted here of felony.
Beside, you haue bin lewd, and many yeares
Led a lasciuious, vnbeseeming life. 135

sir lohn Oh but, my Lord, he repents, sir
John repents, and he wUl mend.

ludge In hope thereof, together with the

fauour,

My Lord of Rochester intreates for you,
We are content you shall be proued. 140

sir lohn I thanke your good Lordship.

Judge These other f alsly here accusde, and

brought

In perill wrongfully, we in like sort
Do set at liberty, paying their fees.

Lord Po. That office, if it please ye, I will
do, MS

For countries sake, because I know them well.
They are my neighbours, therefore of my

cost
Their charges shall be paide.

Lee. And for amends, 149

Touching the wrong vnwittingly I haue done,

There are a few crownes more for them to

drinke. [giues them a purse.

133 attained 01 136 he repents om. 02, etc.

139 Winchester Q 1 140 contented that you M

141 good om. R 142-4 Two lines QS, Ff, dir. after
brought : icrongly rearranged in ihrte lines Jtl 144
paying.. fees 'om. 02, etc. 145-8 om. QS, etc.

151 There . . drinke] I giue these few Crownes Q2, dr.

ludge. Your kindnes merites praise, sir

Richard Lee:
So let vs hence.

[exeunt all but Lord Powesse and Oldcastle.

Lord Po. But Powesse still must stay.
There yet remain es a part of that true loue 155
He owes his noble friend vnsatisfide,
And vnperformd, which first of all doth bind me
To gratulate your lordships safe deliuery ,
And then intreat, that since vnlookt for thus
We here are met, your honor would vouchsafe,
To ride with me to Wales, where to my power,
(Though not to quittance those great benentes,
I haue receiud of you) yet both my house,
My purse, my seruants, and what else I haue,
Are all at your command. Deny me not; 1 65
I know the Bishops hate pursues ye so,
As theres no safety in abiding here.

Old. Tis true, my Lord, and God forgiue
him for it.

Lord Po. Then, let vs hence: you shall be

straight prouided

Of lusty geldings, and once entred Wales, 1 70
Well may the Bishop hunt, but, spight his

face,

He neuer more shall haue the game in chace.

[exeunt.

FINIS.

161 to my M : though my Qq, Ff: through my
tonj. Percy 162 May not acquittance conj. J/
166 ye] you M

164

THE

True Chronicle Hi

ftorie of the whole life and death
of TkomasLord

As ic hath beene fundrie times pub-
lively Afadby the'Right Hono-

rablc the Lord Chamberlaine
hts Servants.

Written by W. S.

Imprinted at London for William tow ,
to be fblde at his houfe neere Holbumecon
dui^at the figne of the Gunne.
1602.

Q I = Quarto of 1602

Q2 = 1613

F 1 = the (third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664

F2 = (fourth) 1685

JR = Rowe s Shakespeare, 1709

Pope supplementary volume to Pope's Shakespeare, 1728

M = Malone, 1780

St. = Steevens, ibid.

Th. = Theobald, ibid.

S = Simms, 1848

T = Tyrrell, 1851

Haz. = Hazlitt, 1852

Molt. = Moltke, 1869

pr. ed. -- present editor

166

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF
THE LORD CROMWELL

(THE ACTOES NAMES.

Old Cromwell, a Black-smith of Putney.
Yong Thomas Cromwell his son.
Hodge, Will and Tom, old Cromwell's ser
vants.

Earle of Bedford and his Host.
Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk.
Sir Christopher Hales.
Cardinal Wolsey.
Sir Thomas Moor.
Gardiner Bishop of Winchester.
Sir Ralph Sadler.
M. Bouser a Merchant.
Banister, a broken Merchant and his wife.

Bagot, a cruel covetous Broker.

Friskiball a Florentine Merchant.

The Governours of the English house at

Antwerp.

States and Officers of Bononia.
Good-man Seely and his wife Joan.

Chorus.

A Post.

Messengers.

Ushers and servants.

Lieutenant of the Tower.

Two Citizens.

Two Merchants.} l

(Ad I. SCENE I. Putney. The entrance of

a smiths shop.}
Enter three Smithes, Hodge and two other, old

Cromwels men.

Hodge. Come, masters, I thinke it be past
fiue a clock; is it not time we were at worker j
my old Master heele be stirring anon. 3

1. I cannot tell whether my old master will
be stirring or no: but I am sure I can hardly
take myafternoones nap, for my young Maister
Thomas, he keepes such a quile in his studie,
with the Sunne, and the Moone, and the seauen \
starres, that I do verily thinke heele read out
his wits. IO

Hodge. He skill of the starres! theresgood-
man Cor of Fulhum, he that carryed vs to the
strong Ale, where goodie Trundell had her
maide got with childe: he knowes the
Starres. Heele tickle you Charles Waine in
nine degrees. That same man will tell you
goodie Trundell when her Ale shall miscarie,
onely by the starres. 18

2. I, thats a great vertue; indeed I thinke
Thomas be no body in comparison to him.

1. Well, maisters, come, shall we to our
hammers?

Hodge. I, content; first lets take our morn
ings draught, and then to worke roundly. 24

2. I, agreed; goe in, Hodge. [Exit omnes.

lAdd.Fl Act I. dc. add. M 1-3 Verse Qq, Fl,dh:
after clock, worke 4 1 .] Will J/: so 7. 21 7-25 Verse
<jq 10 you OM. Q ~ J , etc. 19, 25 2.] Turn M

(SCENE II. The same.}
Enter young Cromwell.
Crom. Good morrow, morne, I doe salute

thy brightnesse.

The night seemes tedious to my troubled soule,
Whose black obscuritie binds in my minde
A thousand sundry cogitations:
And now Aurora, with a liuely dye, 5

Addes comfort to my spirit that mountes on

high

Too high indeede, my state being so meane.
My study, like a minerall of golde,
Makes my hart proude, wherein my hopes

inrowld:

My bookes is all the wealth I do possesse, to

[Hers within they must beate with their

hammers.

And vnto them I haue ingaged my hart.
learning, how deuine thou seemes to me:
Within whose armes is all felicity.
Peace with your hammers! leaueyour knock*

ing there: .

You doe disturbe my study and my rest. 15
Leaue off, I say, you madde me with the noyse.

Enter Hodge and the two Men.

Hodge. Why, how now, Maister Thomas,
how now? Will you not let vs worke for you?

Crom. You fret my hart, with making of
this noise. 20

Hod. How, fret your hart? I, but Thomas,

Scene II. etr. add. M 3 binds] breeds S on
OJH. S 17-27 Verse <Jq, Ff: con; M

167

ACT I, Sc. II.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

youle fret your fathers purse if you let vs from
working.

2. I, this tis for him to make him a gentle
man. Shal we leaue worke for your musing?
thats well, I faith; But here comes my olde
maister now. 2 7

Enter olde Cromwell.
Old. Cro. You idle knaues, what, are you

loytring now?

No hammers walking and my worke to do!

What, not a heate among your worke to day?

Hod. Marrie, sir, your sonne Thomas will

not let vs worke at all. 3 2

Old. Cro. Why, knaue, I say, haue I thus

carkde & car'd

And all to keepe thee like a gentleman;

And dost thou let my seruants at their worke,

That sweat for thee, knaue, labour thus for thee?

Cro. Father, their hammers doe oSend my

studie. 37

Old. Cro. Out of my doores, knaue, if thou

likest it not.

I crie you mercie! is your eares so fine?

I tell thee, knaue, these get when I doe slespe;

I will not haue my Anuill stand for thee. 41

Crom. Theres monie, father, I will pay

your men . [He thro wes money among them.

Old. Cro. Haue I thus brought thee vp vnto

my cost,
In hope that one day thou wouldst releeue my

age,

And art thou now so lauish of thy coine, 45
To scatter it among these idle knaues.

Cro. Father, be patient, and content your

selfe.

The time will come I shall hold golde as trash:
And here I speake with a presaging soule,
To build a pallace where now this cottage
standes, 50

As fine as is King Henries house at Sheene.
Old Cro. You build a house I you knaue,

youle be a begger.

Now, #fore God, all is but cast away,
That is bestowed vpon this thriftlesse lad.
Well, had I bound him to some honest trade,
This had not beene, but it was his mothers
doing, 56

To send him to the Vniuersitie.
How? build a house where now this cottage

standes,
As faire as that at Sheene! (aside) He shall

not here me.
A good boy Tom! I con thee thanke Tom! 60

24 Prff.,- Tom 31 20 working rnni. 31 : talking
ernij. JI 45 thou] thee (// 50 I'll build //;.

now out. 31

108

Well said Tom! gramarcies Tom!
Into your worke, knaues; hence, you sausie
boy. [Exit all but young Cromwell.

Cro. Why should my birth keepe downe

my mounting spirit?
Are not all creatures subiect vnto time:
To time, who doth abuse the world, 65

And filles it full of hodge-podge bastardie?
Theres legions now of beggars on the earth,
That their originall did spring from Kings:
And manie Monarkes now whose fathers were
The riff e -raff e of their age: for Time and For
tune 70
Weares out a noble traine to beggerie,
And from the dunghill minions doe aduance
To state and marke in this admiring world.
This is but course, which in the name of Fate
Is seene as often as it whirles about: 75
The Riuer Thames, that by our doore doth

passe,

His first beginning is but small and shallow:
Yet keeping on his course, growes to a sea.
And likewise Wolsey, the wonder of our age,
His birth as meane as mine, a Butchers sonne,
Now who within this land a greater man? 81
Then, Cromwell, cheer e thee vp, and tell thy

soule,
That thou ruaist Hue to flourish and controule.

Enter olde Cromwell.

Old Crom. Tom Cromwell' what, Tom, I
say! 85

Crom. Do you call, sir.

Old Crom. Here is maister Bowser come to
know if you haue dispatched his petition for
the Lords of the counsell or no.

Crom. Father, I haue; please you to call
him in. 91

Old Crom. Thats well said, Tom; a good
lad, Tom.

Enter Maister Bowser.

Bow. Now, Maister Cromwell, haue you
dispatched this petition? 95

Crom. I haue, sir; here it is: please you
peruse it.

Bow. It shall not need; weele read it as we

go by water:

And, Maister Cromwell, I haue made a motion
May do you good, and if you like of it. i oo
Our Secretarie at Antwarpe, sir, is dead,
And the Marchants there hath sent to me,
For to prouide a man fit for the place:
Now I do know none fitter then your selfe,
If with your liking it stand, maister Cromwell.

(VS the cheated world 31 100 an if 31
it stand with your liking .$'

THE LORD CROMWELL

.Act- 1, St. III.

Crom. With all my hart, sir, and I much

am bound, 106

In loue and dutie for your kindnesse showne.

Old Cro. Body of me, Tom, make hast,
least some body get betweene thee and home,
Tom. I thanke you, good maister Bowser, I
thanke you for my boy; I thanke you alwayes,
I thanke you most hartely, sir. Hoe, a cup of
Beere there for maister Bowser. 113

Bow. It shall not need, sir. Maister Crom
well, will you go?

Crom. I will attend you, sir. 1 1 6

Old Crom. Farewell, Tom; God blesse thee,
Tom; God speed thee, good Tom.

[Exit omnes.

(SCENE III. London. A street before Fresco-

bald's house.}

Enter Bagot, a Broker, solus.
Bag, I hope this day is fatall vnto some,
And by their losse must Bagot seeke to gaine.
This is the lodging of maister Fryskiball,
A liberal! Marchant, and a Florentine,
To whom Banister owes a thousand pound, 5
A Marchant Banckrout, whose Father was my

maister.

What do I care for pitie or regarde?
He once was wealthy, but he now is falne,
And this morning haue I got him arested,
At the sute of maister Friskiball, 10

And by this meanes shall I be sure of coyne,
For dooing this same good to him vnknowne:
And in good time, see where the marchant

comes.

Enter Fryskiball.

Bag. Go(o)d morrow to kind maister
FrttkfbtaL

Fri. Go(o)d morrow to your selfe, good

maister Bagot, 15

And whats the newes, you are so early stirring:

It is for gaine, I make no doubt of that.

Bag. It is for the loue, sir, that I beare to

you.

When did you see your debter Banister 1 }
Fri. I promise you, I haue not scene the
man 20

This two moneths day; his pouertie is such,
As I do thinke he shames to see his friends.
Bag. Why, then, assure your selfe to see

him straight,

For at your sute I haue arrested him,
And here they will be with him presently. 25

108-13 Yti:\i <fy
\\\. etc, add. M

morning have .V

. l-'f 109 home] honour X Scene
3 lodging] lodge S ("Itliis

lu At suit ot tlii.s wane M

Fry. Arrest him at my sute? you were to

blame.

I know the mans misfortunes to be such,
As hees not able for to pay the debt,
And were it knowne to some he were vndone.

Bag. This is your pittifull hart to thinke it
so, 30

But you are much deceaued in Banister.
Why such as he will breake for fashion sake,
And vnto those they owe a thousand pound,
Pay scarce a hundred. 0, sir, beware of him.
The man is lewdly giuen to Dyce and Drabs,
Spends all he hath in harlots companies; 36
It is no mercy for to pitie him.
I speake the truth of him, for nothing els,
But for the kindnesse that I beare to you.

Fry. If it be so, he hath deceiued me much,
And to deale strictly with such a one as he
Better seuere then too much lenitie. 42

But here is Maister Banister himself e,
And with him, as I take, the officers.

Enter Banister, his wife, and two officers.

Ban. maister Friskiball, you haue vndone

me. 45

My state was well nigh ouerthrowne before,
Now altogether downe-cast by your meanes.
Mist. Ba. O maister Friskiball, pity my

husbands case.

He is a man hath liued as well as any,
Till enuious fortune and the rauenous sea 50
Did rob, disrobe, and spoile vs of our owne.
Fri. Mistrisse Banister, I enuie not your

husband,

Nor willingly would I haue vsed him thus,
But that I here he is so lewdly giuen, 54

Haunts wicked company, and hath enough
To pay his debts, yet will not be knowne thereof.
Ban. This is that damned Broker, that

same Bagot,

Whom I haue often from my Trencher fed.
Ingratefull Villaine for to vse me thus!
Bag. What I haue said to him is naught

but truth. 60

Mi. Ban. What thou hast said springs

from an enuious hart.
A Canniball that doth eate men aliuc!
But here vpon my knee, beleeue me, sir,
And what I speake, so helpe me God, is true:
We scarse haue meate to feed our little babes.
Most of our Plate is in that Brokers hand, 66
Which, had we mony to dephray our debt,
thinke, we would not bide that penurie.

i'2 M swjyests thai n preceding line lias IXIH lul.
Better seuere] Is better sure conj. St. 44 as I
take't Ff. ttc. 50 bj knowne] own S

Ungrateful M OJ A] 6' t>7 debts Q2, tic.

1(39

G 3

ACT I, Sc. III.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

Be mercif ull, kinde maister Friskiball.

My husband, children, and my selfe will eate

But one meale a day, the other will 71

We keepe and sell

As part to pay the debt we owe to you:

If euer teares did pierce a tender minde,

Be pittifull, let me some fauour finde. 75

Bag. Be not you so mad, sir, to beleeue hir
teares.

Fri. Go to, I see thou art an enuious man.
Good misteris Banister, kneele not to me;
I pray rise vp, you shall haue your desire. 79
Holde; officers, be gone, theres for your |

paines.

You know you owe to me a thousand pound: !
Here, take my hand; if eare God make you

able,

And place you in your former state againe,
Pay me: but if still your fortune frowne,
Vpon my faith Ile neuer aske you crowne: 85 j
I neuer yet did wrong to men in thrall,
For God doth know what to my selfe may
fall.

Ban. This vnexpected fauour, vndeserued,
Doth make my hart bleed inwardly with ioy.
Nere may ought prosper with me is my owne,
If I forget this kindnesse you haue showne.

Mi. Ba. My children in their prayers, both

night and day, 92

For your good fortune and successe shall pray.

Fri. I thanke you both; I pray, goe dine

with me.

Within these three dayes, if God giue me leaue,
I will to Florence, to my natiue home. 9 6

Bagot, holde; theres a Portague to drinke,
Although you ill deserued it by your merit.
Giue not such cruell scope vnto your hart;
Be sure the ill you do will be requited. 100
Remember what I say, Bagot; farewell.
Come, Maister Banister; you shall with me.
My fare is but simple, but welcome hartily.

[Exit all but Bagot.

Bag. A plague goe with you; would you
had eate your last! 104

Is this the thankes I haue for all my paines?
, Confusion light vpon you all for me.
Where he had wont to giue a score of crownes,
Doth he now foyst me with a Portague?
Well, I will be reuenged vpon this Banister.
lie to his creditors, buie all the debts he owes,
As seeming that I do it for good will. 1 1 1
I am sure to haue them at an easie rate,

71-2 One line Qq, Ff 71-3 Tiro lines, dir. nftfr keep
Jl, iti: 73 to yon] you M 73-5 oin. Ff, H, POM
f> oin. tf, f/c. 84 but yet if J/ 85 you] a M

G is] as S 97 Hold, Bagot It, ttc. 97, 108 Por
tague] cardecue conj. M 110 debt Ql

And when tis done, in christendome he staies

not,

But ile make his hart to ake with sorrow:
And if that Banister become my debter, 115
By heauen and earth ile make his plague the

greater. [Exit Bagot.

(ACT n.)

Enter Chorus.
Cho. Now, gentlemen, imagine that young

Cromwell (is)
In Antwarpe Ledger for the English Mar-

chantes:

And Banister, to shunne this Bagots hate,
Hearing that he hath got some of his debts,
Is fled to Antwarpe, with his wife and children;
Which Bagot hearing is gone after them: 6
And thether sendes his billes of debt before,
To be reuenged on wretched Banister.
What doth fall out, with patience sit and see,
A iust requital! of false trecherie. [Exit.

(SCENE I. Antwerp.}
Cromwell in his study with bagges of money

before him casting of account.
Cro. Thus farre my reckoning doth go

straight & euen,

But, Cromwell, this same ployding fits not thee:
Thy minde is altogether set on trauell.
And not to liue thus cloystered like a Nunne.
It is not this same trash that I regard, 5
Experience is the iewell of my hart.

Enter a Post.
Post. I praie, sir, are you readie to dispatch

me?
Cro. Yes; heres those summes of monie

you must carie;

You goe so farre as Frankford, do you not?
Post. I doe, sir. 10

Cro. Well, prethie make all the hast thou

canst,

For there be certaine English gentlemen
Are bound for Venice, and may hapilie want,
And if that you should linger by the way:
But in hope that youle make good speed, 15
Theres two Angels to buie you spurres and

wandes.

Po. I thank you, sir ; this will ad winges
indeede. (Exit Post:

Cro. Golde is of power would make an
Eagles speed.

Act II. <W. -V 1 is MW. <J? Scene 1. i/i:

2 plodding (j :'. , /<. 11 make then all M

15 in the Lope M S. D. add. X 18 would] to

170

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT II, St. II.

Enter Mislris Banister.
What gentlewoman is this that greeues so

much?

It seemes she doth adresse her selfe to me. 20
Mi. Ba. God saue you, sir; praie, is your

name maister Cromweltt
Cro. My name is Thomas Cromwell, gentle
woman.
Mi. Ba. Know you not one Bagot, sir, thats

come to Ant war pel

Cro. No, trust me, I neuer saw the man,

But here are billes of debt I haue receiued, 25 | It glads my hart to thinke vpon the slaue;
Against one Banister, a Marchant fallen into | I hope to haue his bodie rot in prison,
decaie. i And after here his wife to hang her selfe,

It greeues my soule to see her miserie,
But we that liue vnder the worke of fate,
Maie hope the best, yet knowes not to what state
Our star res and destinies hath vs asignde. 55
Fickle is fortune and her face is blinde. (Exit.)

(SCENE n. A street in Antwerp.}

Enter Bagot solus.

Ba. So all goes well; it is as I would haue it.
Banister he is with the Gouernour
And shortlie shall haue guiues vpon his heeles.

Mi. Ba. Into decaie, indeede, long of that

wretch.

I am the wife to wofull Banister:
And by that bloudie villain e am persu'de
From London here to Antwarpe. 30

My husband he is in the gouernours handes,

And all his children die for want of foode.
The Jewels that I haue brought to Antwarpe
Are recond to be worth flue thousand pound,
Which scarcelie stoode me in three hundreth
pound. 10

I bought them at an easie kinde of rate;

And God of heauen knowes how heele deale I care not which way they came by them
with him. { That sould them me, it comes not neare my hart :

Now, sir, your hart is framed of milder temper; And least they should be stolne as sure they

Be mercifull to a distressed soule, are

And God no doubt will trebell blesse your I thought it meete to sell them here in Ant-
gaine. 35 [ warpe, '5

Cro. Good mistris Banister, what I can, I j And so haue left them in the Gouernours hand,
will, ; Who offers me within two hundreth pound

In any thing that lies within my power. ' Of all my price. But now no more of that:

Mi. Ba. O speake to Bagot, that same < I must go see and if my billes be safe,

wicked wretch,

The which I sent to maister Cromwell,

An Angells voyce may mooue a damned diuell. j That if the winde should keepe me on the sea,
Cro. Why, is he come to Antwarpe, as you ; He might arest him here before I came:
here?

40
Mi. Ba. I hard he landed some two houres

since.
Cro. Well, mistris Banister, assure your

selfe.

lie speake to Bagot in your owne behalfe,
And winne him to all the pittie that I can. 44
Meane time, to comfort you in your distresse,
Receiue these Angells to releeue your neede,
And be assured that what I can effect
To do you good, no way I will neglect.

(Enter Cromwell.)
And in good time, see where he is. God saue

you sir.
Cro. And you: pray pardon me, I know you

not.

Bag. It may be so, sir, but my name is
Bagot, 25

The man that sent to you the billes of debt.
Cro. 0, the man that persues Banister.
Here are the billes of debt you sent to me:

Mi. Ba. That mighty God, that knowes As for the man, you know best where he is.

each mortalles hart,

It is reported you haue a flintie hart,

Keepe you from trouble, sorrow, griefe, and A minde that will not stoope to anie pittie,

smart.

50 ! An eye that knowes not how to shed a teare,
[Exit Mistris Banister. : A hand thats alwaies open for reward;

Crom. Thankes, courteous woman, for thy
hartie praier.

25, 26 Benin Are, One M 20 into] to M :U 2
ti<!/in He. Of M 30-2 Antwerp, where my husband
Lies in the governor's hands : the God of Heaven He
inly knows how he will itc. S, follomd li/ Molt, with
i-li'iiii/i and God -M I will to Eiagot speak .S' owne
MI. S t Mt.

But, maister Bagot, would you be ruled by m,

You should turne all these to the contrarie. 35
Your hart should still haue feeling of remorse,

54 know FS, etc. 55 have F2, etc. S. I). Exit
udd.R Scenell.ete.udd.31 8 that om. Q2,

f/c. have with me brought M 12 not much which
M 20 sent before to M S. 1). add. li '-'7 O,
you're the M

171

Acr II, Sc. II.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

Your minde according to your state be liberall
To those that stand in neede and in distresse;
Your hand to heipe them that do stand in want,
Rather then with your poyse to holde them

downe; 4

For euerie ill turne show your selfe more kinde:

Thus should I doe; pardon, I speake my minde.

Bag. I, sir, you speake to here what I would

say,

But you must liue, I know, as well as I:
I know this place to be extortion, 45

And tis not for a man to keepe him,
But he must lie, cog with his dearest friend,
And as for pittie, scorne it, hate all conscience.
But yet I doe commend your wit in this,
To make a show of what I hope you are not;
But I commend you and tis well done: 51
This is the onelie way to bring your gaine.
Cro. My gaine! I had rather chaine me to

an ore,

And like a slaue there toile out all my life,
Before ide liue so base a slaue as thou: 55
I, like an hipocrite, to make a show
Of seeming vertue and a diuell within!
No, Bagot, would thy conscience were as

cleare:

Poore Banister nere had beene troubled here.
Bag. Nay, good maister Cromwell; be not

angrie, sir. 60

I know full well you are no such man;
But if your conscience were as white as Snow,
It will be thought that you are other wise.

Cro. Will it be thought that I am other wise?
Let them that thinke so know they are

deceiu'de. 65

Shall Cromwell Hue to haue his faith miscon-

stered?

Antwarpe, for all the wealth within thy Towne,
I will not stay here not two houres longer.
As good lucke semes, my accountes are all

made euen;

Therefore ile straight vnto the treasurer. 70
Bagot, I know youle to the gouernour;
Commend me to him, say I am bound to tra-

uaile,

To see the fruitefull partes of Italie,
And as you euer bore a Christian minde,
Let Banister some fauour of you finde. 75
Bag. For your sake, sir, ile helpe him all

I can
To starue his hart out eare he gets a groate.

(Aside.}

So, maister Cromwell, doe I take my leaue,
For I must straight vnto the gouernour.

[Exit Bagot.

Cro. Farewell, sir; pray you remember what
I said. 80

No, Cromwell, no; thy hart was nere so bace,
To liue by falshoode or by brokerie!
But "t falles out well, I little it repent;
Hereafter, time in trauell shalbe spent. 84

Enter Hodge, his fathers man.

Hod. Your sonne Thomas, quoth you: I
haue beene T ho mast.' I had thought it had
beene no such matter to a gone by water: for
at Putnaie ile go you to Parish -garden for two
pence, sitte as still as may be, without any
wagging or ioulting in my guttes, in a little
boate too: heere wee were scarce foure mile
in the great greene water, but I thinking to
goe to my afternoones vnchines, as twas my
manner at home but I felt a kinde of rising
in my guttes. At last one a the Sailers spying
of me, be a good cheer e, sayes hee, set downe
thy victualles, and vppe with it, thou hast
nothing but an Eele in thy belly. Well toote
went I, to my victtualles went the Sailers, and
thinking me to bee a man of better experience
then any in the shippe, asked mee what Woode
the shippe was made of: they all swore I tould
them as right as if I had beene acquainted with
the Carpenter that made it. At last wee grewe
neere lande, and I grewe villanous hungrie,
went to my bagge: the diuell a bitte there was.
The Sailers had tickled mee; yet I cannot
blame them: it was a parte of kindnesse, for
I in kindnesse toulde them what Woode the
shippe was made of, and they in kindnesse
eate vp my victualles, as indeede one good
turne asketh another. Well, would I could
finde my maister Thomas in this Dutch Towne;
he might put some English Beare into my
bellie. us

Cro. What, Hodge, my fathers man? by my

hand, welcome!

How doth my father? whats the newes at
home? 1 1 7

Hod. Maister Thomas, God, maister
Thomas, your hand, gloue and all. This is to
giue you to vnderstanding that your father is
in health, and Alice Downing here hath sent
you a Nutmeg, & Besse Makewater a race of
Ginger; my fellow Will & Tom hath between

:t9 stand] sink 6' 45 exturtious cotij. M : ex- 80 you mil. .V I] I've S 8:! But falks <J I ','1
turtiunous Molt. 40 keep safe here y 4?, etc. 5:> scarce sonfc four /Y miles 7i, </c. M vndiinesl
your] you T 53 My om. S 58 would] if Q 2. di: ' Luncliines R : mmdicon M M but I oni. M W
Wgood out. .V 61 well that you Q3, etc. 08 here me 02, etc.: 10 1 100 and went M 111 Wuuld
lull two Qi>, etc. & D. Aside udd. M \ 1, could 1 y?- f/i <.,;: M K>:j Fellows R

11-2

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT II, Sc. III.

them sent you a dozen of pointes, & good man
Tolle of the Goate a paire of mittons; my selfe
came in person: and this is all the newes. 126

Cro. Gramarsie, good Hodge, and them art

welcome to me,

But in as ill a time thou comest as may be:
For I am traueling into Italic.
What saist thou, Hodge! wilt thou beare me
companie? 1 30

Hodge. Will I beare thee companie, Tom?
What tell'st me of Italie? were it to the furthest
part of Flaunders, I would goe with thee, Tom.
I am thine in all weale and woe, thy owne to
commaund. What, Tom! I haue passed the
rigorous waues of Neptunes blastes; I tell you,
Thomas, I haue beene in the danger of the
flouds; and when I haue seene Boreas beginne
to plaie the Ruffin with vs, then would I downe
of my knees and call vppon Vulcan. 140

Cro. And why vpon him?

Hod. Because, as this same fellow Neptune
is God of the Seas, so Vulcan is Lord ouer the
Smithes, and therefore, I, being a Smith,
thought his Godhead would haue some care
yet of me. 146

Crom. A good conceit, but tell (me), hast
thou dined yet?

Hod. Thomas, to speake the truth, not a
bit yet I.

Crom. Come, go with me; thou shalt haue
cheere good store. 149

And farewell, Antwarpe, if I come no more.

Hodg. I follow thee, sweet Tom, I follow
thee. [Exit omnes.

(SCENE HI. Another street in the same.}
Enter the Gouernour of the English house,
Bagot, Banister, his wife, and two officers.
Gouer. Is Cromwell gone then, say you,

maister Bagotl

What dislike, I pray? what was the cause?
Bag. To tell you true, a wilde braine of his

owne;
Such youth as they cannot see when they are

well:

He is all bent to trauaile, thats his reason, 5
And doth not loue to eate his bread at home.

What do you say? will you take my prise?
Bag. 0, sir, you offer too much vnderfoote.
Gou. TLs but two hundred pound betweene

vs, man.

Whats that in paiment of fine thousand pound?
Bag. Two hundred pound! birladie, sir, tis

great: 15

Before I got so much, it made me sweat.
Gou. Well, Maister Bagot, lie proffer you

fairelie.

You see this Marchant, maister Banister,
Is going now to prison at your sute.
His substance all is gone; what would you

haue? 20

Yet in regarde I knew the man of wealth
Neuer dishonest dealing, but such mishaps
Hath falne on him, may light on me or you
There is two hundred pound betweene vs; 24
We will deuide the same: He giue you one,
On that condition you will set him free:
His state is nothing, that you see your selfe,
And where naught is, the King must lose his

right.

Bag. Sir, sir, you speake out of your loue,

Tis foolish loue, sir, sure, to pittie him: 30

Therefore, content your selfe; this ismy minde:

To do him good I will not bate a penie,

Ban. This is my comfort: though thou

doost no good,

A mighty ebbe followes a mighty floud.
Mi. Ba. thou base wretch, whom we

haue fostered 35

Euen as a Serpent for to poyson vs,
If God did euer right a womans wrong,
To that same God I bend and bow my heart,
To let his heauy wrath fall on thy head,
By whome my hopes and ioyes are butchered.
Bag. Alas, fond woman, I praie thee, praie

thy worst; 41

The Fox fares better still when he is curst.

Enter Maister Bowser, a Marchant.
Go. Maister Bowser! your welcome, sir,

from England.
Whats the best newes? how doth all our

friendes?
Bow. They are all well and do commend

them to you; 45

Gou. Well, good fortune with him, if the Theres letters from your brother and your

man be gone.
We hardly shall finde such a one as he,

To fit our turnes; his dealings were so honest.
But now, sir, for your lewels that I haue, 10

137 in danger Ff, ttc. 140 of) a. Q ?. rtc. 147
tell me Q ?. tfr.: tell Ql Scene III. ///. <M. M

L> In what dislike, I pray you )/ 4 as he can't M
8 such a man Ff, R

sonne:

So faire you well, sir; I must take my leaue.
My hast and businesse doth require such.

11 say? what, will OS, etc.
ow von 31

24 us two 31 29

Sir, sir, I know yon 31 O Sir . . love, but know .S'
a<) heany <?</ "41 I prethee Q ,?. tie. 43 your

(Jl : you're F :' 44 and how 31 47 falie <j 1

48 such] so Qi>, Ff, 31 : it so S

173

AIT II, Sc. III.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OK

Go, Before you dine, sir? What, go you

out of towne?

Bow. I, faith, vnlesse I here some newes in
towne, 5 |

I must away; there is no remedie.

Gon. Maister Bowser, what is your busines? j

may I know it?

Bow. You may, sir, and so shall all the Cittie.
The King of late hath had his treasurie rob'd,
And of the choysest iewelles that he had: 55 i
The value of them was some seauen thousand

pound.
The fellow that did steale these iewels, he is

hanged,

And did conf esse that for three hundred pound
He sould them to one Bagot dwelling in

London:

Now Bagots fled, and, as we here, to Antwarpe,
And hether am I come to seeke him out; 61
And they that first can tell me of his newes
Shall haue a hundred pound for their reward.
Ba(ri). Ho wiust is God to right the innocent.
Gou. Maister Bowser, you come in happie
time: 65

Here is the villaine Bagot that you seeke,
And all those iewels haue I in my handes.
Officers, looke to him, hould him fast.
Bag. The diuell ought me a shame, and now

hath paide it.

Bow. Is this that Bagot! fellowes, beare
him hence. 70

We will not now stand for his replie.
Lade him with Yrons; we will haue him tride
In England, where his villanies are knowne.
Bag. Mischiefe, confusion, light vpon you

all!

hang me, drowne me, let me kill my selfe!
Let go my armes; let me run quick to hell. 76
Bow. Away, beare him away; stop the
slaues mouth. [They carry him away.
Mi. Ba. Thy workes are infinite, great God

of heauen.

Gou. I hard this Bagot was a wealthie fellow.
Bow. He was indeed, for when his goods
were zeased, 80

Of Iewels, coine, and Plate within his house,
Was found the value of flue thousand pound;
His furniture fullie worth halfe so much,
Which being all strainde for, for the King,
He francklie gaue it to the Antwarpe mar-
chants, 85

And they againe, out of their bountious minde,
Hath to a brother of their companie,

53 Prefix Bow. brfoir 54 Qq may so, sir .V 56

some oni. Q2, etc. 57 he om. 03, c/c. 68 Here,
officers M C9 now he hath Ff, R 71 stand here |

for 31

83 worth fully S
, Ff: distrained for the M

84 strainde for the
87 Have Ff. c/>\

A man decaide by fortune of the Seas,
Giuen Bagots wealth, to set him vp againe,
And keepe it for him: his name is Banister. 90
Gou. Maister Bowser, with this happie

newes

You haue reuiued two from the gates of death:
This is that Banister, and this his wife.

Bow. Sir, I am glad my fortune is so good,

To bring such tidings as may comfort you. 95

Ban. You haue giuen life vnto a man

deemed dead,

For by these newes, my life is newlie bred.
Mi. Ba. Thankes to my God, next to my

Soueraigne King,
And last to you that these good hopes doth

bring.

Gou. The hundred pound I must receiue as
due 100

For finding Bagot, I freelie giue to you.
Bow. And, Maister Banister, if so you

please,
He beare you companie, when you crosse the

Seas.
Ban. If it please you, sir; my companie is

but meane.

Stands with your liking, lie waite on you. 105
Gou. I am glad that all things do accorde

so well:

Come, Maister Bowser, let vs in to dinner:
And, Misterisse Banister, be mery, woman 1
Come, after sorrow now lets cheere your spirit;
Kr.aues haue their due, and you but what you
merit. [Exit omnes.

(Acr HI. SCENE I. The principal bridge at

Florence.)

Enter Cromwell and Hodge in their shirtes, and
without Hattes.

Hod. Call yee this seeing of fashions?
Marrie, would I had staide at Putnaie still.
0, Maister Thomas, we are spoiled, we are
gone.

Crorn. Content thee, man, this is but for
tune. 6

Hodg. Fortune; a plague of this Fortune
makes me go wetshod; the roagues would not
leaue me a shooe to my feete. For my hoase,
they scorned them with their heeles; but for
my Dublet and Hatte, Lord, they imbrased
me, and vnlased me, and tooke away my
cloathes, and so disgraced me. 1 3

91 Good Master S this most happy .V 9*.)

hopes doth] newes doe QS, etc. Act III. Scene I.
etc. add. M 1-4 Verne Qq, Ff, die. fashions, still

7 Fortune, it makes Ff, f/c. 9-13 For my . . dis

graced ine] /%,</"(' .V. ''//, host-, heels, hat, ino. me,
cloatlis, me

174

THE LOUD CROMWELL

ACT III, Sc. I.

Crom. Well, Hodge, what remedie? What
shift shall we make now? 15

Hodge. Naie, I know not. For begging I
am naught, for stealing worse: by my troth, I
must euen fall to my olde trade, to the Hammer
and the Horse heeles againe: but now the worst
is, I am not acquainted with the humor of the
horses in this countrie, whether they are not
coultish, giuen much to kicking, or no; for
when I haue one legge in my hand, if he should
vp andlaie tother on my chops, I were gone:
there laie I, there laie Hodge. 25

Crom. Hodge, I beleeue thou must worke
for vs both.

Hodge. O, Maister Thomas, haue not I tolde
you of this? haue not I manie a time and often
said, Tom, or Maister Thomas, learne to make
a Horse-shooe, it will be your owne another
day: this was not regarded. Harke you,
Thomas, what doe you call the fellowes that
robd vs?

Crom. The Bandetti. 35

Hod. The Bandetti, doe you call them? I
know not what they are called here, but 1 am
sure wee call them plaine theeues in England.
Thomas, that we were now at Putnay, at the
ale there. 40

Cro. Content thee, man; here set vp these

two billes,

And let vs keepe our standing on the bridge:
The fashion of this countrie is such,
If any stranger be oppressed with want,
To write the maner of his miserie, 45

And such as are disposed to succour him,
Will doe it. What, hast thou set them vp?

Hod. I, their vp; God send some to reade
them, and not onelie to reade them, but also
to looke on vs; and not altogether to looke
on vs, 51

[One standes at one end, and one at tother.
But to releeue vs. colde, colde, colde.

Enter Friskiball, the Marchant, and reades the
bOles.

Fris. Whats here? two Englishmen rob'd

by the Bandetti!

One of them seemes to be a gentleman.
Tis pittie that his fortune was so hard, 55
To fall into the desperate handes of theeues.
He question him of what estate he is.
God saue you, sir; are you an Englishman?

Cro. I am, sir, a distressed Englishman.

Fri. And what are you, my friend? 60

:M on] of I :!">, 36 Bandetto (Jo 39 Tom Ff,
47 What, Hodge, hast Jf 48-51 lYm Qq,
50 ty out. Ff, (h\ 53 and roWd *

Ff: con: M
Bandetto

Hod. Who? I, sir? by my troth, I do not
know my self what I am now, but, sir, I was
a smith, sir, a poore Farrier of Putnay. Thats
my maister, sir, yonder. I was robbed for his
sake, sir. 65

Fri. I see you haue beene met by the

Bandetti,
And therefore neede not aske how you came

thus.

But, Friskiball, why doost thou question them
Of their estate and not releeue their neede?
Sir, the coine I haue about me is not much: 70
Theres sixteene Duckets for to cloath your

selues,

Theres sixteene more to buie your diet with,
And thers sixteene to paie for your horse

hire:

Tis all the wealth, you see, my purse possesses,
But if you please for to enquire me out, 75
You shall not want for ought that I can doe.
My name is Friskiball, a Florence Marchant,
A man that alwayes loued your nation.
Crom. This vnexpected fauour at your

hands,
Which God doth know if euer I shall requite

it 80

Necessitie makes me to take your bountie,
And for your gold can yeeld you naught but

thankes.

Your charitie hath helpt me from dispaire;
Your name shall still be in my hartie praier.
Fri. It is not worth such thankes. Come

to my house; 85

Your want shall better be releeu'd then thus.

Crom. I pray, excuse me; this shall well

suffice

To beare my charges to Bononia,
Whereas a noble Earle is much distressed:
An Englishman, Russell, the Earle of Bedford,
Is by the French King solde vnto his death: 9*
It may fall out, that I may doe him good;
To saue his life, He hazard my hart blood.
Therefore, kinde sir, thankes for your liberall

gift;
I must be gone to aide him; ther's no shift.

Fri. lie be no hinderer to so good an acte.
Heauen prosper you in that you goe about!
If Fortune bring you this way backe againe,
Pray let me see you: so I take my leaue; 99
All good a man can wish, I doe bequeath.

[Exit Friskiball.
Crom. All good that God doth send light

on your head;

Theres few such men within our climate bred.
How say you now, Hodge? is not this good

fortune? i3

66 Bandetto Qy 80 it out. J/ 103 now out, M

175

ACT III. Sr. I.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

Hod. How say you? He tell you what,
maister Thomas; if all men be of this Gentle-
mans minde, Ms keepe our standings vpon
this Bridge: we shall get more here with
begging in one day, then I shall with making
Horshoes in a whole yeare. 109

Crom. No Hodge, we must begone vnto

Bononia,

There to releeue the noble Earle of Bedford:
Where, if I faile not in my policie,
I shall deceiue their subtile treacherie.

Hodge. Naye, lie follow you. God blesse
vs from the theeuing Bandettoes againe. 115

[Exit omnes.

(SCENE n. Bononia. A room in an hotel.}

Enter Bedforde and his Hoast.
Bed. Am I betraide? was Bedforde borne to

die

By such base slaues in such a place as this?
Haue I escaped so many times in France,
So many battailes haue I ouer passed,
And made the French stirre when they hard

my name; 5

And am I now betraide vnto my death?
Some of their harts bloud first shall pay

for it.
Hoa. They do desire, my Lord, to speake

with you.
Bed. The traitors doe desire to haue my

bloud, 9

But by my birth, my honour, and my name,
By all my hopes, my life shall cost them

deare.

Open the door; ile venter out vpon them,
And if I must die, then ile die with honour.
Hoa. Alas, my Lord, that is a desperate

course;
They haue begirt you round about the

house: 15

Their meaning is to take you prisoner,
And so to send your bodie vnto France.
Bed. First shall the Ocean be as drie as

sand,

Before aliue they send me vnto France:
lie haue my bodie first bored like a Siue, 20
And die as Hector, gainst the Mirmidons,
Bare France shall boast Bedfordes their pri
soner.
Trecherous France, that, gainst the law of

armes,

Hath here betraide thy enemie to death.
But be assured, my bloud shalbe reuenged 25
Vpon the best Hues that remaines in France.

Enter a Seruant.

Stand backe, or els thou run'st vpon thy death.
Mes. Pardon, my Lord; I come to tell your

honour,

That they haue hired a Neapolitan,
Who by his Oratorie hath promised them, 30
Without the shedding of one drop of bloud,
Into their handes safe to deliuer you,
And therefore craues none but himselfe may

enter
And a poore swaine that attendes on him.

[Exit seruant.

Bed. A Neapolitan"! bid him come in. 35
Were he as cunning in his Eloquence
As Cicero, the famous man of Rome,
His wordes would be as chaffe against the

winde.

Sweete tong'd Vlisses that made Aiaxe mad,
Were he and his toung in this speakers head,
Aliue he winnes me not; then, tis no conquest

dead. 41

Enter Cromwell like a Neopolitan, and

Hodge with him.

Cro. Sir, are you the maister of the house?
Hoa. I am, sir.
Cro. By this same token you must leaue

this place,

And leaue none but the Earle and I together,
And this my Pessant here to tend on vs. 46
Hoa. With al my hart. God grant, you doe
some good.

[Exit Hoast. Cromwell shuts the dore.
Bed. Now, sir, whats your will with me?
Cro. Intends your honour not to yeeld your

selfe?

Bed. No, good man goose, not while my
sword doth last. 50

Is this your eloquence for to perswade me?
Cro. My Lord, my eloquence is for to saue

you.

I am not, as you iudge, a Neopolitan,
But Cromwell, your seruant, and an English
man.

Bed. How? Cromwell not my Farriers sonne?

Cro. The same, sir, and am come to succour

you. 56

Hod. Yes, faith, sir; and I am Hodge, your

poore Smith. Many a time and oft haue I

shooed your Dapper Gray.

Bed. And what auailes it me that thou art
here? 60

Cro. It may auaile, if youle be rul'd by me.
My Lord, you know the men of Mantua

10-1-9 Verse Q(i, Ff: con
Scene II. etc. add. M

M 115 Bamletti Ff \ 20 S. D. after 27 Qq, Ff: con: M

5 skir cortj. St. I Ff, div. Smith 59 dapple-grey 31

176

57-9 Vtrse Qq,

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT III, Sc. II.

And these Bononians are at deadlie strife,
And they, my Lord, both loue and honour you.
Could you but get out of the Mantua port, 65
Then were you safe dispite of all their force.
Bed. Tut, man, thou talkest of thinges

impossible.

Dost thou not see that we are round beset?
How, then, is it possible we should escape? 69
Crom. By force we cannot, but by pollicie.
Put on the apparell here that Hodge doth

weare,
And giue him yours the States, they know you

not,

For, as I thinke, they neuer saw your face
And at a watch-word must I call them in,
And will desire, that we safe may passe 75
To Mantua, where lie say my businesse lies.
How doth your Honor like of this deuise?
Bed. wondrous good! But wilt thou

venter, Hodge"!
Hod. Will I?

noble Lord, I do accorde, So

In anything I can,
And do agree, to set thee free,
Do fortune what she can.

Bed. Come, then, lets change our apparrell

straight.

Crom. Goe, Hodge; make hast, least they

chance to call. 85

Hod. I warrant you ile fit him with a sute.

[Exit Earle & Hodge.

Crom. Heauens graunt this pollicie doth

take successe,

And that the Earle may safelie scape away.
And yet it greeues me for this simple wretch,
For feare they should offer him violence: 90
But of two euils, tis best to shun the greatest,
And better is it that he hues in thrall,
Then such a Noble Earle as he should fall.
Their stubborne harts, it may be, will relent,
Since he is gone to whom their hate is
bent. 95

My Lord, haue you dispatched?

Enter Bedford like the Clowne, and Hodge in

his cloake and his Hat.
Bed. How doost thou like vs, Cromwellf is
it well?

Crom. 0, my Lord, excellent; Hodge, how

doost feele thy selfe? 100

Hodg. How do I feele my selfe? why, as

a Noble man should do. 0, how I feele honor

come creeping on I My Nobilitie is wonderfull

75 we two safe QS, etc. 70-83 Tiro linen Qq, Ff.

Jii: nftfr I can 84 and change we our S 85

.should chance V 90 fear lest they M 92 line
Q2. etc. 93 lie] this S 99 my good Lord, Ff,

etc. 101-7 Verse Qq, Ff

melancholic : Is it not most Gentleman like to
be melancholic? icj

Crom. Yes, Hodge; now goe sitte downe in
his studie, and take state vpon thee.

Hodge. I warrant you, my Lord; let me
alone to take state vpon me: but harke you,
my Lord, do you feele nothing bite about you?

Bed. No, trust me, Hodge. m

Hod. I, they know they want their pasture ;
its a strange thing of this vermine, they dare
not meddle with Nobilitie.

Crom. Go, take thy place, Hodge; lie call

them in. 115

[Hodge sits in the study, and Cromwell

ailles in the States.

All is done, enter and if you please.

Enter the States and Officers, with Halberts,
Gou. What, haue you wone him? will he

yeelde himselfe?
Crom. I haue, an't please you, and the quiet

Earle

Doth yeeld himselfe to be disposed by you.
Gou. Giue him the monie that we promised
him; 120

So let him go, whether it please himselfe.

Crom. My businesse, sir, lies vnto Mantua,
Please you to giue me safe conduct thether.
Gou. Goe and conduct him to the Mantua

Port,

And see him safe deliuered presently. 125
[Exit Cromwell and Bedford.
Goe draw the curtaines, let vs see the Earle.
O, he is writing; stand apart awhile.

Hodge. Fellow William, I am not as I haue
beene: I went from you a Smith, I write to you
as a Lord. I am, at this present writing, among
the Polonyan Sasiges. I do commend my Lord
ship to Raphe & to Roger, to Bridget & to
Doritie, & so to all the youth of Putnay.

Gou. Sure, these are the names of English
Noblemen, 134

Some of his speciall friends, to whom he writes:
But stay, he doth adresse himselfe to sing.

[Here he sings a song.
My Lord, I am glad you are so frolick and so

blithe:

Beleeue me, noble Lord, if you knew all,
Youde change your merrie vaine to sudden

sorrow.

Hodg. I change my merrie vaine? no, thou
Bononian, no. 140

I am a Lord and therefore let me goe

106 ?o and sit S 107 his! the Q 5, Fl, 31:

thy F2. /,'. Pope. 112 their old pasture Q2. etc.

lit') Now all M 118 an't Q S : ante Ql 121 it]
lie Ff 123 a safe M 131 sausages jtf : Casiges
Qq, Ff: cossacks conj. Percy

177

An III, So. II.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

And doe defie thee and thy Sasigis;
Therefore stand off, and come not neere my

honor.
Gou. My Lord, this iesting cannot serue

your turne.

Hod. Doost thinke, thou blacke Bononyan
beast, '45

That I doe floute, doe gibe, or iest,
No, no, thou Beare-pot, know that I,
A noble Earle, a Lord pardie

A Trumpet soandes.
Gou. What meanes this Trumpets sound?

Enter a Messenger.

Cit. One come from the States of Mantua.

Gou. What would you with vs? speake, thou

man of Mantua. 1 5 1

The Earle of Bedford, being safe in Mantua,
Desires Cromwells companie into France, 176
To make requitall for his courtesie:
But Cromwell doth denie the Earle his sute,
Andtelles him that those parteshe meant to see,
He had not yet set footing on the land, 180
And so direct lie takes his way to Spaine:
The Earle to France, and so they both do part.
Now let yourthoughtes, as swift asisthe winde,
Skip some few yeares, that Cromwell spent in

trauell,

And now imagine him to be in England, 1 85
I Seruant vnto the maister of the Roules,
; Where in short time he there beganne to florish.
An houre shall show you what few yeares did
cherish. [Exit.

To let you know the Noble Earle of Bedford
Is safe within the towne of Mantua,
And willes you send the pessant that you haue,
Who hath deceiued your expectation; 156
Or els the States of Mantua haue vowed
They will recall the truce that they haue made,
And not a man shall stirre from forth your

towne,

That shall returne, vnlesse you send him backe.
Go. this misfortune, how it mads my

hart! 1 61

The Neapolitan hath beguiled vs all.
Hence with this foole! what shall we do with

him,
The Earle being gone? a plague vpon it all.

HI.

London. A room in Sir Christo
pher Hales's house.}
The Musick playes, they bring out the banquet.
Enter Sir Christopher Hales, and Crom
well, and two seruants.
Hales. Come, sirs, be carefull of your

maisters credit,

And as our bountie now exceedes the figure
Of common entertainment: so do you
With lookes as free as is your maisters soule,
Giue formall welcome to the thronged tables,
That shall receiue the Cardinals followers 6
And the attendants of the Lord Chancellor.
' But all my care, Cromwell, depends on thee.
i Thou art a man differing from vulgar forme,

Hod. No, ile assure you, I am no Earle, but ' And by how much thy spirit is ranckt boue

these 10

In rules of Arte, by so much it shines brighter
By trauell whose obseruance pleades his merit,
In a most learned, yet vnaffecting spirit.
Good Cromwell, cast an eye of faire regarde
Bout all my house, and what this ruder flesh,
Through ignorance, or wine, do miscreate, 1 6
Salue thou with curtesie: if welcome want,
Full bowles and ample banquets will seeme

scant.

Crom. Sir, what soeuer lies in me,
Assure (you), I will shew my vtmost dutie. 20

[Exit Crom.
Hales. About it, then; the Lords will

straight be here.
Cromwell, thou hast those parts would rather

sute
The seruice of the state, then of my house.

a smith, sir; 165

One Hodge, a smith at Putnay, sir;
One that hath gulled you, that hath bored you,

sir.
Gou. Away with him! take hence the foole

you came for.
Hod. I, sir, and ile leaue the greater foole

with you.

Mes. Farewell, Bononians. Come, friend,

a long with me. 1 70

Hod. My friend, afore; my Lordship will

follow thee. [Exit.

Gou. Well, Mantua, since by thee the Earle

is lost,
Within few dayes I hope to see thee crosd.

[Exit omnes.

Enter Chorus.

Cho. Thus farre you see how Cromwelles
fortune passed.

142 I do M Casiges Ff 147-8 One line On : eorr.
Ff S. D. nflir 149 Qq. Ff: con: 3f 150 is come
M 105-7 Prone M

187 lie there Q 2, etc.: where he 01 188 nourish
rotti. St. Scene III. etc. add. M 5 former 1

7 the great Lord Q?, dc. 11 /:<7. trauell Qq, Ff:
con: M 12 his] thv N 13 unaffected ,S' 19 Sir.
as to M 20 you tuld. Q2 21 striaght Q J

178

THE LOUD CROMWELL

ACT 1 1 1, St. III.

I looke vpon thee with a louing eye,
That one day will prefer thy destinie.

Enter Messenger.
Sir, the Lords be at hand.

Mess.
Hales.

They are welcome; bid Cromwell
straight attend vs,

And looke you all things be in perfect readi-
nesse.

The Musicke layes. Enter Cardinall Wolsay,

Sir Thomas Moore and Gardiner.
Wol. 0, sir Christopher,
You are too liberal!. What, a banket to? 3
Hal. My Lordes, if wordes could show the

ample welcome,

That my free hart affordes you, I could then
Become a prater, but I now must deale
Like a feast Polititian with your Lordshippes:
Deferre your welcome till the banket end, 35
That it may then salue our defect of faire:
Yet Welcome now and all that tend on you.
Wol. Thankes to the kinde maister of the

Roules.
Come and sit downe; sit downe, sir Thomas

Moore.

Tis strange, how that we and the Spaniard differ .
Their dinner is our banquet after dinner, 41
And they are men of actiue disposition.
This I gather: that by their sparing meate
Their bodie is more fitter for the warres,
And if that famine chance to pinch their mawes,
Being vsde to fast it breed es lesse paine. 46
Hal. Fill me some Wine: He answere Car
dinall Wolsay.

My Lord, we English are of more freer soules
Then hungerstarued and ill complexioned

spaniardes.

They that are rich in Spaine spare bellie foode,
To deck their backes with an Italian hoode, 51
And Silkes of Ciuill: And the poorest Snake,
That feedes on Lemmons, Pilchers, and neare

heated

His pallet with sweete flesh, will beare a case
More fat and gallant then his starued face. 55
Pride, the Inquisition, and this bellie euill,
Are, in my iudgement, Spaines three headed

diuell.

Mo. Indeede it is a plague vnto their nation,
Who stager after in blind e imitation.

Hal. My Lords, with welcome, I present your

Lordships 60

28 perfect om. S 29-30 One Hue Qq : cwr. .V

A sollemne health.
Mo. I loue health well, but when (as)

healthes doe bring

Paine to the head and bodies surfeting,
Then cease I healthes.
Nay, spill not, friend, for though the drops be
small, 65

Yet haue they force, to force men to the wall.
Wol. Sir Christopher, is that your man?
Hal. And like your grace; he is a Scholler

and

A Lingest, one that hath trauelled manie partes

Of Christendome, my Lorde. 70

Wol. My friend, come nearer; haue you

beene a traueller?
Cro. My Lord, I haue added to my know -

ledge the loe Countries,
France, Spaine, Germanie, and Italie:
And though small gaine of profit I did finde,
Yet did it please my eye, content my minde.
Wol. What doe you thinke of the seuerall
states 76

And princes Courtes as you haue trauelled?
Cro. My Lord, no Court with England may

compare,

Neither for state nor ciuill gouernement:
Lust dwelles in France, in Italie, and Spaine,
From the poore pesant to the Princes traine,
In Germanie and Holland riot serues, 82

And he that most can drinke, most he deserues :
England I praise not, for I here was borne,
But that she laugheth the others vnto scorne.
Wol. My Lord, there dwelles within that
spirite 86

More then can be discerned by outwarde eye.
Sir Cristopher, will you part with your man?
Hal. I haue sought to proffer him to your

Lordship,

And now I see he hath preferred himselfe. 90
Wol. What is thy name?
Crom. Cromwell, my Lorde.
Wol. Then, Cromwell, here we make thee
Solliciter of our causes, and nearest next our
self e. Gardiner giue you kinde welcome to the
man. 96

Gardiner imbraces him.
Mo. My Lorde, you are a royall Winer,
Haue got a man besides yourbountious dinner.
Well, Knight, praie we come no more:

62 love healths M as add. Q ? 64 Ends friend
Off, Ff G8-70 Tiro lines Qq, Ff. dir. after I ingest

7.) -H':*!, T? ir 76 think then of 31 85 that

.:} With France M
32-5 I she laughs 31 : sure she laughs Haz.

86 End* more

Time line*, dir. a fin- prater, Polititian Oq, Fl : PI-MC ! J/ 87 byl by the M 89 to your] unto your M
FS, R : corr. M ' :J8 Our thanks M 43 By this ; 93-5 Verse aid. : dir. causes Qq, Ff: dir. solicitor M
Molt. 44 is OM. 03: bodies are Ff, etc. ' 46 ! 93-6 IV rw Qq 97 My lord cardinal J/ 98 Have

breeds in them less Jl 48 English .V : Spaniardes I M: Hath Qq 99 Well, my good knight .V pray
Q 1 : Englishmen QS, Ff 59 Who] And Q 1 I that we M

179

ACT III, Sc. III.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

If we come often, thou maist shut thy doore.

Wol. Sir Christopher, hadst thou giuen me

halfe thy landes, 101

Thou couldest not haue pleased me so much as

with
This man of thine. My infant thoughtes do

spell:

Shortlie his fortune shall be lifted higher;
True Industrie doth kindle honours fier. 105
And so, kinde maister of the Roules, farewell.
Hal. Cromwell, farewell.
Cro. Cromwell takes his leaue of you,
That neare will leaue to loue and honour you.
[Exit omnes. The Musicke playes, as
they go in.

(Acr IV.)
Enter Chorus.
Cho. Now Cromwells highest fortunes doth

begin.

Wolsay, that loued him as he did his life,
Committed all his treasure to his hands.
Wolsay is dead, and Gardiner, his man,
Is now created Bishop of Winchester: 5

Pardon if we omit all Wolsayes life,
Because our play dependes on Cromwelles

death.

Now sit and see his highest state of all;
His haight of rysing and his sodaine fall.
Pardon the errors is all readie past, 10

And liue in hope the best doth come at last:
My hope vpon your fauour doth depend,
And looke to haue your liking ere the end.

[Exit.

(SCENE I. The same. A publick walk.}
Enter Gardiner Bishop of Winchester, The

Dukes of Norffolke, and of Suffolke, Sir

Thomas Moore, Sir Christopher Halles,

and Cromwell.
Nor. Maister Cromwell, since Cardinall

Wolsayes death,

His maiestie is giuen to vnderstand
Theres certaine billes and writings in your

hand,

That much concernes the state of England.
My Lord of Winchester, is it not so?

Did binde vs, while his loue was to the King,
It is no boote now to denie these things,
Which may be preiuditiall to the state: 10
And though that God hath raisde my fortune

hyer

Then any way I lookt for or deseru'de,
Yet my life no longer with me dwell,
Then I prooue true vnto my Soueraigne:
What say you, maister Cromwell 1 ! haue you

those writings? 15

I, or no?

Crom. Here are the writings, and vpon my

knees,

I giue them vp vnto the worthy Dukes
Of Suffolke and of Norffolke: he was my

Maister,

And each vertuous part, 20

That liued in him, I tenderd with my hart;
But what his head complotted gainst the state
My countries loue commands me that to hate.
His sudden death I greeue for, not his fall,
Because besought to worke my countries thrall.
Suff. Cromwell, the King shall here of this

thy dutie, 26

Whom I assure my selfe will well rewarde thee:

My Lord lets go vnto his Maiestie,

And show these writings which he longs to see.

[Exit Norffolke and Suffolke.

Enter Bedford hastily.
Bed. How now, whose this? 30

Cromwell, by my soule! welcome to England:
Thou once didst saue my life, didst not

Cromwell"?

Crom. If I did so, 'tis greater glorie for me,
That you remember it, then of my selfe
Vainelie to report it. 35

Bed. Well, Cromwell, now is the time,
I shall commend thee to my Soueraigne:
Cheere vp thy selfe, for I will raise thy state.
A Russell yet was neuer found ingrate. [Exit.
Hales. how vncertaine is the wheele of
state. 40

Who latelie greater then the Cardinall,
For feare, and loue? and now who lower lies?
Gaye honours are but Fortunes flatteries,
And whom this day pride and promotion
swels,

Gar. My Lord of Norfolke, we two weare ! To morrow enuie and ambition quels. 45

whilom fellowes;
And, maister Cromwell, though our maisters
loue

100 thou maist shut Q2, tic.'. or shut vp 1 101
hadst Q 2, etc. : haddest hadst Q 1 101 ff. End On

Ff me, me, thine, spell : con: M S. D. The Musick
go in nfltr Enter Chorus Qq, Ff Act IV athl M

1 doth] do/'? 10 is] are Pff ' 13 looks M Scene I
etc. adit. M 4 concern F3 the present state S

More. Who sees the Cob -web intangle the

poore Flie,
May boldlie say the wretches death is nigh.

13 Yet may my .V 15-1G One Hue Qq : Front, flivfn
to Suff. Ff 17-19 Evil writings, unto, Norfolk M

17 vpon] on M 21 Who M 30 Eixl.t Cromwell
Qq, Ff : soul M 31 my] bv Q I 33-5 Tiro I him
Qq, Fl. tlfr. after remember it 34 of] for Q if, etc,
46 tangle M

180

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT IV, St. I.

Card. 1 knew his state and proud ambition
Was too too violent to last ouer-long.

Hales. Who soares too neare the sunne
with golden winges, 50

Mealtes them, to ruine his owne fortune
bringes.

Enter the Duke of Suffolke.
Suf. Cromwell, kneele downe in king

Henries name.

Arise sir Thomas Cromwell; thus beginnes thy
fame.

Enter the Duke of Norffolke.
Norf. Cromwell, the maiestie of England,
For the good liking he conceiues of thee, 55
Makes thee maister of the iewell house,
Chief e Secretarie to himselfe, and with all,
Creates thee one of his highnesse priuie
Counsell.

Enter the Earle of Bedforde.
Bed. Where is sir Thomas Cromwelll is he

knighted?

Suf. He is, my Lorde. 60

Bed. Then to adde honour to his name,
The King creates him Lord keeper of
His priuie Seale, and maister of the Roules,
Which you sir Christopher do now enioy;
The King determines higher place for you. 65

Crom. My Lords,

These honors are too high for my desert.
More. content thee, man; who would not

choose it?

Yet thou art wise in seeming to refuse it. 69
Card. Heres honors, titles, and promotions:
I feare this climing will haue a sudden fall.
Norff. Then come, my Lords; lets altoge

ther bring

This new made Counsellor to Englands King.
[Exit all but Gardiner.
Card. But Gardiner meanes his glorie shall
be dimde. 74

Shall Cromwell liue a greater man then I?
My enuie with his honour now is bred;
I hope to shorten Cromwell by the head. [Exit.

I. London. A street before Cromwell's

house.}

Enter Friskiball very poore.
Fris. Friskiball, what shall become of
thee?

48 know Q</, Ff 49 were J/ 54 the gracious
majesty Jf M (bee the master Jf til -_'/.'"/

honour to. keeper J/ IW End* Scale Qq. Ff >2
him] him the M 0(5-7 One !/>u <)</. Ff Scene II.
etc. add. M

Where shalt thou go, or which way shalt thou

turne?

Fortune, thatturnes her too vnconstant wheele,
Hath turn'd thy wealth and riches in the

Sea.

All parts abroade where euer I haue beene 5
Growes wearie of me, and denies me succour;
My debtors, they that should releeue my want,
Forswear es my monie, saies they owe me none:
They know my state too meane to beare out

law, 9

And here in London, where I oft haue beene,
And haue done good to manie a wretched man,
(I) Am now most wretched here, dispisd my

selfe.

In vaine it is, more of their hearts to trie; 13

Be patient, therefore, laye thee downe and die.

[He lies downe.

Enter good man Seely, and his wife loane.

Seely. Come, loane, come; lets see what
heele doe for vs now. Iwis we haue done for
him, when many a time and often he might
haue gone a hungrie to bed. 1 8

Wife. Alas, man, now he is made a Lord,
heele neuer looke vpon vs; heele fullnll the
old Prouerbe: Set Beggers a horse -backe, and
thei'le ride. A, welliday for my Cowe! such as
he hath made vs come behinde hand: we had
neuer pawnd our Cowe els to pay our rent. 24

Seely. Well, loane, heele come this waye:
and by Gods dickers, ile tell him roundlie of it,
and if hee were tenne Lordes: a shall knowe
that I had not my Cheese and my Bacon for
nothing. 2 9

Wife. Doe you remember, husband, how
hee woulde mouch vp my Cheese cakes? he
hath forgot this now, but weele remember him.

Seelie. I, we shall haue now three flappes
with a Foxe taile: but, I faith, ile gibber a
ioynte, but ile tell him his owne. Staye, who
comes heere? stand vppe; heere hee
comes ; stand vppe. 37

Enter Hodge verie fine with a Tipstafe:

Cromwell, the Mace caryed before him:

Norffolke, and Suffolke, and attendants.

Hod. Come, away with these beggars here;

rise vp, sirra.

Come, out the good people: runne afore there,

ho! 39

[Friskiball riseth, and stands a farre off.

Seelie. I, wee are kicked awaye, now wee

come for our owne; the time hath beene he

woulde a looked more friendlye vpon vs. And

4 Hath drown'd X I-' Am Qq : And Ff : 1 am

-V here] and 6' 32 but now weel Q if, etc.

181

ACT IV, Sc. II.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

you, Hodge, we know you well inough, though
you are so fine.

Cro. Come hether, sirrah. Stay, what men
are these? 45

My honest Host of Hounslow and his wife!
I owe thee mony, father, do I not?

Scelie. I, by the bodie of mee, dooest thou.
Woulde thou wouldest paye me: good foure
pound it is, I haue a the poste at home. 5

Cro. I know tis true. Sirra, giue him ten

Angels:

And looke your wife and you do stay to dinner:
And while you Hue, I freelie giue to you
Foure pound a yeare, for the foure pound I
ought you. 54

Seelie. Art not changed, art ould Tom still!
Now God blesse the good Lord Tom. Home,
loane, home; ile dine with my Lorde Tom to j
day, and thou shalt come next weeke. Fetch ;
my Cow; home, loane, home. 59 :

Wife. Now God blesse thee, my good Lorde
Tom; lie fetch my Cow presentlie. [Exit Wife.

Enter Gardiner.

Cro. Sirra, goe to yon stranger; tell him I
Desire him stay at dinner. I must speake
With him.

Gar. My Lorde of Norffolke, see you this

same bubble, 65

That same puffe? but marke the end, my Lord,

Marke the ende.

Nor. I promise you, I like not somthing he

hath done,

But let that passe; the King doth loue him well.
Cro. Go(o)d morrow to my Lord of Win- i
Chester. 70 j

I know you beare me hard about the Abbie

landes.
Gar. Haue I not reason, when religion is

wronged?
You had no colour for what you haue done.

Cro. Yes; the abolishing of Antichrist,
And of this Popish order from our Realme.
I am no enemy to religion, 76

But what is done, it is for Englands good.
What did they serue for but to feede a sort
Of lazie Abbotes and of full fed Fryers?
They neither plow, nor sowe, and yet they
reape 80

The fat of all the Land, and sucke the poore:
Looke, what was theirs, is in King Henries

handes;
His wealth before lay in the Abbie lands.

Gar. Indeede these things you haue aledged,

my Lord,

When God doth know the infant yet vnborne
Will curse the time the Abbies were puld
downe. 86

I pray, now where is hospitality?
Where now may poore distressed people go,
For to releeue their neede, or rest their bones,
When weary trauell doth oppresse their limmes?
And where religious men should take them in,
Shall now be kept backe with a Mastiue dogge,
And thousand thousand
Nor. 0, my Lord, no more: thinges past

redresse

Tis bootelesse to complaine. 95

Cro. What, shall we to the Conuocation

house?

Nor. Weele follow you, my Lord; praie,
leade the way.

Enter Old Cromwell like a Farmer.
Old. Cro. How? one Cromwell made Lord

Keeper since I left Putnay
And dwelt in Yprkeshire. I neuer hard better

newes:
lie see that Cromwell, or it shall goe hard. 100

Cro. My aged father! state set aside,
Father, on my knee I craue your blessing:
One of my seruantes go and haue him in;
At better leasure will we talke with him.
Old. Cro. Now if I die, how happy were the
day! 105

To see this comfort raines forth showers of ioy.
[Exit Olde Cromwell
Nor. This dutie in him showes a kinde of

grace.

Cro. Go on before, for time drawes on
apace. [Exit all but Friskiball.

Fris. I wonder what this Lord would haue
with me, 109

His man so stricktlie gaue me charge to stay:
I neuer did offend him to my knowledge.
Well, good or bad, I meane to bide it all;
Worse then I am now neuer can befall.

Enter Banister and his wife.

Ba. Come, wife, I take it be almost dinner

time, 1 1 1

For maister Newton, and maister Crosbic sent

To me last night, they would come dine with me,

And take their bond in: I pray thee, hie thee

home,
And see that all things be in readinesse.

50 hav't M 55 ff. Yirne Qq, Ff : con: M 5G tlioc. 94 Ends more 31
good Ff, etc. (J-2-4 Tiro linen (jq, ilh: nftcr desire him : 98-100 Prose M
run: M fi3ttj to QS, iU: .wb'.Op* line <h

CO That smile] That's a mere .V 70 Endx know

182

97 follow OS, (t<: : fellow Q I

- 101 state then set M 102 on]

upon 31 1H be] to be M Two linen IU 1 15 Wv
to me Qt), Ff: con: M

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT IV, Sc. IV.

Mi. Ba. They shalbe welcome, husband;

ile go before.

But is not that man maister Friskiballl 1 20

[She runnes and imbrases him.

Ba. heauens, it is kinde maister Friski-

balll
Say sir, what hap hath brought you to this

Fris. The same that brought you to your

misery.
Ba. Why would you not acquaint me with

your state?

Is Banister your poore friend quite forgot: 125
Whose goods, whose loue, whose life and all is

yours?
Fri. I thought your vsage would be as the

rest,
That had more kindnesse at my handes then

you,
Yet looked asconce, when as they saw me

poore.

Mi. Ba. If Banister should beare so bace
a hart, 1 30

I neuer would looke my husband in the face,
But hate him as I would a Cockatrise.

Ba. And well thou mightest, should Banister

deale so.

Since that I saw you, sir, my state is mended:
And for the thousand pound I owe to you,
I haue it ready for you, sir, at home; 136
And though I greeue your fortune is so bad,
Yet that my hap's to helpe you makes me glad.
And now, sir, will it please you walke with

me?

Fris. Not yet I cannot, for the Lord Chan-

celour 1 40

Hath here commaunded me to waight on him,

For what I know not: pray God tis for my good.

Ba. Neuer make doubt of that; ile warrant

you,

He is as kinde a noble gentleman
As euer did possesse the place he hath. 1 45
Mi. Ba. Sir, my brother is his steward; if

you please,

Weale go along and beare you company:
I know we shall not want for welcome there.
Fris. With all my hart: but whats become

of Bagott

Ba. He is hanged, for buying iewels of the
Kinges-. 1 50

Fris. A iust reward for one so impious.
The time drawes on, sir; will you go along?
Ba. Ile follow you, kinde maister Frishiball.
[Exit Omnes.

125 quite am. Q2, Ff: then forgot M 130

should] would /' :', etc. 142 tis . . my] it be for (J2,
i.V.

(SCENE IH. The same. Another street.)
Enter two Mar chants.

1. Now, maister Crosbie, I see you haue
a care,

To keepe your word, in paiment of your monie.

2. By my faith, I haue reason vpon a bond;
Three thousand pound is too much to forfeit.
Yet I doubt not Maister Banister. 5

1. By my faith, your summe is more then
mine,

And yet I am not much behinde you too,
Considering that to day I paid at court.

2. Masse, and well remembred,

Whats the reason the Lord Cromwels men 10
Weare such long skirts vpon their coates.
They reach almost downe to their verie ham.

1. I will resolue you, sir; and thus it is:
The Bishop of Winchester, that loues not

Cromwell,

As great men are enuied, as well as lesse 15
A while agoe there was a iarre betweene them,
And it was brought to my Lord Cromwels eare,
That Bishop Gardiner would sit on his skirt;
Vpon which word, he made his men long Blew

coates, 19

And in the Court wore one of them himself e:
And meeting with the Bishop, quoth ha, ' Mv

Lord,
Here's skirt enough now for your Grace to sit

on;'

Which vexed the Bishop to the very hart.
This is the reason why they weare long coates.

2. Tis alwaies seene, and marke it for a rule,
That one great man will enuie still another: 2 6
But tis a thing that nothing concernes me.
What, shall we now to Maister Banisters'!

1 . I, come, weele pay him royally for our
dinner. [Exit.

(SCENE IV. The same. A room in CromwelVs

house.)
Enter the Vsher and the Shewer, the meate

goes oner the Stage.
Vsher. Vncouer there, Gentlemen.

Enter Cromwell, Bedford, Suffclke, Old Crom
well, Friskiball, goodman Seelie, and
attendants.

Crom. My noble Lordes of Suffolke and of
Bedford,

\ ScencIII. /<. rM. .)/ S. D. Enter Newton and

, Crosby M 3 vpon] on 31 4 is far too ,V a

\ And yet M 6 faith, sir, your M 9-12 Thrtr.

Inifa " J/, die. nfltr reason, upon 10 the Lord]

Lord M 12 almost oi. Q2, itc. 18 skirts (>~>,

etc. 22 skirts Ff, tic. Scene IV, tic. add. M

183

ACT IV, Sc. IV.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

Your honors welcome to poore Cromwels

house.

Where is my father? nay, be couered, Father.
Although that duty to these noble men 5
Doth challenge it, yet ile make bolde with

them.

Your head doth beare the callender of care.
What, Cromwell couered and his Father bare!
It must not be. Now, sir, to you. Is not
Your name Friskiball and a Florentine"! 10
Fris. My name was Friskiball, till cruell

fate

Did rob me of my name and of my state.
Crom. What fortune brought you to this

countrie now?
Fri. All other parts hath left me succorlesse,

Now in to dinner, for we stay too long,
And to good stomacks is no greater wrong. 45

[Exit omnes.

(SCENE V. The same. A room in the Bishop

of Winchester's house.}
Enter Gardiner in his studie, and his man.
Gard. Sirra, where be those men I causd to

stay?
Ser. They do attend your pleasure, sir,

within.
Gard. Bid them come hether, and stay you

without:

For by those men, the Foxe of this same land,
That makes a Goose of better then himself e,

Saue onelie this. Because of debts I haue, 15 j Weele worie him vnto his latest home,

I hope to gaine for to releeue my want.

Crom. Did you not once, vpon your Florence

bridge,
Helpe two distressed men, robd by the Ban-

detti?
His name was Cromwell.

Fri. I neuer made my braine a calender 20
Of any good I did;

I alwaies lou'd this nation with my heart.
Crom. I am that Cromwell that you there

releeued.
Sixteene Duckets you gaue me for to cloath

Or Gardiner will faile in his intent.

As for the Dukes of Suffolke and of Norffolke,

Whom I haue sent for to come speake with

me,

Howsoeuer outwardlie they shadow it, 10
Yet in their hearts I know they loue him not:
As for the Earle of Bedford, he is but one,
And dares not gaine -say what we do set downe.

Enter the two witnesses.
Now, my friends, you know I sau'd your liues,
When by the law you had deserued death, 15

Sixteene to beare my charges by the way,
And sixteene more I had for my horse hier:
There be those seuerall summes iustlie returnd,
Yet with iniustice, seruing at my need,
And to repay them without interest.

Therefore receiue of me these foure seuerall

And then you promised me vpon your othes,
25 ! To venture both your liues to do me good.

Both wit. We swore no more then that we

will performe,

Gard. I take your words; and that which
you must do

bags;

In each of them there is foure hundred marke;

Is seruice for your God, and for your King: 20
To roote a rebell from this flourishing land,
One thats an enemie vnto the Church:

And bring me the names of all your debitors, And therefore must you take your solemne
And if they will not see you paide, I will: oathes,

That you heard Cromwell, the Lord Chaun-
cellor,

God forbid, that I should see him fall,

That helpt me in my greatest need of all. 35 M

Here stands my Father that first gaue me life, , Did wish"a dagger at King Henries hart. 25
Alas, what dutie is too much for him? Feare not to sweare it, for I hard him speake it;

This man in time of need did saue my life,
And therefore (I) cannot do too much for him.
By this old man I often times was fed, 40

Therefore weele shield you from " insuing
harmes.

, . . T , 7 -T- 2. Wit. If you will warrant vs the deed is

Els might I haue gone supperlesse to bed. good,

Such kindnesse haue I had of these three men, Weele vndertake it

That Cromwell no way can repaie againe. Gar. Kneele downe, and I wil here absolua

3 are welcome J/ 5 Ends challenge it Qq, Ff: con- mu- %? U ^\ , 3

.V <J Ends to you Qq, Ff: con: M 18 twol aO* Thls Crucifi x I lay vpon your head,
etc. men] man Ff, etc. -" -

And sprinckle holy-water on your browes.

184

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT IV, Sc. V.

And by it shall you purchase grace from
heauen.

1. Now, sir, weele vndertake it, by our
soules. 35

2. For Cromwell neuer loued none of our
sort.

Gar. I know he doth not, and for both of

you,

I will preferre you to some place of worth:
Now get you in, vntill I call for you, 39

For presentlie the Dukes meanes to be here.

[Exit wit.

Cromwell, sit fast, thy time's not long to raigne.
The Abbies that were puld downe by thy

meanes

Is now a meane for me to pull thee downe:
Thy pride also thy owne head lights vpon,
For thou art he hath changd religion: 45
But now no more, for here the Dukes are come.

Enter Suffolke, Norffolke, and the Earle

of Bedford.

Stiff. Goodden to my Lord Bishop.
Nor. How fares my Lord? what, are you

all alone?

Gar. No, not alone, my Lords; my mind is
troubled; 49

I know your honours muse wherefore I sent,
And in such hast. What, came you from the

King?
Norff. We did, and left none but Lord

Cromwell with him.
Card. 0, what a dangerous time is this we

Hue int

Theres Thomas Wolsay, hees alreadie gone,
And Thomas Moore, he followed after him: 55
Another Thomas yet there doth remaine,
That is farre worsse then either of those twaine,
And if with speed, my Lords, we not pursue it,
I f eare the King and all the land will rue it.
Bed. Another Thomas] pray God it be not
Cromwell. 60

Card. My Lord of Bedford, it is that traitor

Cromwell.
Bed. Is Cromwell false? my hart will neuer

thinke it.

Suff. My Lord of Winchester, what likeli
hood,

Or proofe haue you of this his treacherie?
Gar. My Lord, too much. Call in the men
within. 65

Enter witnesses.

These men, my Lord, vpon their othes affirme,
That they did here Lord Cromwell in his garden,

44 also QO. dr. : vpon 01
etc.

47 Good cucn Q ?,

Wished a dagger sticking at the hart
Of our King Henrie. What is this but treason?
Bed. If it be so, my hart doth bleed with
sorrow. 70

Suff. How say you friends? what, did you
here these words?

1 . wit. We did, and like your grace.
Norff. In what place was Lord Cromwell

when he spake them?

2. wit. In his Garden, where we did attend
a sute, 74

Which we had waited for two yeare and more.
Suff. How long ist since you heard him

speake these words?
2. wit. Some halfe yeare since.
Bed. How chance that you conceald it all

this time?

1 . wit. His greatnesse made vs feare, that
was the cause.

Card. I, I, his greatnesse; thats the cause

indeed; So

And to make his treason here more manifest,
He calles his seruants to him round about,
Telles them of \Volsayes life, and of his fall,
Saies that himselfe hath manie enemies,
And giues to some of them a Parke or Manor,
To others Leases, Lands to other some: 86
What need he doe thus in his prime of life,
And if he were not fearfull of his death?
Suff. My Lord, these likelihoods are very

great.
Bed. Pardon me, Lords, for I must needs

depart; 90

Their proofes are great, but greater is my

heart. \Exit Bedford.

Norff. My friends, take heed of that which

you haue said.
Your soules must answer what your tongues

reports:
Therefore, take heed, be warie what you doe.

2. wit. My Lord, we speake no more but
truth. 95

Norff. Let them

Depart. My Lord of Winchester, let these men
Be close kept vntill the day of triall.

Gar. They shall, my Lord: hoe, take in
these two men. [Exit witnesses.

My Lords, if Cromwell haue a publike triall,
That which we do is voide by his deniall: 101
You know the king will credit none but him.
Nor. Tis true, he rules the King euen as he

pleases.

Suff. How shall we do for to attache him,
then?

68 Wishing M 87 thus] this S 95-8 End

truth, Winchester, kept, trial Qq, Ff: rwr. 31 %
them] him coy. M 97 let] and let M

185

ACT IV, Sc. V,

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

Card. Marie, my Lords, thus: by an Acte
he made himself e, 105

With an intent to intrap some of our hues,
And this it is: If any Councellor
Be conuicted of high treason, he shall
Be executed without a publike triall.
This Act, my Lords, he causd the King to
make. no

Stiff. A did indeed, and I remember it,
And now it is like to fall vpon himself e.
Nor. Let vs not slack it, tis for Englands

good.

We must be warie, els heele go beyond vs.
Gar. Well hath your Grace said, my Lord
of Norffolke; 115

Therefore let vs presently to Lambeth.
Thether comes Cromwell from the Court to

night.

Let vs arest him, send him to the Tower,
And in the morning, cut off the traitors

head.

Norf. Come, then, about it, let vs guard the

towne. 1 20

This is the day that Cromwell must go downe.

Gard. Along, my Lords. Well, Cromwell

is halfe dead;

He shaked my hart, but I will shaue his head.

[Exeunt.

(Acr V. SCENE I. A street in London.}

Enter Bedford solus.
Bed. My soule is like a water troubled,
And Gardiner is the man that makes it so.
0, Cromwell, I do feare thy end is neare:
Yet Be preuent their malice if I can.
And in good time, see where the man doth
come, s

Who little knowes how neares his day of
dome.

Enter Cromwell withhis traine. Bedford makes
as though he would speake to him: he
goes on.

Cro. Your well encountered, my good Lord

of Bedford.

I see your honour is adressed to talke;
Pray pardon me, I am sent for to the king,
And do not know the businesse yet my
selfe. 10

So fare you well, for I must needes be gone.

[Exit all the traine.
Bed. You must; well, what remedie?
I feare too soone you must be gone indeed.

108 Ends treason Qq, Ff : con: M 115 my good

r * * ir 16 y s] us ., go M 123 shaue ] sbak e conj.
M Act V. etc. add. M 8 om. Ff, R

The king hath businesse, but little doest thou

know, i 4

Whose busie for thy life: thou thinkes not so.

Enter Cromwell and the traine agayne.
Crom. The second time wel met, my Lord of

Bedford;

I am very sory that my hast is such.
Lord Marques Dorset beeing sicke to death,
I must receaue of him the priuie seale. 1 9
At Lambeth, soone, my Lord, weele talke our
fill. [Exit the traine.

Bed. How smooth and easie is the way to
death!

Enter a seruant.

Mes. My Lord, the dukes of Norfolke and

of Suffolke,

Accompanied with the Bishop of Winchester,
Intreates you to come presently to Lambeth,
On earnest matters that concernes the state.
Bed. To Lambeth! so: goe fetch me pen

and inke. 26

I and Lord Cromwell there shall talke enough;
I, and our last, I feare, and if he come.

[He writes a letter.
Heare, take this letter, and beare it to Lord

Cromwell.

Bid him read it; say it concernes him neare:
Away, begone, make all the hast you can. 31
To Lambeth do I goe a woefull man. [Exit.

(SCENE n. A street near the Thames.}

Enter Cromwell and his traine.
Crom. Is the Barge readie? I will straight

to Lambeth,

And if this one dayes businesse once were past,
I'de take my ease to morrow after trouble.
How now, my friend, wouldst thou speake with
me?

[The Messenger brings him the letter; he
puts it in his pocket.

Mes. Sir, heares a letter from my Lord of

Bedford. 5

Crom. good, my friend, commend me to

thy Lord.
Hould, take those Angels; drinke them for thy

paynes.

Mes. He doth desire your grace to reade it,

Because he sayes it doth concerne you neare.

Crom. Bid him assure himselfe of that.

Farewell. 10

To morrow, tell him, shall he heare from me.

Set on before there, and away to Lambeth.

[Exeunt omnes.

Scene II. lit.-, add.

186

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT V, Sc. IV.

(SCENE m. Lambeth.}
Enter Winchester, Suffolke, Norf olke, Bedford,
Sargiant at armes, the Harauld, and halberts.

Gar. Halberts, stand close vnto the water
side;

Sargiant at armes, be bould in your office;
Harrauld, deliuer your proclamation.

Ha. This is to giue notice to all the kings
subiects: The late Lord Cromwell, Lord Chan
cellor of England, Vicor generall ouer the
realme, him tohould and esteeme as a traytor
agaynst the Crowne and dignitie of England:
So God saue the king.

Gar. Amen. i

Bed. Amen, and roote thee from the land,
For whilst thou liuest truth cannot stand.

Nor. Make a lane there, the traitors at

hand.

Keepe backe Cromwels men;
Drowne them if they come on. Sargiant, your
office. *5

Enter Cromwell, they make a lane with their

Halbertes.
Cro. What meanes my Lord of Norfolke

by these wordes?
Sirs, come along.

Gar. Kill them, if they come on.
Sar. Lord Cromwell, in king Henries name,
I do arrest your honour of high treason. 20
Crom. Sargiant, me of treason?

[Cromwels men offer to drawe.
Suf. Kill them, if they draw a sworde.
Crom. Hould; I charge you, as you loue

me, draw not a sworde.
Who dares accuse Cromwell of treason now?
Gar. This is no place to recken vp your
crime; 25

Your Doue-like lookes were viewed with ser
pents eyes.
Crom. With serpents eyes, indeed, by thine

they were;
But Gardiner do thy woorst, I feare thee

not.
My f ayth, compared with thine, as much shall

passe,

As doth the Diamond excell the glasse. 30
Attached of treason, no accusers by!
Indeede, what tongue dares speake so foule

a lie?
Nor. My Lord, my Lord, matters are too

well knowne,
And it is time the king had note thereof.

Scene III. etc. add. M 2 be you bold M 4-9
Verne in Qq, Ff : con: 31 1'2 the truth 31 li

Ends come on M 19 Lord Thomas Cromwell 31

Crom. The king! let me goe to him face to
face; 35

No better triall I desire then that:
Let him but say that Cromwels fayth was

fayned,

Then let my honour and my name be stayned.
If euer my hart agaynst my king was set,
let my soule in ludgement aunswere it: 40
Then, if my faythes confirmed with his reason,
Gaynst whom hath Cromwell, then, committed

treason?

Suf. My Lord, your matter shall be tried;
Meane time, with patience content your selfe.
Cro. Perforce I must with patience be con
tent. 45
deare friend Bedford, doest thou stand so

neare?

Cromwell reioyceth one friend sheds a teare.
And whether ist? which way must Cromwell

now?
Gar. My Lord, you must vnto the tower.

Lieutenant,

Take him to your charge. 50

Cro. Well, where you please; yet before I

part,

Let me conferre a little with my men.
Gar. As you goe by water, so you shall.
Cro. I haue some businesse present to

impart.

Nor. You may not stay. Lieutenant, take

your charge. 55

Cro. Well, well, my Lord, you second

Gardiners text.

Norfolke, farewell; thy turne wilbe the next.
[Exit Cromwell and the Lieutenant.
Gar. His guiltie conscience makes him raue,

my Lord.
Nor. I, let him talke; his' time is short

enough.

Gar. My Lord of Bedford, come; you weepe
for him, 60

That would not shed halfe a teare for you.
Bed. It grieues me for to see his sudden

fall.

Gar. Such successe wish I to traitours still.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE IV. London. A street.}

Enter two Citizens.

1. Why, can this newes be true? ist possible?
The great Lord Cromwell arreasted vpon
treason!

49 End* tower Oq, Ff: con: M 50 to] unto M

51 yet] but yet 31 M Ay, as M 61 halfe om. Ff,
R : even half 31 03 to] vnto Q ?, etc. Scene IV.
etc. add. 31

187

ACT V, Sc. IV.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF

I hardly will beleeue it can be so.

2. Itis too true.sir; would it were other wise,
Condition I spent halfe the wealth I had. 5
I was at Lambeth, saw him there arrested,
And afterward committed to the Tower.

1 . What, wast for treason that he was com -
mitted?

Was very desirous for to speake to me, 1 1
And afterward sent to me a letter,
The which I thinke I haue still in my pocket.
Now may I read it, for I now haue leasure,
And this I take it is. [He reades the Letter.
My Lord, come not this night to Lambeth, 1 6

For if you do, your state is ouerthrowne.

2 Kinde, noble Gentleman! I may rue the j And much I doubt your life, and if you come:

time.

All that I haue, I did inioy by him,
And if he die, then all my state is gone.

1. It may be doubted that he shall not die,
Because the King did fauour him so much.

2. O sir, you are deceiued in thinking so.
The grace and fauour he had with the king
Hath causde him haue so manie enemies: 16
He that in court secure will keepe himselfe,
Must not be great, for then he is enuied at.
The Shrub is safe, when as the Cedar shakes;
For where the King doth loue aboue compare,
Of others they as much more enuied are. 21

1 . Tis pittie that this noble man should fall,
He did so many charitable deeds.

2. Tis true, and yet you see in each estate,
Theres none so good, but some one doth him

hate. 25

And they before would smile him in the face,
Will be the formost to do him disgrace:
What, will you go along vnto the Court?

1. I care not if I do, and here the newes,
How men will iudge what shall become of him.

2. Some will speake hardly, some will
speake in pitie. 31

Go you to the Court, He vnto the Citie;
There I am sure to here more newes then you.
1. Why, then, soone will we meet againe.

[Exit.

(SCENE V. A room in the Tower.}

Enter Cromwell in the Tower.
Crom. Now, Cromwell, hast thou time to

meditate,

And thinke vpon thy state, and of the time.
Thy honours came vnsought, I, and vnlooked

for;

Thy fall as sudden, and vnlooked for to.
What glorie was in England that I had not? 5
Who in this land commanded more then

Cromwell!

Except the King who greater then my selfe?
But now I see, what after ages shall:
The greater men, more sudden is their fall.
And now I do remember the Earle of Bedford

5 had] liauo Q ?, <t,-. 12 doubted] hoped Q ?.

f./r. :{2 vnto] go into Q ;?. clt. 34 again : adieu
St. Scene V. etc. udd. M 9 men F/ : man ^7

Then if you loue your selfe, stay where you
are.

God! had I but read this letter, 20
Then had I beene free from the Lions paw;
Deferring this to read vntill to morrow,

1 spurnd at ioy, and did imbrace my sorrow.

Enter the Leiutenant of the Tower and

officers.
Now, maister Lieutenant, when's this day of

death?

Lien. Alas, my Lord, would I might neuer

see it. 25

Here are the Dukes of Suffolkea.nd of Norffolke,

Winchester, Bedford, and sir Richard Ratcliffe,

With others, but why they come I know not.

Crom. No matter wherefore, Cromwell is

prepard; 29

For Gardiner has my state and life insnard.

Bid them come in, or you shall do them wrong,

For here stands he, whom some thinkes liues

too long.

Learning killes learning, and insteed of Inck
To dip his Pen, Cromwels heart blood doth
drinke.

Enter all the Nobles.

Norf. Good morrow, Cromwell. What,

alone, so sad? 35

Crom. One good among you, none of you

are bad.

For my part, it best fits me be alone;
Sadnesse with me, not I with any one.
What, is the king acquainted with my cause?
Norf. We haue, and he hath answered vs,
my Lord. 4

Cro. How, shall I come to speake with him

my selfe?
Card. The King is so aduertised of your

guilt,

He will by no meanes admit youto his presence.
Cro. No way admit me? am I so soone

forgot?

Did he but yesterday imbrace my neck, 45
And said that Cromwell was euen halfe him
selfe,
And is his Princely eares so much bewitched

1-2 to] vnto Q2, dr.
' others] others still S
188

'20 O God, O God ! .)/
40 We haue] He is M

THE LORD CROMWELL

ACT V, Sc. V.

With scandolous ignomie, and slanderous

speeches,

That now he dooth denie to looke on me?
Well, my Lord of Winchester, no doubt but you
Are much in fauour with his Maiestie: 51
Will you beare a letter from me to his grace?
Card. Pardon me, ile beare no traitors

letters.
Crom. Hal Will you do this kindnesse

then? Tell him

By word of mouth, what I shall say to you? 55
Card. That will I.

Crom. But, on your honour, will you?
Card. I, on my honor.
Crom. Beare witnesse, Lords. Tell him
when he hath knowne you, 59

And tried your faith but half e so much as mine,
Heele finde you to be the falsest harted man
In England. Pray, tell him this.

Bed. Be patient, good my Lord, in these

extreames.
Crom. My kinde and honorable Lord oi

Bedford,

I know your honor alwaies loued me well; 65
But, pardon me, this still shall be my theame;
Gardiner is the cause makes Cromwell so

extreame.

Sir Ralphe Sadler, pray, a word with you:
You were my man, and all that you possesse
Came by my meanes; to requite all this, 70
Will you take this letter here of me,
And giue it with your owne hands to the

king?

Sad. I kisseyour hand, and neuer will I rest,

Bare to the king this be deliuered. [Exit Sadler.

Crom. Why yet Cromwell hath one friend

in store. 75

Card. But all the hast he makes shall be

but vaine.

Heres a discharge for your prisoner,
To see him executed presentlie.
My Lord, you here the tenor of your life
Crom. I doe imbrace it, welcome my last
date, 80

And of this glistering world I take last leaue:
And, noble Lords, I take my leaue of you.
As willinglie I goe to meete with death,
As Gardiner did pronounce it with his breath:
From treason is my hart as white as Snowe,
My death onlie procured by my foe. 86

I pray, commend me to my Soueraigne king,
And tell him in what sort his Cromwell died,
To loose his head before his cause were tride:

54 Emit then Qq, Ff: con: M 59 Tito Kites Qq, Ff,
die. afttr Lords '68 I pray M 70 tol sir, to M
71 Say will M 75 Why tlien yet .If 77 for] sir,
for S 86 procured only )f

But let his Grace, when he shall here my name,
Say onely this: Gardiner procured the same. 91

Enter young Cromwell.
Lieu. Here is your sonne, come to take his

leaue.
Crom. To take his leaue! Come hether,

Harry Cromwell.

Marke, boye, the last words that I speake to
thee. 9 4

Flatter not Fortune, neither fawne vpon her;
Gape not for state, yet loose no sparke of

honor;

Ambition, like the plague see thou eschew it;
I die for treason, boy, and neuer knew it.
Yet let thy faith as spotlesse be as mine, 99
And Cromwels vertues in thy face shall shine.
Come, goe along and see me leaue my breath,
And Ile leaue thee vpon the floure of death.

Son. O, father, I shall die to see that wound ;

Your blood being spilt will make my hart to

sound. 104

Cro. How, boy, not looke vpon the Axe!

How shall I do then to haue my head stroke

off?

Come on, my childe, and see the end of all,
And after say that Gardiner was my fall.
Gar. My Lord, you speake it of an enuious
hart; 109

I haue done no more then lawe and equitie.
Bed. 0, good my Lord of Winchester, for--

beare;

It would a better seemed you to beene absent,

Then with your wordes disturbe a dying man.

Cro. Who me, my Lord? no, he disturbes

not me.

My minde he stirres not, though his mightie

shocke * is

Hath brought mo peeres heads downe to the

blocke.

Farewell, my boy! all Cromwell can bequeath,
My hartie blessing; so I take my leaue.

Hang. I am your deaths man; pray, my

Lord, forgiue me.

Crom. Euen with my soule. Why, man,

thou art my Doctor, 1 20

And bringes me precious Phisicke for my

soule.

My Lord of Bedford, I desire of you,
Before my death, a corporall imbrace.
[Bedford comesto him, Cromwell imbraces him.
Farewell, great Lord; my loue I do commend,
My hart to you; my soule to heauen I send.
This is my ioy that, eare my bodie fleete, 1 2 6

02 son, sir, come M
112 al have M : ot, Q
116 to] unto .V

105 not dare to look M
Fj beene] have been M

189

AcrV.Sc. V. THE LIFE AND DEATH OF THE LORD CROMWELL

Your honourdarmes is my true winding sheete.
Farewell, deare Bedford; my peace is made in

heauen.
Thus falles great Cromwell a poore ell in

length,
To rise to vnmeasured height, winged with

new strength, *3

The land of Wormes, which dying men dis-

couer,
My soule is shrinde with heauens celestiall

couer.

[Exit Cromwell and the officers, and others.
Bed. Well, farewell, Cromwell, the trewest

friend, 133

That euer Bedford shall possesse agayne.
Well, Lordes, I feare, when this man is deade,
Toule wish in vayne that Cromwell had a head.

Enter one with Cromwels head.
Offi. Heare is the head of the deceased

Cromwell.

131 The Qq, etc.: Hail conj. St.
theJ/ 135 that when M

133 the] sure

Bed. Pray thee, goe hence, and beare his

heade away
Vnto his bodie; inter them both in clay.

Enter sir Raulphe Sadler.
Sad. Ho now, my Lordes: what, is Lord
Cromwell dead? 1 40

Bed. Lord Cromwels body now doth want

a heade.
Sad. God! a little speede had saued his

life.

Here is a kinde repriue come from the king,
| To bring him straight vnto his maiestie.
Snf. I, I, sir Ranlph, repriues comes now
too late. 145

Gar. My conscience now telles me this deede

was ill:

Would Christ that Cromwell were aliue againe.
Nor. Come, let vs to the king, whom well

I know,

Will grieue for Cromwell, that his death was
so. I Exeunt omnes.

FINIS.
148 whom] who M

190

Prodigal!.

As it was plaide by the Kings Maie-
fliesferuants.

By jyitliamShakefpeare,

LONDON,

Printed byT. C, for Natbtnief Butter, and

arc to be fold n eere S isfuft&s gate,

at the Ggne of th e pyde Bull*

Q = Quarto of 1605

F 1 = (Third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664

F2 = (Fourth) 1685

R = Rowe, 1709

Pope = supplementary volume to Pope's Shakespeare, 1 728

ML = Malone, 1780

St. Steevens, ibid.

Th. - Theobald, ibid.

S = Simms, 1848

T = Tyrrell, 1851

Haz. =-- Hazlitt, 1852

Moli.=* Moltke, 1869

pr.ed.- present editor

192

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

(The Actors Names in the London Prodigal. The Scene London (and the Parts adjacent). 1

M. Flowerdale (Senior), 2 a Merchant trading
at Venice.

Matth. Flowerdale, his Prodigal Son.

M. Flowerdale, (Junior), 3 Brother to the Mer
chant.

Sir Lancelot Spurcock, of Lewsome in Kent.

Frances.

Luce. Daughters to Sir Lancelot Spurcock.

Delia.

flSoak. 1 S^ S fc Sir Lance. Spurcock.

(ACT I. SCENE I. London. A room in
Flowerdale Junior's house.}

Enter old Flowerdale and his brother.

Path. Brother, from Venice, being thus

disguisde,

I come to proue the humours of my sonne.
How hath he borne himself e since my de
parture,

I leauing you his patrone and his guide?
Vnck. If aith, brother, so, as you will grieue

to heare,

And I almost ashamde to report it. 6

Path. Why, how ist, brother? what, doth
he spend beyond the allowance I left him?

Vnck. How! beyond that? and farre more:
why, your exibition is nothing. Hee hath

In love with
Luce.

spent that, and since hath borrowed ; pro- ' I pray, proceede.

Sir Arthur Greenshood, a Com
mander.

Oliver a Devonshire 4 Clothier. ,

Weathercock, a Parasite to Sir Lance. Spur
cock.

Tom Civet, in love with Frances.

Dick and Raph, two cheating Gamesters.

Ruffin, a Pander to Mistris Apricock a Bawd.

Sheriff and Officers.

A Citizen and his wife.

Drawers.} 5

intombe himself in the earth, or seek a new
Tenant to remaine in him: which once
settled, how much better are they that in
their youth haue knowne all these vices, and
left it, then those that knewe little, and in
their age runnes into it? Beleeue me, brother,
they that dye most vertuous hath in their
youth liued most vicious, and none knowes
the danger of the fire more then he that falles
into it. But say, how is the course of his life?
lets heare his particulars. 41

Vnck. Why, He tell you, brother; he is
a continual swearer, and a breaker of his
oathes, which is bad. '

Path. I grant indeed to sweare is bad, but
not in keeping those oathes is better: for who
will set by a bad thing? Nay, by my faith, I
hold this rather a vertue then a vice. Well,

tested with oathes, alledged kindred to wring
mony from me, by the loue I bore his father,
by the fortunes might fall vpon himself, to
furnish his wants: that done, I haue had
since his bond, his friend and friends bond.
Altho I knowe that hee spends is yours; yet
it grieues me to see the vnbridled wildnes

Vnck. He is a mighty brawler, and comes
commonly by the worst. 51

Path. By my faith, this is none of the worst
neither, for if he brawle and be beaten for it,
it wil in time make him shunne it: For what
brings man or child more to vertue then
correction? What raignes ouer him else? 5 6

Vnck. He is a great drinker, and one that
will forget himselfe.

Path. best of all ! vice should be forgotten :

that raines ouer him. 19

Path. Brother, what is the manner of his
life? howe is the name of his offences? If they

do not rellish altogether of damnation, his j let him drink on, so he drinke not churches,
youth may priuiledge his wantonnesse: I my Nay, and this be the worst, I hold it rather
selfe ranne an vnbrideled course till thirtie, a happines in him, then any iniquity. Hath
nay, almost till fortie; well, you see how j he any more attendants?

I am: for vice, once looked into with the eies
of discretion, and well balanced with the
waites of reason, the course past seemes so
abhominable, that the Landlord of himselfe,
which is the heart of his body, will rather

1 and . . adjacent add. R ~, 3 Add. M 4 Cor
nish Q, Ff: cm-r. M 5 Dram. Per*, add. Ft Act
I. etc. ndd. M 22 damdation y

Vnck. Brother, he is one that will borrow
of any man. 65

Path. Why, you see, so doth the sea: it
borrowes of all the smal currents in the world,
to encrease himselfe.

35 it] 'em R

Prefix Vnck.

T. B.

I Ha~z.
193

36 run F 2, elf. it] 'em R 45
40 not in] in not conj. M: the not

47-70 Nay . . son Yene Q, F 1

02 a om, Ff
H

ACT I, Sc. I.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Vnek. I, but the sea paies it againe, and so

will neuer your son

Path. No more would the sea neither, if it
were as dry as my sonne.

Vnck. Then, brother, I see you rather like

these vices in your sonne, then any way con-

if wee doe not pay you: the worst of vs all will
not damne our selues for ten pound. A poxe
of ten pound! 122

Vnck. Cousen, this is not the first time I
haue beleeu'd you.

Flow. Why, trust me now, you know not

demne them.

Faih. Nay, mistake me not, brother, for tho
I slur them ouer now, as things slight and
nothing, his crimes being in the budde, it
would gall my heart, they should euer raigne
in him. 8o

Flow. Hoi whoes within? ho!

[Flower dale knockes within.

Vnck. That's your sonne, hee is come to
borrowe more money.

Path. For Godsake giue it out I am dead;
sse how hele take it. Say I haue brought you
newes from his father. I haue here drawne
a formall will, as it were from my selfe, which
lie deliuer him. 88

Vnck. Goe too, brother, no more: I will.

Flow. Vnckle, where are you, Vnckle?

[within.

Vnck. Let my cousen in there.

Path. I am a Sayler come from Venice, and
my name is Christopher.

Enter Flowerdale.

Flow. By the Lord, in truth, Vnckle 94

Vnck. In truth would a seru'd, cousen,
without the Lord.

Flow. By your leaue, Vnckle, the Lord is
the Lord of truth. A couple of rascalles at
the gate set vpon me for my purse. 99

Vnck. You neuer come, but you bring a
brawle in your mouth.

Flow. By my truth, Vnckle, you must
needes lend me tenne pound.

Vnck. Giue my cousen some small beere

75 what may fall. If one thing were but true,

I would not greatly care, I should not neede
ten pound, but when a man cannot be beleeued,
ther's it.

Vnck. Why, what is it, cousen? 1 30

Flow. Mary, this, Vnckle: can you tell me
if the Katern-hue be come home or no?

Vnck. I, mary, ist.

Flow. By God I thanke you for that newes.
What, ist in the poole, can you tell? 1 35

Vnck. It is; what of that?

Flow. What? why then I haue sixe peeces
of vellet sent me; lie giue you a peece, Vnckle:
for thus said the letter, a peece of Ashcolour,
a three pilde black, a colour de roy, a crimson,
a sad greene, and a purple: yes, y faith. 141

Vnck. From whom should you receiue
this?

Flow. From who? why, from my father;
with commendations to you, Vnckle, and thus
he writes: I know, saith he, thou hast much
troubled thy kinde Vnckle, whom God -willing
at my returne I will see amply satisfied. Amply,
I remember was the very word, so God helpe

150

Haue you the letter here?
Tes, I haue the letter here, here is

me.

Vnck.

Flow.

the letter: no, yes, no; let me see, what
breechs wore I a Satterday? let me see: a
Tuesday my Calymanka; a Wednesday my
peach colour Sattin; a Thursday my Vellure;
a Friday my Gaily manka againe; a Satterday
let me see a Satterday, for in those
breeches I wore a Satterday is the letter: 0,

here. 105 j my ryding breeches, Vnckle, those that you

Flow. Nay, looke you, you turne it to a thought had bene vellet; in those very breeches
iest now: by this light, I should ryde to ', is the letter. 162

Croydon fayre,to meete syr Lancelot Spurrock. j Vnck. When should it be dated?
I should haue his daughter Luce, and for ! Flow. Mary, Decimo tertio septembris no,
scuruy tenne pound, a man shal loose nine no decimo tertio Octobris; I, Odobris, so it is.
hundred three -score and odde pounds, and a j Vnck. Decimo tertio Octobrisl and here
daily friend beside. By this hande, Vnckle, receiue I a letter that your father dyed in
tis true.

Vnck. Why, any thing is true for ought I

know.

Flow. To see now! why, you shall haue my
bond, Vnckle, or Tom Whites, lames Brocks,
or Nick Halls: as good rapyer and dagger
men, as any be in England. Lets be dambn'd

Inne: how say you, Kestert

Path. Yes, truly, syr, your father is deai

115 these hands of mine holpe to winde him.

Flow. Dead?
Path. I, syr, dead.

73-80 Verse Q, Fl 84-8 Verse Q, Ff
Nay . . scuruy Verse Q, F J

125-7 Why . . care Verse Q. F I 132 Catherine

and Hugh M 140 colourde deroy Q : cnr>: M

97-9, 106-10 144 whom M 164-5 Didicimo tersios . . trydisinio
tersios Q : corr. 31 166 Dicditimo tersios Q

194

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT I, Sc. I.

Flow. Sblood, how should my father come
dead?

Path. Yfaith, syr, according to the old

Prouerbe: 175

The childe was borne and cryed, became

man,
After fell sicke, and dyed.

Vnck. Nay, cousen, doe not take it so
heauily. 179

Flo w. Nay, I cannot weepe you extempory :
mary, some two or three dayes hence, I shall
weep without any stintance. But I hope he
dyed in good memory. 183

Path. Very well, syr, and set downe euery
thing in good order; and the Katherine and
Hue you talkt of, I came ouer in: and I
saw all the billes of lading, and the vellet
that you talkt of, there is no such aboord.

Flow. By God, I assure you, then, there is
knauery abroad. 1 90

Path. lie be sworne of that: ther's knauery

abroad,

Altho there were neuer a peece of vellet in
Venice.

Flow. I hope he dyed in good estate.

Path. To the report of the world he did, and

made his will,
Of which I am an vnworthy bearer. 1 95

Flow. His will! haue you his will?

Folk. Yes, syr, and in the presence of your

Vnckle
I was willed to deliuer it.

Vnck. I hope, cousen, now God hath blessed
you with wealth, you will not be vnmindf ull
of me. 201

Flow. He doe reason, Vnckle, yet, yfaith,
I take the deniall of this tenne pound very
hardly.

Vnck. Nay, I denyde you not. 205

Flow. By God, you denide me directly.

Vnck. lie be iudge(d) by this good fel-
lowe.

Path. Not directly, syr. 209

Flow. Why, he said he would lend me
none, and that had wont to be a direct denyall,
if the old phrase holde. Well, Vnckle, come,
weele fall to the Legasies: (reads) ' In the
name of God, Amen. Item, I bequeath to
my brother Flowerddle three hundred pounds,
to pay such triu(i}all debts as I owe in London.
Item, to my sonne Mat Flower dale, I be
queath two bayle of false dyce; Videllicet, high
men and loe men, fullomes, stop cater traies,
and other bones of function.' 220

180 cannon 207 jndg'd Ff: iudge aood-

fellowe Q S. D. reads 'add. 11 218 Videlli-

Sblood, what doth he meane by this?

Vnck. Proceede, cousen.

Flow. " These precepts I leaue him: let him
borrow of his oath, for of his word no body will
trust him. Let him by no meanes marry au
honest woman, for the other will keepe her
self e. Let him steale as much as he can, that
a guilty conscience may bring him to his
destinate repentance." I thinke he meanes
hanging. And this were his last will and
Testament, the Diuell stood laughing at his
beddes feete while he made it. Sblood, what,
doth hee thinke to fop of his posteiitie with
Paradoxes? 234

Path. This he made, syr, with his owne
hands.

Flow. I, well; nay, come, good Vnckle, let
me haue this ten pound. Imagine you haue
lost it, or (been) robd of it, or misreckond your
selfe so much: any way to make it come easily
off, good Vnckle. 241

Vnck. Not a penny.

Path. Yfaith, lend it him, syr. I my selfe
haue an estate in the Citie worth twenty
pound: all that ile ingage for him; he saith it
concernes him in a marriage. 246

Flow. I, marry, doth it. This is a fellow
of some sense, this: Come, good Vnckle.

Vnck. Will you giue your word for it,
Kesterl 250

Path. I will, syr, willingly.

Vnck. Well, cousen, come to me some
hower hence, you shall haue it readie.

Flow. Shall I not faile?

Vnck. You shall not, come or send. 255

Flow. Nay, ile come my selfe.

Path. By my troath, would I were your
worships man.

Flow. What, wouldst thou serue?

Path. Very willingly, syr. 260

Flow. Why, ile tell thee what thou shalt
doe: thou saith thou hast twentie pound; goe
into Bur chin Lane, put thy selfe into cloathes;
thou shalt ride with me to Croyden fayre. 264

Path. I thanke you, syr; I will attend you.

Flow. Well, Vnckle, you will not faile me
an hower hence?

Vnck. I will not, cousen.

Flow. Whats thy name? Kesterl

Path. I, syr. 270

Flow. Well, prouide thy selfe: Vnckle,
farewell till anon. [Exit Flowerdale.

221 Prefix Flow, rtpeaied before this line Q, Ff
223-9 These . . repentance Verne Q, F 1 233 fob

M : lop WH/AVT 39 been robd pr. td. : robd Q,

Ff: wererobb'd 31 252 some] an R 262 saist
Ff, etc.

195

ACT I, Sc. I.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Vnck. Brother, how doe you like your

sonne?
Path. Yfaith, brother, like a mad vnbridled

colt,

Or as a Hawke, that neuer stoop'd to lure:
The one must be tamde with an yron byt, 276
The other must be watched, or still she is wilde.
Such is my sonne; awhile let him be so:
For counsell still is follies deadly foe.
He serue his youth, for youth must haue his

course,

280

For being restrainde, it makes him ten times
worse:

Lance. Nay be not angry, syr, at her deniall.
Shee hath refus'de seauen of the worshipfulst
And worthyest hous -keepers this day in Kent:
Indeed she will not marry, I suppose.

Wea. The more foole she. 25

Lance. What, is it folly to loue Chastitie?

Wea. No, mistake me not, syr Lancelot,
But tis an old prouerbe, and you know it well,
That women dying maides lead apes in hell.

Lance. Thats a foolish prouerbe, and a
false. 3

Wea. By the masse I thinke it be, and
therefore let it goe:

His pride, his ryot, all that may be named, j But who shall marry with mistresse Prances'!
Time may recall, and all his madnesse tamed.

(Exeant.}

(SCENE IE. The high street in Croydon. An
inn appearing, with an open drinking
booth before it.}

Enter syr Launcelot, Maister Weathercocke,
Daffidill, Artichoake, Luce, and Francke.
Lance. Syrrha Artichoake, get you home

before,

And as you proued your selfe a calfe in bying,
Driue home your fellow calfes that you haue

bought.

Arti. Yes, forsooth; shall not my fellow
Daffidill goe along with me?

I must haue one to

Lance. No, syr, no;

waite on me. 5

Ally. Daffidill, farewell, good fellow Daffi

dill.

You may see, mistresse, I am set vp by the

halues:
In steed of waiting on you, I am sent to driue

home calues.
Lance. Yfaith, Francke, I must turne away

this Daffidill,

Hees growne a very foolish sawcie fellow. 10
Fran. Indeed law, father, he was so since

I had him:
Before he was wise enough for a foolish

seruing-man.

Wea. But what say you to me, syr Lancelot!
Lance. O, about my daughters? wel, I will

goe forward.
Heers two of them, God saue them: but the

third,

O shees a stranger in her course of life.
Shee hath refused you, Maister Weathercocke.
Wea. I, by the Rood, syr Lancelot, that she

hath,

But had she tride me,
She should a found a man of me indeed. 20

Fran. By my troath, they are talking of

marrying me, sister.
Luce. Peace, let them talke:
Fooles may haue leaueto prattle as they walkc.
Daff. Sentesses still, sweet mistresse; 36
You haue a wit, and it were your Alliblaster.
Luce. Yfaith, and thy tongue trips trench -

more.
Lance. No, of my knight-hood, not a

shuter yet:

Alas, God helpe her, sillie girle, a foole, a verie
foole: 4

But thers the other black -browes, a shroad

girle,

Shee hath wit at will, and shuters two or three:
Syr Arthur Greene-sheld one, a gallant knight,
A valiant Souldier, but his power but poore.
Then thers yon* Oliuer, the Deuen-shyre lad,

A wary fellow, marry, full of wit, 46

And rich by the rood; but thers a third all aire,
Light as a feather, changing as the wind:
Young Flower dale.

Wea. hee, syr, hees a desperate dick in
deed. 50
Barre him your house.

Lance. Fye, not so, hees of good parentage.
Wea. By my faie and so he is, and a proper

man.
Lance. I, proper enough, had he good

qualities.

Wea. I, marrie, thers the point, syr Lance
lot, 55
For thers an old saying:
Be he rich, or be he poore,
15 S fie he hye, or be he lowe:
Be he borne in barne or hall,
Tis maners makes the man and all. 60
Lance. You are in the right, maister
Weathercock.

S. f). Exeunt ndd. I!
20 One. Hut <}, Ff

Scene II. etc. whl. M 19-

22-3 Prone Q : con: M 6 Charitie Q : cnrr. K

27 No, no M 36 Sentences It, dc. 48-9 Otif

line Q : con: F ? 52 Fie, sir M 57 poore] poe
conj. M
196

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT I, St. II.

Enter Mounsier Ciuet.

duet. Soule, I thinke I am sure crossed,
or witcht with an owle. I haue hanted them,

Inne after Inne, booth after booth, yet cannot | worshipfull Maister Weatherco'ckl What, at
finde them: ha, yonder they are; thats she. j your pinte? a quart for shame.

Enter yong Flowerdale.
Flow. Ho w no w? f ye, sit in the open roome ?
now, good syr Lancelot, & my kind friend

I hope to God tis shee! nay, I know tis shee
now, for she treades her shooe a little awry.

Lance. Where is this Inne? we are past it,
Daffidill. 69

Daffidill. The good signe is heere, syr, but
the back gate is before.

Ciuet. Saue you, syr. I pray, may I borrow

Lance. Nay, Royster, by your leaue we will
away. IIS

Flow. Come, giues some Musicke, weele
goe dance. Begone, syr Lancelot! what, and
fayre day too?

Luce. Twere fowly done, to dance within
the fayre.

Flow. Nay, if you say so, fairest of all
faires, then ile not dance. A poxe vpon my
tayler, he hath spoyled me a peach colour

a peece of a word with you?

Daff. No peeces, syr.

Cm. Why, then, the whole. I pray, syr,
what may yonder gentlewomen be? 76 . satten shute, cut vpon cloath of "siluer, but if

Daff. They may be Ladies, syr, if the euer the Rascall serue me such an other tricke,
destinies and mortalitie worke. Ile giue him leaue, yfaith, to put me in the

Cm. Whats her name, syr? calender of fooles: and you, and you, syr

Daff. Mistresse Frances Spurcocke, syr Lancelot and Maister Weathercock. My gold-

Lancelots Spurcockes daughter.
Cm. Is she a maid, syr?

smyth too, on tother side I bespoke thee,
Luce, a carkenet of gold, and thought thou

Daff. You may aske Pluto, and dame Pro- shouldst a had it for a fayring, and the Rogue

serpine that: I would be loth to be ridelled,
syr.

Cm. Is she married, I meane, syr?

Daff. The Fates knowes not yet what shoe
maker shall make her wedding shooes.

puts me in rerages for Oryant Pearle: but thou

'33

85 shalt haue it by Sunday night, wench.

Enter the Drawer.
Draw. Syr, here is one hath sent you a

Cm. I pray, where Inne you syr? I would pcttle of rennish wine, brewed with Rose-

be very glad to bestowe the wine of that gentle
woman. 91

Daff. At the George, syr.

Cm. God saue you, syr.

Daff. I pray your name, syr?

Cm. My name is maister Ciuet, syr. 95

Daff. A sweet name. God be with you,
good maister Ciuet. [Exit Ciuet.

Lance. A, haue we spide you, stout S.

George"!

For all your dragon, you had best selles good
wine,

water.

Flow. To me?

Draw. No, syr, to the knight; and desires
his more acquaintance. 139

Lance. To me? whats he that proues so
kind?

Daff. I haue a tricke to know his name,
syr. He hath a moneths mind here to mis-
tresse Frances, his name is maister Ciuet.

Lance. Call him in, Daffidill. 1 45

Flow. O I know him, syr, he is a foole,
But reasonable rich; his father was one of

That needs no yuie-bush: well, weele not sit these lease -mongers, these corne -mongers,

by it, ioo

As you do on your horse. This roome shall

serue:

Drawer, let me haue sacke for vs old men:
For these girles and knaues small wines are

best.
A pinte of sacke, no more. 104

these mony-mongers, but he neuer had the
wit to be a whore -monger. 150

Enter maister Ciuet.

Lance. I promise you, syr, you are at too
much charge.

Cyuet. The charge is small charge, syr; I

Draw. A quart of sack in the three Tunnes. thanke God my father left me wherewithal!:
Lance. A pinte, draw but a pinte. Daffi- if it please you, syr, I haue a great mind to this

dill, call for wine to make your selues drinke. j gentlewoman here, in the way of marriage. 156
Fran. And a cup of small beere, and a

cake, good Daffidill. i o 9

OSIinnc (J

Q : con: M

VI black gate Ff, 11 106-7 Verse

Lance. I thanke you, syr: please you come
to Lewsome

119 Prtfix Lance Q, Ff: rw>: M 121-4 Nay . .

sliutc Verse Q, F 1 148 corne-monger- Q 157-00
Prose Q : ion: M

197

ACT I, Sc. II.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

To my poore house, you shall be kindly wel
come:

I knewe your father, he was a wary husband.

To paie here, Drawer. 160

Draw. All is paid, syr : this gentleman hath

paid all.

Lance. Yfaith, you do vs wrong,
But we shall liue to make amends ere long:
Maister Flower dale, is that your man?

Flow. Yes, faith, a good old knaue. 1 65
Lance. Nay, then I thinke
You will turne wise, now you take such a

seruant:
Come, youle ride with vs to Lewsome; lets

away.
Tis scarce two howres to the end of day.

[Exit Omnes.

(ACT II. SCENE I. A road near Sir Lancelot
Spurcocks house, in Kent.}

Enter syr Arthur Green -shood, Olyuer, Lieu-
tennant and Souldiers.

Awr. Lieuftenant, leade your Souldiers to

the ships.
There let them haue their coates, at their

arriuall

They shall haue pay: farewell, looke to your
charge.

Sol. I, we are now sent away, and cannot
so much as speake with our friends. 5

Oly. No, man; what, ere you vsed a zutch
a fashion, thicke you cannot take your leaue
of your vreens?

Awr. Fellow, no more. Lieuftenant, lead
them off. 10

Sol. Well, if I haue not my pay and my
cloathes, lie venture a running away tho I
hang fort.

Awr. Away, surrha, charme your tongue.
[Exit Souldiers.

Oly. Bin you a presser, syr? 15

Aur. I am a commander, syr, vnder the
King.

0/y. Sfoot, man, and you bee nere zutch
a commander, shud a spoke with my vreens
before I chid agone, so shud. 20

Aur. Content your selfe, man, my au
thority will stretch to presse so good a man as
you.

Oly. Presse me? I deuye (ye), presse
scoundrells, and thy messels: Presse me! chee
scornes thee, yfaith: For seest thee, heres a

166 Ends wise : con: 3t Act II. etc. (,,1,1. )l

S. I). Greenshield M 6-8 No man wliat ere . .

vreens Q 11-13 Vme Q, Vf 15 Bin and you

^: con: Ff 24 deuye ycjn: cd.: deuye Q, e'c.

198

worshipfull knight knowes cham not to be
pressed by thee. 2 8

Enter syr Lancelet, Weather cocke, yong Flower-
dale, old Flower dale, Luce, Franck.

Lance. Syr Arthur, welcome to Lewsome,
welcome by my troath. Whats the matter,
man? why are you vext? 31

Oly. Why, man, he would presse me.

Lance. Fie, syr Arthur, presse him? he
is (a) man of reckoning.

Wea. I, that he is, syr Arthur, he hath the
nobles, 35

The golden ruddockes he.

Ar. The fitter for the warres: and were he

not

In fauour with your worships, he should see,
That I haue power to presse so good as he.

Oly. Chill stand to the triall, so chill. 40

Flow. I, marry, shall he, presse -cloath and
karsie, white pot and drowsen broath: tut,
tut, he cannot.

Oly. Well, syr, tho you see vlouten cloath
and karsie, chee a zeene zutch a karsie coate
weare out the towne sick a zilken lacket, as
thick a one you weare. 47

Flow. Well sed, vlitan vlattan.

Oly. A, and well sed, cocknell, and boe-bell
too: what, doest thincke cham a vearde of thy
zilken coate? nefer vere thee. 51

Lance. Nay, come, no more, be all louers
and friends.

Wea. I, tis best so, good maister Olyuer.

Flow. Is your name maister Oliuer, I pray
you? 56

Oly. What tit and be tit, and grieue you.

Flow. No, but Ide gladly know if a man
might not haue a foolish plot out of maister
Oliuer to worke vpon. 60

Oly. Worke thy plots vpon me! stand a
side: worke thy foolish plots vpon me! chill
so vse thee, thou weart neuer so vsed since thy
dame bound thy head. Worke vpon me?

Flow. Let him come, let him come. 65

Oly. Zyrrha, zyrrha, if it were not vor
shame, chee would a giuen thee zutch a
whisterpoope vnder the eare, chee would a
made thee a vanged an other at my feete:
stand a side, let me loose, cham all of a
vlaming fire-brand; Stand aside. 71

Flow. Well, I forbeare you for your friends
sake.

Oly. A vig for all my vreens! doest thou
tell me of my vreens? 75

34 a wM. Fl 37 End* faiiour Q : iwr. 31 41-3
Verse Q : corr. M 51 coate, Q nefer /. (d.: no fer
Q, Ff no vcar vor thee M 68 whister poope Q, Ff

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT II, Sc. I.

Lance. No more, good maister Oliuer; no

more,

Syr Arthur. And, maiden, here in the sight
Of all your shuters, euery man of worth,
He tell you whom I fainest would preferre
To the hard bargine of your marriage bed.
Shall I be plaine among you, gentlemen? 81

Arth. I, syr, tis best.

Lance. Then, syr, first to you:
I doe confesse you a most gallant knight,
A worthy souldier, and an honest man: 85
But honestie maintaines (not) a french-hood,
Goes very seldome in a chain of gold,
Keepes a small traine of seruants: hath fewe

friendes.
And for this wilde oates here, young Flower -

dale,

I will not iudge: God can worke myracles, 90
But hee were better make a hundred new,
Then thee a thrifty and an honest one.

Wea. Beleeue me, he hath byt you there,
he hath touched you to the quicke, that hath
he. 95

Flow. Woodcocke a my sidel why, maister
Weather cocke, you know I am honest, how-
soeuer triffles

Wea. Now, by my troath, I knowe no other -
wise.

your old mother was a dame indeed: 100
Heauen hath her soule, and my wiues too, I

trust:

And your good father, honest gentleman,
He is gone a lourney, as I heare, far hence.

Flow. I, God be praised, he is far enough.
He is gone a pylgrimage to Paradice, 105
And left me to cut a caper against care.
Luce, looke on me that am as light as ayre.
Luce. Yfaith, I like not shadowes, bubbles,
breath,

1 hate a light a loue, as I hate death.

Lance. Gyrle, hold thee there: looke on this
Deuen -shyre lad : no

Fat, faire, and louely, both in purse and
person.

0/y. Well syr, cham as the Lord hath
made me. You know me well, yuine: cha
haue three -score packe a karsay, and black -
em hal, and chiefe credit beside, and my
fortunes may be so good as an others, zoe it
may.

Luce, (aside to Ar.) Tis you I loue, what-
soeuer others say.

Ar. Thanks, fayrest. 120

76-92 Prose : con: M 82 Prefix Arty. Q 86
not ad/1. M 93 hyt] hit Ff, etc. 94-5 that he

hath Ff, etc. 108 breath M : broath Q 114-15 at
Blackem-Hall M 118 Prefix Lance. Q : con: M

Flow, (aside to Path.} What, wouldst thou
haue me quarrell with him?

Path. Doe but say he shall heare from you.

Lance. Yet, gentlemen, howsoeuer I pre
ferre

This Deuen -shyre shuter, He enforce no loue;
My daughter shall haue liberty to choose 126
Whom she likes best; in your loue shute pro
ceed:
Not all of you, but onely one must speed.

Wea. You haue sed well : indeed, right well,
f Enter Artychoak.

Arty. Mistresse, heeres one would speake
with you. My fellow Daffidill hath him in the
sellor already: he knowes him; he met him
at Croyden fayre.

Lance. O, I remember, a little man.

Arty. I, a very little man. 1 35

Lance. And yet a proper man.

Arty. A very proper, very little man.

Lance. His name is Mounsier Ciuet.

Arty. The same, syr.

Lance. Come, Gentlemen, if other shuters
come, 140

My foolish daughter will be fitted too:
But Delia my saint, no man dare moue.

[Exeunt all but young Flowerdale and
Olyuer, and old Flowerdale.

Flow. Harke you, syr, a word.

Oly. What haan you to say to me now?

Flow. Ye shall heare from me, and that
very shortly. 146

Oly. Is that all? vare thee well, chee vere
thee not a vig. [Exit Olyuer.

Flow. What if (he) should come now? I
am fairely drest. 150

Path. I doe not meane that you shall meete

with him,

But presently weele goe and draw a will:
Where weele set downe land that we neuer

sawe,

And we will haue it of so large a summe,
Syr Lancelot shall intreat you take his daughter :
This being formed, giue it maister Weather-
cocke, 156

And make syr Lancelots daughter heire of all:
And make him sweare neuer to show the will
To any one, vntil that you be dead.
This done, the foolish changing Weathercocke
Will straight discourse vnto syr Lancelot 161
The forme and tenor of your Testament.
Nor stand to pause of it, be rulde by mee:
What will inshue, that shall you quickly see.

124-6 Ttco lines Q, din. shuter : corr. If 124

gentleman Q, F 1 S. D. Exeunt] Exit at Q 144

ha an Q, Ff you say Ff 149 lie add. F 2 now
R : more Q, Ff 163 Nor] Ne'er M

199

ACT II, So. I.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Flow. Come, lets about it: if that a will,
sweet Kyt, l6 S

Can get the wench, I shall renowne thy wit.

[Exit omnes.

(SCENE n. A room in sir Lancelot's house.}
Enter Daffldill

Daff. Mistresse, still froward? No kind

lookes

Vnto your Daffidilll now by the Gods-
Luce. Away, you foolish knaue, let my

hand goe.
Daff. There is your hand, but this shall

goe with me:

My heart is thine, this is my true loues fee. 5
Luce. lie haue your coate stript ore your

eares for this,
You sawcie rascall.

[Enter Lancelot and Weathercocke
Lance. How now, maid, what is the newes

with you?
Luce. Your man is something sawcie.

[Exit Luce.

Lance. Goe too, syrrha, lie talke with you
anon. 10

Daff. Syr, I am a man to be talked withall,
I am no horse, I tro:
I Know my strength, then no more then so.

Wea. A, by the matkins, good syr Lancelot,

I saw him the other day hold vp the bucklers,

like an Hercules. Ifaith, God a marcie, lad,

I like thee well. 1 7

Lance. I, I like him well: go, syrrha, fetch

me a cup of wine,

That ere I part with maister Weathercocke,
We may drinke downe our farewell in French
wine. 20

Wea. I thanke you, syr, I thanke you,

friendly knight.
He come and visit you, by the mouse -foot I

will:
In the meane time, take heed of cutting Flo wer

dale.

He is a desperate dyck, I warrant you. 24
Lance. He is, he is: fill, Daffldill, fill me
some wine. Ha, what weares he on his
arme? My daughter Luces bracelet. I, tis
the same. Ha to you, maister Weathercocke.
Wea. I thanke you, syr: Here, Daffidill, an
honest fellow and a tall thou art. Well, ile take
my leaue, good knight, and hope to haue you
and all your daughters at my poore house; in
good sooth I must.

Scene II. etc. ndd. M 1 Ends froward Q, Ff

1-2 Prose M 11-13 /Vow M H A] Ay 7.', ttc.

making M 18 I. I, like Q, Ff: Ay, Av, like 11. ttc.

Lance. Thankes, maister Weathercocke, I
shall be bold to trouble you, be sure. 35

Wea. And welcome hartily; farewell.

[Exit Weathercocke.

Lance. Syrrha, I saw my daughters wrong,

and withall her bracelet on your arme: off

with it, and with it my liuery too. Haue I

care to see my daughter matched with men

of worship, and are you growne so bold? Goe,

syrrha, from my house, or ile whip you hence.

Daff. He not be whipped, syr, theres your

liuery. 43

This is a seruingmans reward: what care I?

I haue meanes to trust too: I scorne seruice, I.

[Exit Daffidill.

Lance. I, a lusty knaue, but I must let him

goe, 46

Our seruants must be taught what they

should know. (Exit.)

(SCENE m. The same.)
Enter syr Arthur and Luce.

Luce. Syr, as I am a maid, I doe affect
You aboue any shuter that I haue,
Altho that souldiers scarce knowes how to loue.

Ar. I am a souldier, and a gentleman,
Knowes what belonges to war, what to a lady:
What man offends me, that my sword shall

right: 6

What woman loues me, I am her faithfull

knight.
Luce. I neither doubt your vallour, nor

your loue,

But there be some that bares a souldiers forme,
That sweares by him they neuer thinke vpon,
Goes swaggering vp and downe from house to

house, 1 1

Crying God payes: and

Ar. Ifaith, Lady, ile discry you such a man.
Of them there be many which you haue spoke

off,

That beare the name and shape of souldiers, 1 5
Yet God knowes very seldome saw the war:
That haunt your Tauerns, and your ordinaries,
Your ale-houses sometimes, for all a -like
To vphold the brutish humour of their mindea,
Being marked downe, for the bondmen of

dispare: 20

Their mirth begins in wine, but endes in

blood,
Their drinke is cleare, but their conceits are

mud.

S. D. Exit Daffodil foUoirn 43 Q S. J>. Exit add.
M Scene III. Another room in tlie same M

1-3 Prose Q, Ff: con: M 8-1J Prose Q, Ff : con:

M 1-2 and] all Jf

200

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Aci II, St. IV.

Luce. Yet these are great gentlemen

souldiers.

Ar. No, they are wretched slaues,
Whose desperate Hues doth bring them time-
lesse graues. 25

Luce. Both for your selfe, and for your

forme of life,
If I may choose, ile be a souldiers wife.

(Exeunt.}

(SCENE IV. The same.}
Enter syr Lancelot and Oliuer.

OIL And tyt trust to it, so then.

Lance. Ashure your selfe,
You shall be married with all speed we may:
One day shall serue for Frances and for Luce.

Oli. Why che wood vaine know the time,
for prouiding wedding rayments. 6

Lance. Why, no more but this: first get

Oly. Here, chill meet him, my vreend,
chill meet him.

Lance. Meet him! you shall not meet the
Ruffin, rye.

Oly. And I doe not meete him, chill giue
you leaue to call me cut; where ist, syrrha?
where ist? where ist? 42

Path. The letter showes both the time and

place,
And if you be a man, then keepe your word,

Lance. Syr, he shal not keepe his word, he
shal not meet.

Path. Why, let him choose, heele be the

better knowne
For a base rascall, and reputed so. 47

Oly. Zyrrha, zyrrha: and tweare not an
old fellow, and sent after an arrant, chid giue
thee something, but chud be no mony: But
hold thee, for I see thou art somewhat testorne;
holde thee, theres vortie shillings: bring thy

your ashurance made, touching my daughters ^ maister a veeld, chil giue thee vortie more;
ioynter; that dispatched, we wil in two daies looke thou bring him: chil mall him, tell him,
make prouision. 10

Oh'. Why, man, chil haue the writings made
by to-morrow.

Lance. To morrow be it then: lets meet at
the kings head in fish street.

Oli. No, fie, man, no, lets meet at the Rose

at Temple-bar. 15

That will be nearer your counsellor and mine.

Lance. At the Rose be it then, the hower

nine:

He that comes last forfeits a pinte of wine.
Oli. A pinte is no payment, let it be a
whole quart or nothing. 1 9

Enter Artichoake.

Arty. Maister, here is a man would speake
with maister Oliuer: he comes from young
maister Flowerdale.

Oli. Why, chill speake with him, chill speake
with him. 24

chill mar his dauncing tressels, chil vse him,
he was nere so vsed since his dam bound his
head; chill make him for capyring any more,
chy vor thee.

Path. You seeme a man, stout and resolute,
And I will so report, what ere befall. 60

Lance. And fall out ill, ashure thy maister

this,
Ile make him flye the land, or vse him worse.

Fath. My maister, syr, deserues not this of

you,
And that youle shortly finde.

Lance. Thy maister is an vnthrift, you a
knaue, $5

And ile attache you first, next clap him vp
Or haue him bound vnto his good behauiour.

Oly. I wood you were a sprite, if you do
him any harme for this. And you doe, chill
nere see you, nor any of yours, while chill
haue eyes open: what, doe you thinke, chil

Lance. Nay, sonne Oliuer, ile shurely see be abaffelled vp and downe the towne for
what young Flowerdale hath sent to you. I a messell and a scoundrel? no, chy vor you:

pray God it be no quarrell.

Oly. Why, man, if he quarrell with me,
chill giue him his hands full.

[Enter old Flowerdale.

Path. God saue you, good syr Lancelot. 30

Lance. Welcome, honest friend.

Fath. To you and yours my maister

wisheth health,

But vnto you, syr, this, and this he sendes:
There is the length, syr, of his rapier, 34

And in that paper shall you know his mind.

S. D. add. X- Scene IV. Another room in the
same M 25-7 Verse ^

zyrrha, chil come; zay no more, chil come,
tell him. 75

Fath. Well, sir, my Maister deserues not

this of you,

And that youle shortly finde. [Exit.

Lane. No matter, he's an vnthrift; I defie

him.

Now, gentle sonne, let me know the place.
Oly. No, chy vore you. 80

57 make] mar X 59 man] man, sir M 73 vor]
bor Q, Ff 78 Prefix Oly. 0, tic. : core. pr. ed. 19
Prefix Lane, licfore this line Q, tic. Now Pope : >o
Q, Ff 80 No I'ope : Now (J, Ff

201

ACT II, Sc. IV,

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Lane. Let me see the note.

Oly. Nay, chill watch you for zutch a tricke.
But if che meet him, zoe, if not, zoe: chill
make him knowe me, or chill know why I
shall not, chill vare the worse. 85

Lane. What, will you then neglect my

daughters loue?

Venture your state and hers, for a loose
brawle?

0/y. Why, man, chill not kill him; marry,
chill veze him too, and againe; and zoe God
be with you, vather. What, man, we shall
me(e)t to morrow. [Exit.

Lane. Who would a thought he had bin
so desperate. 92

Come forth, my honest seruant Artichoake.

Enter Artie.

Arti. Now, what's the matter? some brawle
toward, I warrant you. 95

Lane. Goe get me thy sword bright
scowred, thy buckler mended. for that
knaue, that Vyllaine Daffldill would haue done
good seruice. But to thee. 99

Art. I, this is the trickes of all you gentle
men, when you stand in neede of a good
fellow. O for that Daffldill, O where is he?
but if you be angry, and it bee but fo'r the
wagging of a strawe, then: out a doores with
the knaue, turne the coale oner his eares. This
is the humour of you all. 106

Lane. for that knaue, that lustie Daffl
dill'

Art. Why, there tis now: our y eares wages
and our vailes will scarce pay for broken
swords and bucklers that wee vse in our
quarrels. But lie not fight if Daffldill bee
a tother side, that's flat. 113

Lane. Tis no such matter, man. Get
weapons ready, and bee at London ere the
breake of day: watch neere the lodging of the
Deuon -shire Youth, but be vnseen: and as he
goes out, as he willgoe out, and that very earely
without doubt 119

Art. What, would you haue me draw vpon
him, as he goes in the streete?

Lane. Not for a world, man: into the fields;
for to the field he goes, there to meet the
desperat Flower dale. Take thou the part of
Olyuer my sonne, for he shal be my son,
and marry Luce. Doest vnderstand me,
knaue ?

Arty. I, syr, I doe vnderstand you, but my
young mistresse might be better prouided in
matching with my fellowe Daffldill. 130

114-19 Verse M, dh: n/lir ready, clav, youth, out,
doubt 120-1 Verse Q 122-7 Vem (}, id:

Lance. No more; Daffidill is a knaue:
That Daffldill is a most notorious knaue.

[Exit (Arti.).

Enter Weathercocke.

Maister Weathercocke, you come in happy
time. The desperat Flowerdale hath writ a
challenge: And who thinke you must an-
swere it, but the Deuenshyre man, my sonne
Oliuerl 137

Wea. Mary, I am sory for it, good syr

Lancelot,

But if you will be ruled by me, weele stay the
furie.

Lance. As how, I pray?

Wea. Marry, ile tell you: by promising
yong Flowerdale the red lipped Luce. 142

Lance. He rather follow her vnto her
graue.

Wea. I, syr Lancelot, I would haue thought
so too, but you and I haue bene deceiued in
him: come read this will, or deed, or what
you call it, I know not. Come, come, your
spectacles I pray. 149

Lance. Nay, I thanke God, I see very well.

Wea. Marry, God blesse your eyes, mine
hath bene dim almost this thirtie yeares.

Lance. Ha, what is this? what is this?

Wea. Nay, there is true loue, indeede:
He gaue it to me but this very morne, 155
And bid me keepe it vnseene from any one.
Good youth, to see how men may be de
ceiued!

Lance. Passion of me, what a wretch am I
To hate this louing youth: he hath made me,
Together with my Luce hee loues so deare,
Executors of all his wealth. 161

Wea. All, all, good man; he hath giuen you
all.

Lance. Three ships now in the straits &

homeward bound,

Two Lordships of two hundred pound a yeare,
The one in Wales, the other in GZos/er-shyre:
Debts and accounts are thirtie thousand pound;
Plate, mony, Jewels, 1(5. thousand more; 167
Two housen furnished well in Cole-man street:
Beside whatsoeuer his Vnckle leaues to him,
Being of great demeanes and wealth at Peck-
ham. . 170

Wea. How like you this, good knight?
how like you this?

Lance. I haue done him wrong, but now

ile make amends.
The Deuen-shyre man shall whistle for a wife:

132 S.D. Arti. mW. /.' 139 the] tlicir M 145-9
Va-ae M 152 liave FS, clc. 154-61 1'rosc Q, Ff:
con: M 170 domains M

202

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Aer III, Sc. I.

He marrie Luce! Luce shall be Flowerdales.

Wea. Why, that is friendly said. 175

Lets ride to London and preuent their match,
By promising your daughter to that louely

lad.
Lance. Weele ride to London: or it shall

not need,
Weele crosse to Dedfort -strand, and take a

boat.
Where be these knaues? what, Artichoakel

what, Fop? 1 80

Enter Arlichoake.
Arty. Heere be the veryknaues, but not the

merry knaues.
Lance. Here, take my cloake, ile haue

a walke to Bedford.

Arty. Syr, wee haue bin scouring of our

swords and bucklers for your defence. 184

Lance. Defence me no defence! let your

swords rust, ile haue no fighting: I, let blowes

alone; bid Delia see all things be in readinesse

against the wedding. Weele haue two at

once, and that will saue charges, maister

Weather 'cocke. 190

Arty. Well, we will doe it, syr.

[Exit Omnes.

(ACT HI. SCENE I. A walk before sir
Lancelot's house.}

Enter duet, Francke, and Delia.

Ciu. By my truth, this is good lucke, I
thanke God for this. In good sooth, I haue euen
my harts desire: sister Delia, now I may boldly
call you so, for your father hath franck and
freely giuen me his daughter Francke. 5

Fran. I, by my troth, Tom; thou hast my
good will too, for I thanke God I longed for
a husband, and, would I might neuer stir, for
one his name was Tom.

Delia. Why, sister, now you haue your
wish. 1 1

Ciu. You say very true, sister Delia: and
I prethee call me nothing but Tom and ile call
thee sweetheart, and Franck: will it not doe
well, sister Delia! 15

Delia. It will doe very well with both of you.

Fran. But, Tom, must I goe as I doe now
when I am married?

Ciu. No, Francke, ile haue thee goe like

a Citizen
In a garded gowne, and a French -hood. 20

175 -7 Proxe Q, Ff : dir. nt'/ir London, promising 31
176 And straight prevent M 17'J Deptford-strand
M 18-2 Deptiord M Act III. lie. add. M \)
his] whose M

Fran. By my troth, that will be excellent

indeed.
Delia. Brother, maintaine your wife to

your estate:

Apparell you your selfe like to your father,
And let her goe like to your ancient mother.
He sparing got his wealth, left it to you; 25
Brother, take heed of pride, (it) soone bids

thrift adue.

Ciu. So as my father and my mother went!
thats a iest indeed: why she went in a fringed
gowne, a single ruffe, and a white cap; and my
father in a mocado coat, a paire of red satten
sleeues, and a canuis backe. 31

Delia. And yet his wealth was all as much

as yours.

Ciu. My estate, my estate, I thank God, is
fortie pound a yere, in good leases and tene
ments, besides twenty marke a yeare at
cuckoldes-hauen, and that comes to vs all by
inheritance. 37

Delia. That may, indeed, tis very fitly plyed.
I know not how it comes, but so it falles out,
That those whose fathers haue died wonderous
rich, 40

And tooke no pleasure but to gather wealth,
Thinking of little that they leaue behind
For them, they hope, will be of their like

minde,
But (it) falles out contrary: forty, yeares

sparing

Is scarce three seuen yeares spending, neuer

caring 45

What will inshue, when all their coyne is

gone,

And all too late, then thrift is thought vpon:
Oft haue I heard, that pride and ryot kist,
And then repentance cryes, 'for had I wist.'

Ciu. You say well, sister Delia, you say
well: but I meane to Hue within my boundes:
for looke you, I haue set downe my rest thus
farre, but to maintaine my wife in her french-
hood, and her coach, keepe a couple of geld
ings, and a brace of gray hounds, and this is
all ile doe. s 6

Delia. And youle do this with fortie pound

a yeare?

Ciu. I, and a better penny, sister.
Fran. Sister, you forget that at couckolds-
hauen. 60

Ciu. By my troath, well remembred,

Francke;
Ile giue thee that to buy thee pinnes.

Delia. Keepe you the rest for points: alas
the day,

26 it soon 31 : some 0, Ff take heed ; pride soon
lluz. 44 it add. M

203

ACT III, Sc. I.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Fooles shall haue wealth, tho all the world

say nay:

Come brother, will you in? dinner stales for
vs. 6 S

Cm. I, good sister, with all my heart.
Fran. I, by my troath, Tom, for I haue a
good stomacke.

Cm. And I the like, sweet Francke. No,
sister, doe not thinke ile goe beyond my
boundes. 7 *

Delia. God grant you may not.

[Exit Omnes.

(SCENE H. London. The street before young
Flowerdale's house.}

Enter young Flower dale and his father,

with foyles in their handes.
Flow. Syrrha Kyt, tarrie thou there, I haue
spied syr Lancelot, and old Weather cocke com-
ming this way; they are hard at hand. I will
by no meanes be spoken withall.

Path. lie warrant you; goe, get you in. 5

Enter Lancelot and Weathercocke.

Lance. Now, my honest friend, thou doest
belong to maister Flower dale!

Path. I doe, syr.

Lance. Is he within, my good fellow?

Path. No, syr, he is not within. 10

Lance. I prethee, if he be within, let me
speake with him.

Path. Syr, to tell you true, my maister is
within, but indeed would not be spoke withall:
there be some tearmes that stands vpon his
reputation, therefore he will not admit any
conference till he hath shooke them off. 1 7

Lance. I prethee tell him his verie good
friend, syr Lancelot Spurcocke, intreates to
speake with him. 20

Path. By my troath, syr, if you come to
take vp the matter betweene my maister and
the Deuen-shyre man, you doe but beguile
your hopes, and loose your labour. 24

Lance. Honest friend, I haue not any such
thing to him; I come to speake with him about
other matters.

Path. For my maister, syr, hath set down
his resolution, either to redeeme his honour,
or leaue his life behind him. 30

Lance. My friend, I doe not know any
quarrell, touching thy maister or any other
person: my businesse is of a different nature
to him, and I prethee so tell him. 34

Path. For howsoeuer the Deuenshire man

is, my maisters mind is bloody : thats a round 0,
And therefore, syr, intreatie is but vaine:
Lance. I haue no such thing to him, I tell

thee once againe.
Path. I will then so signifie to him.

[Exit Father.

Lance. A, syrrha, I see this mattei is hotly
carried, 40

But ile labour to disswade him from it.

Enter Flowerdale.
Good morrow, maister Flowerdale.

Flow. Good morrow, good syr Lancelot;
good morrowe, maister Weathercocke. By my
troath, gentlemen, I haue bene a reading ouer
Nick Matchiuill; I find him good to be known,
not to be followed: a pestilent humane fellow.
I haue made certaine anatations of him such
as they be. And how ist syr Lancelot"! ha?
how ist? A mad world, men cannot Hue quiet
in it. 5'

Lance. Maister Flowerdale, I doe vnder-

stand there is
Some iarre betweene the Deuen-shyre man

and you.
Path. They, syr? they are good friends as

can be.

Flow. Who? maister Oliuer and I? as good

friends as can be. 55

Lance. It is a kind of safe tie in you to denie

it, and a generous silence, which too few are

indued withall: But, syr, such a thing I heare,

and I could wish it otherwise. 59

Flow. No such thing, syr Lancelot, a my

reputation, as I am an honest man.

Lance. Now I doe beleeue you, then, if you

doe

Ingage your reputation there is none. 63

Flow. Nay, I doe not ingage my reputation

there is not. You shall not bind me to any

condition of hardnesse: but if there be any

thing betweene vs, then there is; if there be

not, then there is not: be or be not, all is one.

Lance. I doe perceiue by this, that there is

something betweene you, and I am very sorie

for it. 71

Flow. You may be deceiued, syr Lancelot.

The Italian hath a pretie saying, Questo

I haue forgot it too, tis out of my head, but

in my translation, ift hold, thus: (If) thou hast

a friend, keepe him; if a foe, trip him. 76

Lance. Come, I doe see by this there is

somewhat betweene you, and, before God, I

could wish it other wise. 7 9

69-71 Verne Q, Ff Scene II. etc. add. M
Verne Q, Ff

37 intreaties is F 1 : intreatics are F

43-51

!>;-.</ (). Ff 5J-3 Div. dflcr iarre Q, F 1 : Pro*e F2
50-122 brawlc Vo-xf Q.F1 CO a] at R : on M M-8
Vu-ne 0, Ff 05 is none Mult. 75 If mid. .V

204

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT III, Sc. II.

Flow. Well what is betweene vs can hardly
be altered. Syr Lancelot, I am to ride forth
to morrow. That way which I must ride, no
man must denie me the Sunne; I would not ;
by any particular man be denied common
and generall passage. If any one saith,
Flowerdale, thou passest not this way: my
answere is, I must either on or returne, but
returne is not my word, I must on: if I cannot,
then, make my way, nature hath done the
last for me, and thers the fine. 90

Lance. Maister Flowerdale, euery man
hath one tongue, and two eares: nature, in
her building, is a most curious worke-maister.

Flow. That is as much (as) to say, a man
should heare more then he should speake. 95

Lance. You say true, and indeed I haue
heard more then at this time I will speake.

Flow. You say well.

Lance. Slanders are more common then
troathes, maister Flowerdale: but proofe is
the rule for both. 101

Flow. You say true; what doe you call
him hath it there in his third canton.

Lance. I haue heard you haue bin wild:
I haue beleeued it. 105

Flow. Twas fit, twas necessarie.

Lance. But I haue seene somewhat of late
in you, that hath confirmed in me an opinion
of goodnesse toward you. 109

Flow. Yfaith, syr, I am shure I neuer did
you harme: some good I haue done, either to
you or yours, I am shure you know not;
neither is it my will you should.

Lance. I, your will, syr. 1 1 4

Flow. I, my will, syr? sfoot, doe you know
ought of my will? Begod, and you doe, syr,
I am abused.

Lance. Goe, maister Flowerdale; what I
know, I know: and know you thus much out
of my knowledge, that I truly loue you. For
my daughter, she's yours. And if you like
a marriage better then a brawle, all quirks of
reputation set aside, goe with me presently:
And where you should fight a bloodie battle,
you shall be married to a louely Ladie. 1 25

Flow. Nay but, syr Lancelot

Lance. If you will not imbrace my offer,
yet ashure your self thus much, I will haue
order to hinder your incounter. 129

Flow. Nay, but heare me, syr Lancelot.

Lance. Nay, stand not you vpon imputatiue
honour. Tis meerely vnsound, vnprofitable,
and idle inferences : your busines is to wedde
my daughter, therefore giue me your present

94 as niltl. F :
Inferences Q

l-'l Sht-'s F/: She Q 1*3 idle :

word to doe it. He goe and prouide the maid,

therefore giue mee your present resolution,

either now or neuer. 137

Flow. Will you so put me too it?

Lance. I, afore God, either take me now,

or take me neuer. Else what I thought

should be our match, shal be our parting;

so fare you well for euer. 142

Flow. Stay: fall out what may fall, my

loue is aboue all: I will come.

Lance. I expect you, and so fare you well.
[Exit syr Lancelot.

Path. Now, syr, how shall we doe for

wedding appar ell? 146

Flow. By the masse, thats true: now

helpe, Kyt;
The marriage ended, weele make amendes for

all.
Path. Well, no more, prepare you for your

bride,

We will not want for cloatb.es, what so ere

betide. 150

Flow. And thou shalt see, when once I

haue my dower,
In mirth weele spend full many a merry

hower:

As for this wench I not regard a pin,
It is her gold must bring my pleasures in. 154

(Exit.-)

Path. 1st possible, he hath his second lining,
Forsaking God, himselfe to the diuel giuing?
But that I knew his mother firme and chast,
My heart would say my bed she had disgrast:
Else would I sweare he neuer was my sonne,
But her faire mind so fowle a deed did shun.

Enter VncJde.

Vnck. How now, brother, how doe you
find your sonne? 1 61

Fat h. O brother, heedless e as a libertine,
Euen growne a maister in the schoole of

vice,

One that doth nothing but inuent desceit:
For all the day he humours vp and downe, 1 65
How he the next day might deceiue his friend.
He thinkes of nothing but the present time:
For one groat readie downe, heele pay a

shilling,

But then the lender must needes stay for it.
When I was young, I had the scope of youth,
Both wild, and wanton, carelesse and des
perate: 17*
But such mad straines as hee's possest withall,
I thought it wonder for to dreame vpon.

139 Prffix Luce 0, Ff 149 Well, well M 150
wliate'er'.V S. 'D. mhl M 159, 160 trs. S

166 may Haz.

205

ACT III, Sc. II.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Vnck. I told you so, but you would not vese him, and chevang him in hand ; che would

beleeue it.

Path. Well, I haue found it, but one thing
comforts me: '75

Brother, to morrow hee's to be married
To beautious Luce, syr Lancelot Spurcocks

daughter.

Vnck. 1st possible?
Path. Tis true, and thus I meane to curbe

him.

179

This day, brother, I will you shall arrest him:
If any thing will tame him, it must be that,
For he is ranck in mischiefe, chained to a life,
That will increase his shame, and kill his wife.
Vnck. What, arrest him on his wedding
day? 184

That were vnchristian, and an vnhumane part:
How many couple euen for that very day
Hath purchast 7 yeares sorrow afterward?
Forbeare him then to day, doe it to morrow,
And this day mingle not his ioy with sorrow.

boyst him, and giue it him too and againe, zo
chud: Who bin a there? syr Arthur \ chil
staie aside. 8

Ar. I haue dogd the Deuen-shyre man into

the field,
For feare of any harme that should befall

him:

I had an inckling of that yesternight,
That Flower dale and he should meet this

morning:

Tho, of my soule, Oliuer feares him not,
Yet for ide see f aire play on either side, 1 4
Made me to come, to see their valours tride.
God morrow to maister Oliuer.

Oli. God an good morrow.

Ar. What, maister Oliuer, are you angry?

Oli. Why an it be, tyt and greeuen you?

Ar. Not me at all, syr, but I imagine by
Your being here thus armed, you stay for
some 21

Path. Brother, ile haue it done this very That you should fight withall.

day, i 90

And in the viewe of all, as he comes from

Church:

Doe but obserue the course that he will take.
Vpon my life he will forsweare the debt:
And for weele haue the summe shall not be

slight,
Say that he owes you neere three thousand

pound: 195

Good brother, let (it) be done immediately.

Vnck. Well, seeing you will haue it so,
Brother, ile doot, and straite prouide the

Sheriffe.
Falh. So, brother, by this meanes shall we

perceiue

What syr Lancelot in this pinch will do: 200
And how his wife doth stand affected too him
Her loue will then be tried to the vttermost
And all the rest of them. Brother, what I will

doo,
Shall harme him much, and much auaile him

too. [Exit.

(SCENE m. A high road near London.

Enter Oliver; afterwards sir Arthur

Greenshield.}

Oly. Cham ashured thick be the place, that
the scoundrell appointed to meet me: if a

Oli. Why, and he doe, che would not

dezire you to take his part.
Ar. No, by my troath, I thinke you need it

not,

For he you looke for, I thinke meanes not to
come. 25

Oli. No, & che war ashure a that, ched
avese him in another place.

[Enter Daffidill.
Daff. syr Arthur, maister Oliuer, aye

me!
Your loue, and yours, and mine, sweet mistresse

Luce,

This morne is married to young Flowerdale.
Ar. Married to Flowerdalel tis impossible.
Oli. Married, man, che hope thou doest
butiest, 31

To make an a volowten meryment of it.

tis too true. Here comes his

come, zo: if a come not, zo. And che war ' daughter here,
avise, he should make a coystrell an vs, ched Arth. Vnto her?

177 Lancelots Spurcocks Q 180 This] That Hnz.
Brother, that day Mali. 185 were] were an M

and an] and M 188 him] it R 189 this] that

Hnz. 190 tills] the Unz. 1% it ntM. Fl Scene
III. etc. add. M 1-8 Yerse Q, Ff

Daf. 0,
Vncle.

Enter Flowerdale (Junior}, Sheriffe, Officers.
Vncle. God morrow, sir Arthur, good

morrow, M(aister) Oliuer.
Oly. God andgood morne, M(aister) Flower-
dale. I pray you tellen vs, 35
Is your scoundrell kinsman married?

Vncle. M(aister) Oliuer, call him what you
will, but hee is maryed to sir Lanncelots

206

5 ched vang M 20-2 Dir. after imagine armed
0, Ff :ii> make a vlowten M ' :17 Prtfx Vnrlo M :
Arth. Q, Ff 40 Prrfi.f Arth. M ; Vnrlo 0. Ff Vnto
M: Sir Arthur, vnto'0. F/

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT III, So. III.

Oly. I, ha the olde vellow zarued me thick

tricke?
Why, man, he was a promise, chil chud a had

her.
Is a zitch a voxe? chill looke to his water, che

vor him.

Vncle. The musicke playes, they are com-
ming from the Church. Sheriffe, doe your
Office: fellowes, stand stoutly too it. 46

Enter all to the Wedding.

Oly. God giue you ioy, as the old zaid
Prouerbe is, and some zorrow among. You
met vs well, did you not? 49

Lance. Nay, be not angry, sir, the fault is in
me. I haue done all the wrong, kept him
from comming to the field to you, as I might,
sir, for I am a lustice, and sworne to keepe
the peace. 54

Wea. I, marry, is he, sir, a very lustice, and
sworne to keepe the peace: you must not
disturbe the weddings.

Lane. Nay, neuer frowne nor storme, sir;

if you doe,
He haue an order taken for you.

0/y. Well, Well, chill be quiet. 60

Wea. M(aister) Flower dale\ sir Lancelot,
looke you who here is. M(aister) Flowerdale.

Lane. M(aister) Flowerdale, welcome with
all my heart.

Flow. Vncle, this is she, yfaith: Maister
Vnder -sheriff e, 65

Arrest me? at whose sute? draw, Kit.

Vnc. At my sute, sir.

Lance. Why, whats the matter M(aister)
Flower dale 1 } 69

Vnc. This is the matter, sir: this vnthrift
here hath cozened you, and hath had of me,
in seuerall summes, three thousand pound.

Flow. Why, Vncle, Vncle.

Vnck. Cousen, cousen, you haue vnckled
me, and if you be not staid, youle proue a
cousoner vnto all that know you. 76

Lance. Why, syr, suppose he be to you in

debt
Ten thousand pound, his state to me ap-

peare(s),
To be at least three thousand by the yeare.

Vnck. syr, I was too late informed of that
plot, 80

How that he went about to cousen you:
And formde a will, and sent it
To your good friend there, maister Weather-
cocke,

42 cliil] ? che 65, 61 Wea. Ff ' : Whe. Q 70-2
Verne Q, Ff 78 appeare Q : appears Ff 81', 8:5
Fwl good, was Q, Ff

In which was nothing true, but brags and
lyes.

Lance, Ha, hath he not such Lordships,
landes, and shippes? 86

Vnck. Not worth a groat, not worth a
halfepenie, he.

Lance. I pray, tell vs true, be plaine, young
Flowerdalel 90

Flow. My vnckle here's mad, and dis
posed to do me wrong, but heer's my man, an
honest fellow, by the lord, and of good credit,
knowes all is true.

Path. Not I, syr. 95

I am too old to lye, I rather know
You forgde a will, where euery line you writ,
You studied where to coate your landes
might lye.

Wea. And I prethee, where be they,
honest friend? 100

Path. Yfaith, no where, syr, for he hath
none at all,

Wea. Benedicitie, we are ore wretched, I
beleeue.

Lance. I am cousend, and my hopefulst
child vndone. 106

Flow. You are not cousend, nor is she
vndone. They slaunder me, by this light
they slander me: Looke you, my vnckle heres
an vsurer, and would vndoe me, but ile stand
in law; do you but baile me, you shal do no
more: you, brother duet, and maister Weather -
cocke, doe but baile me, and let me haue my
marriage mony paid me, and weele ride downe,
and there your owne eyes shall see, how my
poore tenants there wil welcome me. You
shall but baile me, you shall doe no more,
and, you greedy gnat, their baile will serue.

Vnck. I, syr, ile aske no better baile. 119

Lance. No, syr, you shall not take my baile,

nor his,

Nor my sonne duets; ile not be cheated, I.
Shreeue, take your prisoner, ile not deale with

him:
Let's Vncle make false dice with his false

bones,

I will not haue to doe with him: mocked, guld,

& wrongd! 124

Come, Girle, though it be late, it falls out well,

Thou shalt not liue with him in beggers hell.

Luc. He is my husband, & hie heauen doth

know,

With what vnwillingnesse I went to Church,
But you inforced me, you compelled me too it:

91 here's] here 91-4 Verse Q, Ff 98 quote
F 2, etc. 99 they M : thy Q, Ff 100 friends Q, Ff
103 ore reached Ff 107-18 Verne Q, etc. 118 you]
you, you conj. St. gnats St. 123 Let's] Let his M

207

ACT III, Sc. III.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

The holy Church -man pronounced these words
but now: J 3

I must not leaue my husband in distresse.
Now I must comfort him, not goe with you.
Lane. Comfort a cozoner? on my curse,

forsake him.

Luce. This day you caused me on your
curse to take him: 34

Doe not, I pray, my greiued soule oppresse,
God knowes my heart doth bleed at his

distresse.

Lane. M(aister) Weathercock,
I must confesse I forced her to this match,
Led with opinion his false will was true. 139
Wea. A, lie hath ouer -reached me too.
Lane. She might haue liued like Delia, in

a happie Virgins state.
Delia. Father, be patient, sorrow comes

too late.
Lance. And on her knees she begd & did

entreat,

If she must needes taste a sad marriage life,
She craued to be sir Arthur Greene-sheilds
wife. i 45

Ar. You haue done her & me the greater
wrong.

Lane. 0, take her yet. *
Arthur. Not I.

Lane. Or, M(aister) Oliuer, accept my
child, 150

And halfe my wealth is yours.

Oly. No, sir, chil breake no Lawes.
Lace. Neuer feare, she will not trouble you.
Delia. Tet, sister, in this passion,
Doe not runne headlong to confusion. 155
You may affect him, though not follow him.
Frank. Doe, sister; hang him, let him goe.
Wea. Doe, faith, Mistresse Luce, leaue him.
Luc. You are three grosse fooles, let me
alone. 159

I sweare ile liue with him in all (his) mone.

Oly. But an he haue his legges at libertie,
Cham averd hee will neuer liue with you.
Art. I, but hee is now in hucksters handling

for running away.
Lane. Huswife, you heare how you and

I am wrongd,

And if you will redresse it yet you may: 1 65
But if you stand on tearmes to follow him,
Neuer come neere my sight nor looke on

me,

Call me not father, looke not for a groat,
For all thy portion I wil this day giue
Vnto thy syster Frances. 170

130 Church-man] church Haz. 137-8 One line

Q.Fl 150 except Q 154-6 Prose Q, Ff 159
let] pray let M 160 his ,,dd, 11 1& am] are K

Fran. How say you to that, Tom, I shall
haue a good deale. Besides ile be a good
wife: and a good wife is a good thing, I can
tell. 174

Ciu. Peace Franck, I would be sorry to see
thy sister cast away, as I am a Gentleman.
Lance. What, are you yet resolued?
Luc. Yes, I am resolued.
Lane. Come then, away; or now, or neuer,

come.

Luc. This way I turne, goe you vnto your
feast, 1 80

And I to weepe, that am with griefe opprest.
Lane. For euer flie my sight: come, gentle
men,
Lets in, ile helpe you to far better wiues then

her.

Delia, vpon my blessing talke not too her.
Bace Baggage, in such hast to beggery? 185
Vnc. Sheriff e, take your prisoner to your

charge.
Flo. Vncle, be -god you haue vsd me very

hardly,
By my troth, vpon my wedding day.

[Exit att (but Luce,) yong Flowerdale, his

father, Vncle, Sheriffe, and Officers.

Luc. M(aister) Flowerdale, but heare me

speake; 189

Stay but a little while, good M(aister) Sheriffe,

If not for him, for my sake pittie him:

Good syr, stop not your eares at my complaint,

My voyce growes weake, for womens words

are faint.

Flow. Looke you, Vncle, she kneeles to you.

Vnc. Faire maid, for you, I loue you with

my heart, 1 95

And greeue, sweet soule, thy fortune is so bad,

That thou shouldst match with such a grace-

lesse Youth.

Go to thy father, thinke not vpon him,
Whom hell hath marked to be the sonne of

shame.

Luc. Impute his wildnesse, syr, vnto his

youth, 200

And thinke that now is the time he doth

repent:

Alas, what good or gayne can you receiue,
To imprison him that nothing hath to pay?
And where nought is, the king doth lose his

due:

0, pittie him, as God shall pittie you. 205
Vnc. Ladie, I know his humours all too

well,

And nothing in the world can doe him good,
But miserie it selfe to chaine him with.

171-6 Verse Q, Ff 187-8 Prow M
yong Q, Ff: all but Luce, young 7?

5. D. all :

208

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT III, Sc. III.

Luc. Say that your debts were paid, then

is he free?
Vnc. I, virgin, that being answered, I haue

done, 210

But to him that is all as impossible,
As I to scale the hye Piramydies.
Sheriff e, take your prisoner: Maiden, fare

thee well.

Luc. goe not yet, good M(aister) Flower-
dale:
Take my word for the debt, my word, my

bond. 215

Flow. I, by God, Vncle, and my bond too.
Luc. Alas, I nere ought nothing but I paid

it,

And I can worke; alas, he can doe nothing:
I haue some friends perhaps will pittie me,
His chiefest friends doe seeke his miserie. 220
All that I can or beg, get, or receiue,
Shall be for you: doe not turne away;
Me thinkes, within, a face so reuerent,
So well experienced in this tottering world,
Should haue some feeling of a maidens grief e:
For my sake, his fathers, and your brothers

sake, 226

I, for your soules sake that doth hope for ioy,
Pittie my state: do not two soules destroy.
Vnc. Faire maid, stand vp; not in regard

of him,

But in pittie of thy haplesse choise, 230

I doe release him. M(aister) Sheriffe, I thanke

you:

And, officers, there is for you to drinke.
Here, maide, take this monie; there is a 100

Angels:

And for I will be sure he shall not haue it,
Here, Kester, take it you, and vse it sparingly,
But let not her haue any want at all. 236
Dry your eyes, Neece, doe not too much

lament
For him, whose life hath beene in ryot

spent :

If well he vseth thee, he gets him friends,
If ill, a shamefull end on him depends. 240

[Exit Vncle.

Flow. A plague goe with you for an old
fornicator. Come, Kyt, the monie; come,
honest Kyt.

Path. Nay, by my faith, sir, you shall

pardon me. 245

Flow. And why, sir, pardon you? giue me

the mony, you old Rascall, or I shall make

you.

209 debt M 223 within a Q, Ff: that one with
.5 reverend /?, tic. 225 haue] live row/. St.

238 royot Q 241-3, 246-8 lYm Q, Ff 247 shall]
will R

Luc. Pray, hold your hands: giue it him,
honest friend. 250

Path. If you be so content, with all my
heart.

Flow. Content, syr: sblood, shee shall be
content, whether she will or no. A rattle
baby come to follow me! Goe, get you gone to
the greasie chuffe your father, bring me your
dowrie, or neuer looke on me. 257

Futh. Syr, she hath forsooke her father and
all her friends for you.

Flow. Hang thee, her friends and father
altogether.

Path. Yet part with something to prouide
her lodging. 263

Flo. Yes, I meane to part with her and you,
but if I part with one Angel, hang me at a
poste. lie rather throwe them at a cast at
Dice, as I haue done a thousand of their
fellowes. 268

Path. Nay, then, I will be plaine, degenerate

boy.

Thou hadst a Father would haue beene
a shamed'. 270

Flow. My father was an Asse, an old Asse.

Path. Thy father? proud, lycentious vil-

lainel

What, are you at your foyles? ile foyle with
you.

Luc. Good sir, forbeare him.

Path. Did not this whining woman hang

on me, 275

Ide teach thee what it was to abuse thy father:

Goe I hang, beg, starue, dice, game, that when

all is gone,
Thou maist after dispaire and hang thy selfe.

Luce. 0, doe not curse him.

Path. I doe not curse him, and to pray for

him were vaine; 280

It greeues me that he beares his fathers name.

Flow. Well, you old rascall, I shall meet
with you. Syrrha, get you gone; I will not
strip the liuery ouer your eares, because you
paid for it: but do not vse my name, syrrha,
doe you heare? looke you doe not vse my
name, you were best. 287

Path. Pay me the twentie pound, then, that

I lent you,
Or giue me securitie, when I may haue it.

Flow. Ile pay thee not a penny, and for
securitie, ile giue thee none. Minckins, looke
you doe not follow me, looke you doe not:
If you doe, begger, I shall slit your nose. 293

Luce. Alas, what shall I doe?

253-7 Verse 0, Ff 266 cast of F 3, etc. 272

! proud] thou proud M 281 Fathers Ff: father Q

1 1:82-7 1 'erst Q, Ff 290-3 Verse <?, tic.

209

ACT III, Sc. III.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Flow. Why, turne whore, thats a good
trade, 2 95

And so perhaps ile see thee now and then.

[Exit Flowerdale.

Luce. Alas the day that euer I was borne.
Path. Sweete mistresse, doe not weepe, ile

sticke to you.
Luce. Alas, my friend, I know not what to

do.

My father and my friends, they haue despised

me: 3

And I, a wretched maid, thus cast away,

Knowes neither where to goe, nor what to say.

Path. It grieues me at the soule, to see her

teares

Thus staine the crimson roses of her cheekes.
Lady, take comfort, doe not mourne in vaine.

I haue a little liuing in this towne,

306

The which I thinke comes to a hundred pound,
All that and more shall be at your dispose.
Ile straite goe helpe you to some strange dis
guise,

vnknowne:
Come, greeue no more, where no helpe can

be had,
Weepe not for him that is more worse then

bad.
Luce. I thanke you, syr. (Exeunt.}

praise for a prettie wench. But, father, done
is the mouse: youle come? 17

Lance. I, sonne duet, ile come.

Ciu. And you, maister Oliuerl

Oli. I, for che a vext out this veast, chill
see if a gan make a better veast there. 21

Ciu. And you, syr Arthurt

Ar. I, syr, although my heart be full,
lie be a partner at your wedding feast.

Ciu. And welcome all indeed, and welcome:
come, Francke are you readie? 2 6

Fran. leshue, how hastie these husbands
are. I pray, father, pray to God to blesse me.

Lance. God blesse thee, and I doe: God

make thee wise,
Send you both ioy: I wish it with wet eyes. 30

Fran. But, Father, shall not my sister Delia
goe along with vs? She is excellent good at

cookery and such things.

Lance. Yes, mary, shall she: Delia, make
you ready. 35

Deli. I am ready, syr. I will first goe to

And place you in a seruice in this towne, 310 j Greene -witch, from thence to my cousen
Where you shal know all, yet your selfe Chesterfeelds, and so to London.

Ciu. It shall suffice, good sister Delia, it
shall suffice, but failevsnot, good sister; giue
order to cookes, and others, for I would not
haue my sweet Francke to soyle her fingers.

Fran. No, by my troath, not I: a gentle
woman, and a married gentlewoman too, to
be companions to cookes and kitchin-boyes!

(ACT IV. SCENE I. A room in Sir Lancelot

Spurcocks house in Kent.}
Enter syr Lancelot, maister Weathercocke

and them.

Oli. Well, cha a bin zerued many a sluttish
tricke, but such a lerripoope as thick ych was
nere a sarued.

Lance. Son duet, daughter Frances,

beare with me,

You see how I am pressed downe with inward
griefe, 5

About that lucklesse gyrle, your sister Luce:
But tis fallen out with me,
As with many families beside,
They are most vnhappie, that are most be-
loued. 9

not I, yfaith: I scorne that.

Ciu. Why, I doe not meane thou shalt,
sweete heart; thou seest I doe not goe about it:
well farewell too you. Gods pitty, M'aister)
Weathercocke, we shal haue your company
too? 51

Wea. With all my heart, for I loue good
cheare.

Ciu. Well, God be with you all. Come,
Francke. 54

Fran. God be with you, father, God be with
you, syr Arthur, Maister Qliuer, and maister
Weathercocke, sister, God be with you all:
God be with you, father, God be with you
euery one. 59

(Exeunt Civet and Frances.)

Wea. Why, how now, syr Arthur! all a
mort? maister Oliuer, how now man?

Ciu. Father, tis so, tis euen fallen out so, 7

but what remedie? set hand to your heart, | Cheerely, syr Lancelot, and merily say,
and let it passe. Here is your daughter Who can hold that will away?
Frances and I, and weele not say, weele bring
forth as wittie children, but as prettie children
as euer she was: tho she had the pricke and

302 Know M S. 1>. wl<\. I! Act IV. etc. nM.
M 7-8 One line Q, Ff: Air. ri//r>-out M 10-17

Yersr Q. f/f., xtroi lines Q, Ff: tight li'ixn M

Lance. I, shee is gone indeed, poore girle,

vndone,

But when theyle be selfewilled, children must
smart.

-i'l

31-51 Verse 0, v f 45 companion F ?. dc.
too : You Q, Ff ft. />. mW. M

210

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT IV, Sc. II.

Ar. But, syr, that she is wronged, you are I In prison, or at libertie, alls one:
the chief est cause, 65 j You will helpe to serue them, maister Weather-

cocket [Exit Omnes.

Therefore tis reason, you redresse her wrong.
Wea. Indeed you must, syr Lancelot, you

must.
Lance. Must ? who can compell me,

maister Weathercock!
I hope I may doe what I list.

Wea. I grant you may, you may doe what

you list. 70

Oil. Nay, but and you be well euisen, it

(SCENE II. A street in London.}

Enter Flower dale.

Flow. A plague of the diuell! the diuell
take thedyce! The dyce, and the diuell, and
his damme goe together. Of all my hundred
golden angels, I haue not left me one denier:

were not good by this vrampolnesse, and j A poxe of come a fine, what shall I doe? I can
vrowardnesse, to cast away as pretty a dows- \ borrow no more of my credit: there's not any

sabell, as ani chould chance to see in a
Sommers day. Chil tell you what chall doe.
Chil goe spye vp and downe the towne, and
see if I can heare any tale or tydings of her,
and take her away from thick a messell, vor
cham ashured, heele but bring her to the
spoile. And so var you well; we shall meete
at your sonne Ciuets. 81

Lance. I thanke you, syr, I take it very

kindly.
Arth. To find her out, ile spend my dearest

blood:
So well I loued her, to affect her good.

[Exit both.

Lance. maister Weather -cocke, 85

What hap had I, to force my daughter
From maister Oliuer, and this good knight
To one that hath no goodnesse in his thought?
Wea. Ill lucke, but what remedie?
Lance. Yes, I haue almost deuised a
remedy: 90

Young Flower dale is shure a prisoner.
Wea. Shure, nothing more shure.
Lance. And yet perhaps his Vnckle hath

released him.
Wea. It may be very like, no doubt he

hath.

Lance. Well, if he be in prison, ile haue
warrants 95

To tache my daughter till the lawe be tried,
For I will shue him vpon couzonage.

Wea. Mary, may you, and ouerthrow him

too.
Lance. Nay, thats not so, I may chance

be scoft,

And sentence past with him. 100

Wea. Beleeue me, so he may, therefore

take heede.

Lance. Well howsoeuer, yet I will haue
warrants;

71 aviscn M 71-81 Verne 0, Ff 74 ani pr. eil.:
am Q, Ff: an M 77 dydings : tidings Ff, etc.

8:5 Prtflr Arty Q : Arti Ff 84 .<?. D. folloim 83 Q, Ff
85-8 hit. I, Oliver, goodness -V 101 he] it M

of my acquaintance, man, nor boy, but I haue
borrowed more or lesse off: I would I knewe
where to take a good purse, and goe cleare
away; by this light, ile venture for it. Gods
lid, my sister Delia! Ile rob her, by this hand.

Enter Delia, and Artichoake.
Deli. I prethee, Artichoake, goe not so fast:
The weather is hot, and I am something
wearie. 13

Arti. Nay, I warrant you, mistresse Delia,
ile not tire you with leading; weele goe an
extreame moderate pace.
Flow. Stand, deliuer your purse.
Arti. O lord, theeues, theeues! ,

[Exit Artichoake.
Flow. Come, come, your purse, ladie, your

purse.

Deli. That voice I haue heard often before
this time. 20

What, brother Flower dale become a theefe?

Flow. I, a plague ont, I thanke your father.

But, sister, come, your mony, come! What,

The world must find me, I am borne to Hue,

Tis not a sinne to steale, when none will giue.

Deli. God, is all grace banisht from thy

heart? 26

Thinke of the shame that doth attend this

fact.
Flow. Shame me no shames; come, giue me

your purse.

Ile bind you, sister, least I faire the worse.
Deli. No, bind me not: hold, there is all I
haue, 30

And would that mony would redeeme thy
shame.

Enter Oliuer, syr Arthur, and Artichoake.

Arti. Theeues, theeues, theeues!

Oli. Theeues? where, man? why, how now

mistresse Delia!
Ha you a liked to bin a robbed?

i Scene II. etc. odd. M ^3 Ends come Q, Ff

211

ACT IV, Sc. II.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Delia. No, maister Oliuer; tis maister
Flower dale, hee did but iest with me. 36

OIL How, Flower dale, that scoundrell?
sirrha, you meten vs well: vang thee that.

Flow. Well, sir, ile not meddle with you,
because I haue a charge. 4

Deli. Here, brother Flower dale, ile lend you
this same mony.

Flow. I thanke you, sister.

OIL I wad you were ysplit, and you let the
mezell haue a penny. But since you cannot
keepe it, chil keepe it my selfe. 4 6

Ar. Tis pittie to releeue him in this sort,
Who makes a triumphant life his daily sport.

Delia. Brother, you see how all men cen
sure you,
Farewell, and I pray God amend your life. 50

Oly. Come, chill bring you along, and you
safe enough from twentie such scoundrells as
thick a one is. Farewell and be hanged,
zyrrha, as I thinke so thou wilt be shortly.
Come, syr Arthur. 55

[Exit all but Flower dale.

Flow. A plague goe with you for a karsie
rascall.

This Deuenshyre man, I think, is made all of good sister.

Luce. Me sail doe euery ting about da head.

Ciu. What countriwoman is she, Kestert

Path. A dutch woman, sir. 15

Ciu. Why then she is outlandish, is she
not?

Path. I, Syr, she is.

Fran. 0, then, thou canst tell how to helpe
mee to cheekes and eares? 20

Luce. Yes, mistresse, verio veil.

Path. Cheekes and eares! why, mistresse
Frances, want you cheekes and eares? me
thinkes you haue very faire ones.

Fran. Thou art a foole indeed. Tom, thou
knowest what I meane. 26

Ciu. I, I, Kester, tis such as they weare a
their heads. I prethee, Kit, haue her in, and
shewe her my house.

Path. I will, sir. Come, Tanikin. 30

Fran. Tom, you haue not bussed me to
day, Tom.

Ciu. No, Frances, we must not kisse afore
folkes. God saue me, Francke,

Enter Delia, and Artichoake.
See yonder my sister Delia is come. Welcome,

porke,

His hands made onely for to heaue vp packs:
His hart as fat and big as his face;
As differing far from all braue gallant minds
As I to serue the hogges, and drinke with

hindes, 61

As I am very neere now. Well, what remedie?
When mony, meanes, and friends doe growe

so small,

Then farewell life, and ther's an end of all.

[Exit.

(SCENE m. Another street. Before Civefs

house.)

Enter Father, Luce like a Dutch Frow, duet,
and his wife mistresse Frances.

Fran. Welcome, good sister, how do you
like the tier of my head?

Delia. Very well, sister.

Ciu. I am glad you're come, sister Delia,
to giue order for supper; they will be here
soone. 42

Arty. I, but if good luck had not serued,
she had not bin here now: niching Flower dale
had like to peppord vs; but for maister Oliuer,
we had bin robbed. 46

Deli. Peace, syrrha, no more.

Path. Robbed! by whom?

Arty. Marry, by none but by Flower dale;
he is turned theefe. 50

Ciu. By my faith, but that is not well; but
God be praised for your escape. Will you

Ciu. By my troath, god a mercie for this, I dra , w ee ' e ' s * ter?
good Christopher, I thanke thee for my maide
I like her very well. How doest thou like her
Frances! [

Fran.' In good sadnesse, Tom, very well 1 . i
excellent well; she speakes so prettily.-I pray tha *
whats your name?

Luce. My name, forsooth, be called and speake no more of this. 60

inikin Arty. Not I, not a word. Now do I smell

, , P7

, f "?' **** come hltl V*- Would Flower-
^ e > *"* th J w mv master, a robbed you?
* P re thee, tell me true. 56

J 63 ' ^ aith ' euen **** Flowerdale >

JRlftftk v K

Path. Hold thee, there is a French crowne,

knauerie:

Tanikin. 9

Fran. By my troath, a fine name. ; T

Tanikin, you are excellent for dressing ones In euery purse Flowerdale takes - he 1S h alfe:
head a newe fashion.

4S trompant coiij. M 49 consurc Q 64 S. />.
Exit omnes Q Scene III. etc. add. M 1-7 Yerxe

And giues me this to keepe counsell. No,
not a word I.

:U save my Ff 40-G Verse Q, Ff 45 to have
pepper'd M 63 No om. Ff, etc.

212

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT V, Sc. I.

Path. Why, God a mercy.
Fran. Sister, looke here, I haue a new
Dutch maid, and she speakes so fine, it would
doe your heart good. 67

Cin. How doe you like her, sister?
Deli. I like your maide well.
Ciu. Well, deare sister, will you draw
neere, and giue directions for supper? guests
will be here presently. 72

Delia. Yes, brother; leade the way; ile
follow you.

\Exit all but Delia and Luce.
Harke you, Dutch frowe, a word.
Luce. Vat is your vill wit me?
Deli. Sister Luce, tis not your broken lan
guage, 76
Nor this same habit, can disguise your face
From I that know you: pray tell me, what

meanes this?
Luce. Sister, I see you know me; yet be

secret.

This borrowed shape, that I haue tane vpon
me, 80

Is but to keepe my selfe a space vnknowne,
Both from my father, and my neerest f riendes,
Vntill I see how time will bring to passe
The desperate course of maister Flowerdale.
Deli. hee is worse then bad, I prethee
leaue him, 85

And let not once thy heart to thinke on him.
Luce. Do not perswade me once to such

a thought.

Imagine yet, that he is worse then naught:
Yet one houers time may all that ill vndo,
That all his former life did run into. 90

Therefore kind sister doe not disclose my

estate:

If ere his heart doth turne, tis nere too late.
Dely. Well, seeing no counsell can remoue

your mind,

Ile not disclose you that art wilfull blinde.
Luc. Delia, I thank you. I now must
please her eies, 95

My sister Frances, neither faire nor wise.

[Exit Omnes.

(ACT V. SCENE I. Scene before Civet's
house.}

Enter Flowerdale solus.

Flo. On goes he that knowes no end of

his iourney. I haue passed the very vtmost

bounds of shifting, I haue no course now but to

hang my selfe: I haue liued since yesterday

71 guests F ~>, lit: : guesse Q, F 1 89 hour's M :
louors 0, Ff: good K Act V. tie. add. . l-i>4
Verse <j, Ff

two a clocke of a spice -cake I had at a
buriall: and for drinke, I got it at an Ale-house
among Porters, such as will beare out a man,
if he haue no mony indeed I meane out of
their companyes, for they are men of good
carriage. Who comes heere? The two
Conycatchers, that woon all my mony of me.
lie trie if thayle lend me any. 1 2

Enter Ditke and Rafe.

What, M(aister) Richard, how doe you? How
doest thou, RafeJ By God, gentlemen, the
world growes bare with me: will you do as
much as lend me an Angel betweene you both.
You know you won a hundred of me the other
day. 1 8

Rafe. How, an Angel? God damb vs, if we
lost not euery peny, within an houre after thou
wert gone.

Flow. I prethy lend me so much as will
pay for my supper. Ile pay you againe, as
I am a Gentleman.

Rafe. I faith, we haue not a farthing, not
a myte: 25

I wonder at it, M(aister) Flowerdale,
You will so carelesly vndo your selfe.
Why, you will loose more mony in an houre,
Then any honest man spend in a yeare.
For shame, betake you to some honest Trade,
And line not thus so like a Vagabond. 31

[Exit both.
Flow. A Vagabond, indeed! more villain es

you:

They gaue me counsell that first cozend me:
Those Diuels first brought me to this I am,
And being thus, the first that doe me wrong.
Well, yet I haue one friend left in store: 36
Not farre from hence there dwels a Cokatryce,
One that I first put in a satten gowne,
And not a tooth that dwells within her head,
But stands me at the least in 20. pound: 40
Her will I visite now my coyne is gone,
And, as I take it, heere dwelles the Gentle
woman.
What ho, is Mist(r)esse Apricocke within?

Enter Ruffyn.
Ruff. What sawsie Rascall is that which

knocks so bold?

O, is it you? old spend -thrift, are you here? 45
One that is turned Cozoner about the towne:
My Mistresse saw you, and sends this word by

me:
Either be packing quickly from the doore,

5 of] on M '-'5 haue] haue haue Q 29 spends
Ff, etc. :56 nrkmd <J left me 'in M .39 dwell (J
4:2 Gentlewomen Q

213

ACT V, Sc. I,

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Or you shall haue such a greeting sent you

and here is halfe a crowne in gold. [He giues

s t ra it 49 it her.] Nowe, out vpon thee, Rascall! secret

As you will little like on: you had best be gone. | seruice! what doest thou make of mee? it
Flow. Why so, this is as it should be: being | were a good deede to haue thee whipt. Now

I haue my money againe, ile see thee hanged

poore,

Thus art thou serued by a vile painted whoore.
Well, since thy damned crew doe so abuse thee,
Ile try of honest men, how they will vse mee.

Enter an auncient Citizen.
Sir, I beseech you to take compassion of a man,
one whose Fortunes haue beene better then at
this instant they seeme to bee: but if I might
craue of you some such little portion, as
would bring mee to my friends, I should rest
thankfull, vntill I had requited so great a
curtesie. 6l

Citizen. Fie, fie, yong man, this course is

very bad,

Too many such haue wee about this Cittie,
Yet for I haue not scene you in this sort,
Nor noted you to be a common begger: 65
Hold, theres an Angel, to beare your charges

downe.

Goe to your freinds, do not on this depend:
Such bad beginnings oft haue worser ends. 68

[Exit Citt.

Flow. Worser endes: nay, if it fall out no
worse then in old angels I care not. Nay, now
I haue had such a fortunate beginning, He not
let a sixepennie -purse escape me. By the
Masse, here comes another. 73

before I giue thee a pennie. Secret seruice!
On, good Alexander. [Exit both.

Flow. This is villa nous lucke. I perceiue
dishonestie will not thriue: here comes more.
God forgiue mee, Sir Arthur, and M(aister)
Oliner: afore God, lie speake to them. 103

Enter Sir Arthur, and M. Oliuer.
God saue you, Sir Arthur: God saue you,
M(aister) Oliuer.

Oli. Byn you there, zyrrha? come, will you
ytaken your selfe to your tooles, Coystrell?

Flow. Nay, M(aister) Oliuer, lie not fight

with you.

Alas, sir, you know it was not my dooings,
It was onely a plot to get Sir Lancelots
daughter: no

By God, I neuer meant you harme.

Oh'. And whore is the Gentle -woman thy
wife, Mezell? Whore is shee, Zyrrha, ha?

Flow. By my troth, M(aister) Oliuer, sicke,
very sicke; and God is my ludge, I know not
what meanes to make for her, good Gentle
woman. 117

Oli. Tell me true, is she sicke? tell me true,
itch vise thee.

Flow. Yes, faith, I tell you true: M(aister/
Oliuer, if you would doe mee the small kind-
nesse, but to lend me fortie shillings: so God
helpe me, I will pay you so soone as my
abilitie shall make me able, as I am a gentle
man. 1 25

Oli. Well, thou zaist thy wife is zicke:
hold, thers vortie shillings; giue it to thy wife.
Looke thon giue it her, or I shall zo veze thee,
thou wert not so vezed this zeuen yeare;

Enter a Citizens wife with a torch before

her.

God blesse you, faire Mistresse. Now would
it please you, gentlewoman, to looke into the
wants of a poore Gentle -man, a yonger
brother, I doubt not but God will treble restore
it backe againe: one that neuer before this
time demanded pennie, halfpenie, nor farthing.

Citiz. Wife. Stay, Alexander. Now, by I looke too it. 1 3

my troth, a very proper man, and tis great \ Art. Yfaith, Master'/ Oliuer, it is in vaine
pittie: hold, my friend, theres all the monie
I haue about me, a couple of shillings, and
God blesse thee. 84

Flow. Now God thanke you, sweete Lady:
if you haue any friend, or Garden-house, where
you may imploy a poore gentleman as your
friend, I am yours to command in all secret
seruice. 8 9

Citiz. I thanke you, good friend. I prethy

let me see that againe I gaue thee: there is
one of them a brasse shilling; giue me them,

58 some sucli /: (d.: so much
00 Emk charges ty, Ff OS end 31

53 thee] me S
Q. Ff : sonic R
O'J end 31

To giue to him that neuer thinkes of her.

Oli. Well, would che could yuind it.

Flow. I tell you true, sir Arthur, as I am a
gentleman. 1 35

Oli. Well fare you well, zyrrah: come, sir
Arthur. [Exit both.

Flow. By the Lord, this is excellent.
Fiue golden Angels compast in an houre!
If this trade hold, ile neuer seeke a new. 1 40

214

Welcome, sweet gold: and beggery, adue.

Enter Vncfde and Father.
Vnc. See, Kesler, if you can find the house.

1^7 giued Q 130 farewell Ff, c/c.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

ACT V, Sc. I.

Flow. Whose here? my Vnckle, and my
man Kestert By the masse, tis they. How doe
you, Vnckle, how dost thou, Kesterl By my
troath, Vnckle, you must needes lend me
some mony: the poore gentlewoman my wife,
so God helpe me, is verie sicke. I was robde
of the hundred angels you gaue me; they are
gone. 15

Vnc. I, they are gone indeed; come, Kester,
away.

Flow. Nay, Vnckle, do you heare? good
Vnckle.

Vnc. Out, hypocrite, I will not heare thee
speake; 155

Come, leaue him, Kester.

Flow. Kester, honest Kestef.

Path. Syr, I haue nought to say to you.
Open the doore, Tanikin: thou hadst best
lockt fast, for theres a false knaue without.

Flow. You are an old lying Rascall, so you
are. [Exit both.

Enter Luce.

Luce. Vat is de matter? Vat be you,
yonker? 164

Flow. By this light, a Dutch Froe: they
say they are calde kind. By this light, ile try
her.

Luce. Vat bin you, yonker? why doe you
not speake? 169

Flow. By my troath, sweet heart, a poore
gentleman that would desire of you, if it
stand with your liking, the bountie of your
purse. 173

Enter father.

Luce. here, God, so young an armine.

Flow. Armine, sweet -heart? I know not
what you meane by that, but I am almost a
begger.

Luce. Are you not a married man? vere bin
your vife? Here is all I haue: take dis. 179

Flow. What, gold, young Froe? this is
braue.

Path. If he haue any grace, heele now
repent.

Luce. Why speake you not? were be your
vifc? 185

Flow. Dead, dead, shees dead; tis she hath
vndone me: spent me all I had, and kept ras-
calls vnder mine nose to braue me.

Luce. Did you vse her veil? 189

Flow. Vse her? theres neuer a gentle
woman in England could be better vsed then
I did her. I could but Coatch her; her diet

l-M-50, 158-62 Ytrxc Q, Ff 159 Tauikiu }: (d.: to
my kin (J, Ff \ to me, 'Kin J/

stood me in fortie pound a moneth, but shee
is dead and in her graue my cares are buried.

Luce. Indeed, dat vas not scone. 1 95

Path. He is turned more diuell then he
was before.

Flow. Thou doest belong to maister duet
here, doest thou not?

Luce. Yes me doe. 200

Flow. Why, theres it: theres not a hand-
full of plate but belongs to me, Gods my ludge:
if I had but such a wench as thou art, theres
neuer a man in England would make more of
her, then I would doe, so she had any stocke.
They call within: 0, why, Tanikin. 206

Luce. Stay, one doth call; I shall come by
and by againe.

Flow. By this hand, this Dutch wench is in
loue with me. Were it not admirall to make
her steale all duets Plate, and runne away.

Path. Twere beastly. maister Flower -
dale, 212

Haue you no feare of God, nor conscience?
What doe you meane by this vilde course you
take?

Flow. What doe I meane? why, to liue,
that I meane. 216

Path. To liue in this sort? fie vpon the

course:
Your life doth show, you are a verie coward.

Flow. A coward? I pray, in what?

Path. Why, you will borrow sixpence of a
boy. 221

Flow. Snailes, is there such cowardice in
that? I dare borrow it of a man, I, and of the
tallest man in England, if he will lend it me.
Let me borroweit how I can, and let them come
by it how they dare. And it is well knowne,
I might a rid out a hundred times if I would:
so I might.

Path. It was not want of will, but

cowardice.

There is none that lends to you, but know they
gaine: 230

And what is that but onely stealth in you?
Delia might hang you now, did not her

heart

Take pittie of you for her sisters sake.
Goe, get you hence, least, lingering where
you stay, 234

You fall into their hands you looke not for.

Flow. lie tarie here, till the Dutch Froe
comes, if all the diuels in hell were here.

[Exit Father.

195 shoen Hug. 201-5 Verse Q, Ff 203 but oni.
Ff, etc. 210 admirable K, etc. 209-11, 220-8

Very Q, Ff 226 kowne
your stay M

Q, Ff, etc.

234 where pr. til: here

215.

ACT V, Sc. I.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Enter syr Lancelot, maister Weathercocke,
and Artichoake.

Lance. Where is the doore? are we not past
it, Artichoake''. f 39

Arty. Bith masse, heres one; ile aske him.
Doe you heare, sir? What, are you so proud?
doe you heare? which is the way to maister
duets house? what will you not speake?
me, this is niching Flower dale.

Lance. wonderfull, is this leaude villaine

here? 245

you cheating Roague, you cut -purse coni-

catcher,
What ditch, you villaine, is my daughters

graue?

A cozening rascall, that must make a will,
Take on him that strict habit very that, 249
When he should turneto angell a dying grace.
Ile father in la we you, syr, ile make a will!
Speake, villaine, wheres my daughter?
Poysoned, I warrant you, or knocked a the head
And to abuse good maister Weathercocke,
With his fordged will, and maister Weather
cocke 255
To make my grounded resolution,
Then to abuse the Deuenshyre gentleman:
Goe, away with him to prison.

Flow. Wherefore to prison? syr, I will not
goe. 260

Enter maister duet, his wife, Oliuer, syr
Arthur, Father, and Vnckle, Delia.

Lance. heeres his Vnckle! welcome, gen
tlemen, welcome all. Such a cozoner, gentle
men, a murderer too, for any thing I know:
my daughter is missing: hath bin looked for,
cannot be found. A vild vponl,hee. 265

Vnc. He is my kinsman, altho his life be

vilde;

Therefore, in Gods name, doe with him what
you will.

Lance. Marrie, to prison.

Flow. Wherefore to prison? snick vp, I
owe you nothing. 270

Lance. Bring forth my daughter then:
away with him.

Flow. Goe seeke your daughter; what doe
you lay to my charge.

Lance. Suspition of murder: goe, away with
him. 276

Flow. Murder, you dogs? I murder your
daughter!

238 Prefix Luce Q 240 Bith] By th' Ff 245
Icwde Ff 249 a strict habit, feigning that Haz.

256 make] shake conj. M 257 gentlemen Q, Fl

261 Prefix Luce Q 261-5 Verse 277 you dogs
in: ed. : your dogs Q, etc.

Come, Vnckle, I know youle baile me.

Vnc. Not I, were there no more, then I the
lay lor, thou the prisoner. 280

Lance. Goe; away with him.

Enter Luce like a Fro we.

Luce. my life, here; where will you ha

de man?
Vat ha de younker done?

Wea. Woman, he hath kild his wife.

Luce. His vife: dat is not good, dat is not
seene. 286

Lance. Hang not vpon him, huswife; if you
doe, ile lay you by him.

Luce. Haue me no oder way dan you haue

him:
He tell me dat he loue me hartily. 290

Fran. Lead away my maide to prison!
why, Tom, will you suffer that?

Ciu. No, by your leaue, father, she is no
vagrant: she is my wiues chamber maid, &
as true as the skin between any mans browes
here. 296

Lance. Goe too, you're both fooles:
Sonne duet, of my life, this is a plot,
Some stragling counterfeit preferd to you,
No doubt to rob you of your plate and Jewels.
Ile haue you led away to prison, trull. 301

Luce. I am no trull, neither outlandish

Frowe.

Nor he, nor I shall to the prison goe:
Know you me now? nay, neuer stand amazed.
Father, I know I haue offended you, 305
And tho that dutie wills me bend my knees
To you in dutie and obedience:
Yet this wayes doe I turne, and to him

yeeld
My loue, my dutie and my humblenesse.

Lane. Bastard in nature! kneele to such a
slaue? 310

Luce. M(aister) Flower dale, if too much

griefe

Haue not stopt vp the orgens of your voyce,
Then speake to her that is thy faithfull wife:
Or doth contempt of me thus tye thy tongue?
Turne not away, I am no -flSthyope, 315

No wanton Cressed, nor a changing Hellen:
But rather one made wretched by thy losse.
What, turnst thou still from me? then
I gesse thee wofulst among haplesse men.

Flow. I am, indeed, wife, wonder among
wiues! 320

Thy chastitie and vertue hath infused
Another soule in mee, red with defame,

282 here out. Ff: hear M 286 shocn Ilttz. 289
oder . . dan M : and or . . doe (j, Ff leave him R
297 Ends Ciuet Q, Ff 308 way ,V

216

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

AcrV.'Sc. I.

For in my blushing eheekes is scene my

shame.
Lane. Out, Hypocrite,
him not.

I charge thee, trust

Luce. Not trust him? by (the) hopes (of)
after blisse, 325

I know no sorrow can be compar'd to his.

Lan. Well, since thou weart ordain'd to

beggery,
Follow thy fortune; I defie thee, I.

Oly. Ywood che were so well ydoussed as
was euer white cloth in a tocking mill, and
che ha not made me weepe. 33*

Path. If he hath any grace, heele now
repent.

Art. It moues my heart.

Wea. By my troth, I must weepe, I can not
chaise. 335

Vncle. None but a beast would such a
maide misuse.

Flow. Content thy selfe, I hope to win his

fauour,

And to redeeme my reputation lost:
And, Gentlemen, beleeue me, I beseech you:
I hope your eyes shall behold such change,
As shall deceiue your expectation. 341

Oly. I would che were ysplit now, but che
beleeue him.

Lance. How, beleeue him?

Wea. By the mackins, I doe. 345

Lance. What, doe you thinke that ere he
will haue grace?

Wea. By my faith, it will goe hard.

OZy. Well, che vor ye, he is changed: and
M(aister) Flowerdale, in hope you been so,
hold, theres vortie pound toward your zetting
vp: what, bee not ashamed; vang it, man,
vang it: bee a good husband, louen your wife:
and you shall not want for vortie more, I
che vor thee. 355

Arth. My meanes are little, but if youle

follow me,

I will instruct you in my ablest power:
But to your wife I giue this Diamond,
And proue true Dimond faire in all your life.

I hope your vader and your vncle here wil
vbllow my zamples. 37

Vncle. You haue gest right of me; if he
leaue of this course of life, he shall be mine
heire.

Lan. But he shall neuer get a groat of me:
A Cozoner, a deceiuer, one that kild 375

His painefull father, honest Gentleman
That passed the fearefull danger of the sea,
To get him lining and maintaine him braue.

Wea. What, hath he kild his father?

Lance. I, sir, with conceit of his vild
courses. 380

Path. Sir, you are misinformed.

Lane. Why, thou old knaue, thou toldst
me so thy selfe.

Fa. I wrong'd him then: and toward my

Masters', stock,
Thers 20 Nobles for to make amends.

Flo. No, Kester, I haue troubled thee, and
wrong'd thee more. 385

What thou in loue giues, I in loue restore.

Fra. Ha, ha, sister, there you playd bo-
peepe with Tom. What shall I giue her
toward houshold? Sister Delia, shall I giue her
my Fanne? 390

Del. You were best aske your husband.

Fran. Shal I, Tom?

duet. I, do, Franck; ile by thee a new one,
with a longer handle.

Franck. A russet one, Tom. 395

iuit. I, with russet feathers.

Fran. Here, sister, theres my Fanne to
ward houshold, to kecpe you warme.

Luce. I thanke you, sister. 399

Wea. Why this is well, and toward faire
Luces stocke, heres fortie shillings: and fortie
good shillings more, He giue her, marrie.
Come, sir Lancelot, I must haue you friends.

Lance. Not I, all this is counterfeit;
He will consume it, were it a Million. 405

Fath. Sir, what is your daughters dower
worth?

Lance. Had she been married to an honest
man,

Flow. Thankes, good sir Arthur, M(aister) j It had beene better then a thousand pound.
Oliuer, 360 | Fath. Pay it him, and ile giue you my

You being my eneinie, and growne so kind,
Bindes mee in all indeuour to restore

OZy. What! restore me no restorings, man.
I haue vortie pound more for Luce; here,
vang it: Zouth, chil devie London els. What,

do not thinke me a Mezel or a Scondrell to Will passe there for as much as yours,
throw away my money: che haue a hundred
pound more to pace of any good spotation:

bond, 49

To make her ioynter better worth then three.
Lance. Your bond, sir? why, what are you?
Fath. One whose word in London, tho I
say it,

325 the add. Ff of tnW. 1!
35'j loiicn to your Ff. </'.

369 vadcr Percy : vndcr Q, Ff 385 wrong Q

387-90 Verge Q : eon: M 3P5 Tom] Franckc Q

331 che] chea Q 400-3 Vcive 31 : die. after stock, more, Lancelot 409
him] to him M

217

ACT V, Sc. I.

THE LONDON PRODIGALL

Lane. Weart not thou late that vnthrifts

seruing-man?

Path. Looke on me better, now my scarre
is off. 4iS

Nere muse, man, at this metamorphosie.
Lance. M(aister) Flowerdalel
Flow. My father! 0, I shame to looke on

him.

Pardon, deare father, the follyes that are past.

Fa. Sonne, sonne, I doe, and ioy at this

thy change, 4 20

And applaud thy fortune in this vertuous

maide,
Whom heauen hath sent to thee to saue thy

soule.
Luc. This addeth ioy to ioy, hie heauen be

prais'd.

Wea. M(aister) Flowerdalel

Welcome from death, good M(aister) Flower -

dale. 425

Twas sed so here, twas sed so here, good faith.

Path. I caused that rumour to be spred

my selfe,

Because ide see the humours of my sonne,
Which to relate the circumstance is needlesse:
And, sirra, see you runne no more into 43
That same disease:

For he thats once cured of that maladie,
Of Ryot, Swearing, Drunkennes, and Pride,
And falles againe into the like distresse,
That feuor is deadly, doth till death indure:
Such men die mad as of a callenture. 436
Flow. Heauen helping me, ile hate the

course as hell.

Vnc. Say it and do it, Cozen, all is well.
Lane. Wei, being in hope youle proue an

honest man,

I take you to my fauour. Brother Flower-
dale, 440
Welcome with all my heart: I see your care
Hath brought these acts to this conclusion,

424-5 One line Q, etc. 430-1 One line Q, Ff : dh:
after see M 440 fauour brother Q : corr. Ff

And I am glad of it: come, lets in and feast.

Oly. Nay, zoft you awhile: you promised
to make Sir Arthur and me amends. Here is
your wisest daughter; see which ans sheele
haue. 447

Lane. A Gods name, you haue my good
will, get hers.

OZy. How say you then, Damsell, tyters hate?

Delia. I, sir, am yours. 450

OZy. Why, then, send for a Vicar, and chil
haue it dispatched in a trice, so chill.

Delia. Pardon me, sir, I meane I am yours,
In loue, in dutie, and affection,
But not to loue as wife: shall neere be said,
Delya was buried married, but a mayd. 456

Arth. Doe not condemne your selfe for euer,
Vertuous faire, you were borne to loue.

OZy. Why, you say true, sir Arthur, she
was ybere to it so well as her mother: but
I pray you shew vs some zamples or reasons
why you will not marry? 462

Deli. Not that I doe condemne a married

life,

For tis no doubt a sanctimonious thing:
But for the care and crosses of a wife, 465
The trouble in this world that children bring;
My vow is in heauen in earth to liue alone,
Husbands, howsoeuer good, I will haue none.

OZy. Why, then che will liue Batcheller too.
Che zet not a vig by a wife, if a wife zet not
a vig by me. Come, shalls go to dinner? 471

Fa. To morrow I craue your companies in

Mark-lane:
To night weele frolike in M(aister) Ciuites

house,
And to each health drinke downe a full

444-7 Verse Q, Ff
tyters hate om. R, etc.

FINIS.

446 ans] on us M
453 I] that I M

449
455 it

shall X 457-8 Prone M 459-62 Verse 0, Ff

460 ybore Ff, etc. 467 on earth M 469-71 Vent
0. Ff 469 che will M chil will : chill Ff a

Batchelor Ff, etc.

218

THE

PVRITAINE

THE WIDDOW

of Watling-ftreete.

the Children of T auks.

Written by W. S.

Imprinted at London by
I 07.

Q = Quarto of 1607

F 1 = (Third) Folio Shakespeare, 1664

F2 = (Fourth) 1685

R = Rowe, 1709

Pope = Supplement to Pope's Shakespeare, 1728

M = Malone, 1780

St. = Steevens, ibid.

Th. = Theobald, ibid.

S = Simms, 1848

T = Tyrrell, 1851

Haz. = Hazlitt, 1852

pr. ed. - present editor

220

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

(THE
ACTORS
NAMES

In the Play Intituled
The PURITAN WIDOW.

The Scene London.
Lady Plus, a Citizens Widow.

her t

Sir Godfrey, Brother -in-Law to the Widow

Plus.

Master Edmond, Son to the Widow Plus.
George Pye-boord, a Schollar and a Citizen.
Peter Skirmish, an old Soldier.

ACTVS PRIMVS.

(SCENE I. A Garden behind the widow's house.}
Enter the Lady Widdow-Plus, her two Daugh

ters Franke and Moll, her husbands Brother

an old Knight Sir Godfrey, with her So/me

and heyre Maister Edmond, alZ in moorning

apparell, Edmond in a Cypresse Hatte.

The Widdow wringing her hands, and burst

ing out into passion, as newly come from

the Buriall of her husband.

Widow. Oh, that euer I was borne, that
euer I was borne I

Sir Godfrey. Nay, good Sister, deare sister,
sweete sister, bee of good comfort; shew your
selfe a woman, now or neuer. 5

Wid. Oh, I haue lost the deerest man, I
haue buried the sweetest husband that euer
lay by woman.

Sir God. Nay, giue him his due, hee was
indeed an honest, vertuous, discreet, wise man,
hee was my Brother, as right as right. 1 1

Wid. 0, I shall neuer forget him, neuer
forget him; hee was a man so well giuen to
a woman oh! 14

Sir God/. Nay, but, kinde Sister, I could
weepe as much as any woman, but, alas, our
teares cannot call him againe: me thinkes you
are well read, Sister, and know that death is
as common as Homo, a common name to all
men: a man shall bee taken when hee's
making water. Nay, did not the learned
Parson, Maister Pigman, tell vs een now, that
all Flesh is fraile, wee are borne to dye, Man
ha's but a time: with such like deepe and pro-

Captain Idle, a Highway-man.
Corporall Oath, a vain-glorious Fellow.

1 Drum. Pcrs. ndtl. Fl
wise-man Q

Scene I. etc. add. M

Sir Oliver Muck-hill, a Suiter to the Lady Plus.
Sir John Penny -Dub, a Suiter to Moll.
Sir Andrew Tipstaffe, a Suiter to Frances.
The Sheriffs of London.

Ravenshaw \ Two f the Sheri ff s Serjeants.

Dogson, a Yeoman.

A Noble-man.

A Gentleman Citizen.

Officers.} !

I found perswasions, as hee is a rare fellow, you
know, and an excellent Reader: and for
example, (as there are examples aboundance,)
did not Sir Humfrey Bubble dye tother day?
There's a lustie Widdow; why, shee cryed not
aboue halfe an houre for shame, for shame I
then followed him old Maister Fulsome, the
Vsurer: there's a wise Widdow; why, shee
cryed nere a whitte at all. 33

Wid. 0, rancke not rcee with those wicked

i women: I had a Husband out-shinde 'em all.
Syr God/. I, that he did,Ifaith: he out-shind

; 'em all. 37

Widd. Boost thou stand there and see vs all

weepe, and not once shed a teare for thy fathers

death? oh, thou vngratious sonne and heyre,

; thou! 41

Edm. Troth, Mother, I should not weepe,

I'me sure; I am past a childe, I hope, to make

all my old Schoole fellowes laughe at me; I

should bee mockt, so I should. Pray, let ore

of my Sisters weepe for mee. lie laughe ES

much for her another time. A 7

Widd. Oh, thou past-Grace, thou! out cf

my sight, thou gracelesse impe, thou grieuest

mee more then the death of thy Father! oh,

, thou stubborne onely sonne! hadst thou such
an honest man to thy Father that would
deceaue all the world to get riches for thee
and canst thou not afforde a little salt water?
he that so wisely did quite ouer -throw the
right heyre of those lands, which now you
respect not: vp euery morning betwixt foure
and fiue; so duely at Westminster Hall euery
Tearme-Time, with all his Gardes and writings,
for thee, thou wicked Absolon oh, deare hus
band! 6 1

59 Cardes] charts conj. M

221

ACT I, Sc. I.

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

Edm. Weep, quotha? I protest I am glad
hee's Churched; for now hee's gone, I shall
spend in quiet.

Fran. Deere mother, pray cease; halfe

your Teares suffize. 6 5

Tis time for you to take truce with youre

eyes;
Let me weepe now.

Widd. Oh, such a deere knight! such a
sweete husband haue I lost, haue I lost! If
Blessed bee the coarso the raine raynes vpon,
he had it po wring downe. 7 1

Syr God/. Sister, be of good cheere, wee
are all mortall our selues. I come vppon you
freshly. I neare speake without comfort,
heere me what I shall say: my brother ha's
left you wellthy, y'are rich. 7 6

Widd. Oh!

Syr God/. I say y'ar rich: you are also faire.

Widd. Oh! 79

Sir God/. Goe too, y'are faire, you cannot
smother it; beauty will come to light; nor are
your yeares so farre enter'd with you, but that
you will bee sought after, and may very well
answere another husband; the world is full of
fine Gallants, choyse enow, Sister, for what
should wee doe with all our Knights, I pray,
but to marry riche widdowes, wealthy Cittizens
widdowes, lusty faire -browd Ladies? go too,
bee of good comfort, I say: leaue snobbing and
weeping Yet my Brother was a kinde hearted
man I would not haue the Elfe see mee now!
Come, pluck vp a womans heart here
stands your Daughters, who be well estated,
andat maturity will also beeenquir'd after with
good husbands, so all these teares shall bee
soone dryed vp and a better world then euer
What, Woman? you must not weepe still; hee's
dead, hee's buried yet I cannot chuse but
weepe for him!

Wid. Marry againe! no! let me be buried

quick then! 100

And that same part of Quire whereon I tread

To such intent, may it be my graue;

And that the Priest may turne his wedding

praiers,

E'en with a breath, to funerall dust and ashes!
Oh, out of a million of millions, I should nere
finde such a husband; hee was vnmatchable,
vnmatchable! nothing was to hot, nor to deere
for mee, I could not speake of that one thing,
that I had not: beside I had keyes of all, kept
all, receiu'd all, had money in my purse, spent
what I would, went abroad when I would, came
home when I would, and did all what I would.

75 has Ff, etc. 101 o' the choir M 107 too hot
M : so hot Q, Ff : too good conj. S

Oh, my sweete husband! I shall neuer haue the
like. 1 1 4

Sir God/. Sister, nere say so; hee was an
honest brother of mine, and so, and you may
light vpon one as honest againe, or one as
honest againe may light vpon you: that's the
properer phrase, indeed. 119

Wid. Neuer! oh, if you loue me, vrge it not.

(Kneels.)

Oh may I be the by -word of the world,
The common talke at Table in the mouth
Of euery Groome and Wayter, if e're more
I enter tain e the carnall suite of Man! 124

Mol. I must kneele downe for fashion too.

Franck. And I, whom neuer man as yet

hath scalde,

Ee'n in this depth of generall sorrow, vowe
Neuer to marry, to sustaine such losse 128
As a deere husband seemes to be, once dead.

Mol. I lou'd my father well, too; but to say,
Nay, vow, I would not marry for his death
Sure, I should speake false Lattin, should I not?
Ide as soone vow neuer to come in Bed. 133
Tut! Women must Hue by th' quick, and not
by th' dead.

Wid. Deare Copie of my husband, oh let me

kisse thee. 1 35

How like him is this Model! this brief e Picture

[Drawing out her husbands Picture.

Quickens my teares: my sorrowes are renew'd

At this fresh sight.

Sir God/. Sister

Wid. Away, 1 40

All honesty with him is turn'd to clay.
Oh my sweete husband, oh

Franck. My deere father!

[Exeunt mother and daughters.

Mol. Heres a puling, indeede! I thinke my
Mother weepes for all the women that euer
buried husbands; for if from time to time all
the Widdowers teares in England had beene
bottled vp, I do not thinke all would haue fild
a three -halfe -penny Bottle. Alasse, a small
matter bucks a hand-kercher, and som-
times the spittle stands to nie Saint Thomas a
Watrings. Well, I can mourne in good sober
sort as well as another; but where I spend one
teare for a dead Father, I could giue twenty
kisses for a quick husband. [Exit Moll. 155

Sir God/. Well, go thy waies, old Sir God
frey, and thou maist be proud on't, thou hast
a kinde louing sister -in -lawe; how constant!
how passionate! how full of Aprill the poore

S. D. Kneels add. R after 124 131 vow . . his Ff,
elr. : now . . her 136 this . . this M : their . . their
Q, Ff 138 this M : their Q, Ff 147 widows'
conj. St.

222

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

ACT I, Sc. II.

soules eyes are! Well, I would my Brother
knew on't, he should then know what a kinde
wife hee had left behindehim: truth, and twere
not for shame that the Neighbours at th' next
garden should heare me, betweene ioye and
griefe I should e'en cry out-right! 165

[Exit Sir Godfrey.

Edmond. So, a faire riddance! My fathers
layde in dust; his Coffin and he is like a whole -
meate-pye, and the wormes will cut him vp
shortlie. Farewell, old Dad, farewell. lie be
curb'd in no more. I perceiue a sonne and
heire may quickly be made a foole, and he will
be one, but Be take another order. Now she
would haue me weepe for him, for -sooth, and
why? because he cozn'd the right heire, beeing
a foole, and bestow'd those Lands vpon me his
eldest Son; and therefore I must weepe for
him, ha, ha. Why, al the world knowes, as
long as twas his pleasure to get me, twas his
duety to get for me: I know the law in that
point; no Atturney can gull me. Well, my
Vncle is an olde Asse, and an Admirable
Cockscombe. He rule the Roast my selfe. lie
be kept vnder no more; I know what I may do
well inough by my Fathers Copy: the Lawe's
in mine owne hands now: nay, now I know my
strength, He be strong inough for my Mother,
I warrant you. [Exit. 187

(SCENE H. A street.}

Enter George Py-bord, a scholler and a Citti-
zen, and vnto him an old souldier, Peter
Skirmish.

Pye. What's to be done now, old Lad of
War? thou that wert wont to be as hot as
a turn -spit, as nimble as a fencer, & as lowzy
as a schoole-maister; now thou art put to
silence like a Sectarie. War sitts now like
a lustice of peace, and does nothing. Where
be your Muskets, Caleiuers and Hotshots? in
Long-lane, at Pawne, at Pawne. Now keies
are your onely Guns, Key -guns, Key -guns, &
Bawdes the Gunners, who are your centinells
in peace, and stand ready charg'd to giue
warning, with hems, hums, & pockey-coffs;
only your Chambers are licenc'st to play vpon
you, and Drabs enow to giue fire to 'em. 14

Skir. Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it
goes wrong with me, for since the cessure of
the wars, I haue spent aboue a hundred
crownes out a purse. I haue beene a souldier
any time this forty yeares, and now I perceiue
an olde souldier and an olde Courtier haue both

164 betwixt Ff
purse F2

Scene II. etc. add. M 18 of

one destinie, and in the end turne both into
hob-nayles.

Pie. Piety mistery for a begger, for indeed
a hob-naile is the true embleme of a beggers
shoo-soale. 25

Skir. I will not say but that warre is a
bloud-sucker, and so; but, in my conscience,
(as there is no souldier but has a peice of one,
tho it bee full of holes like a shot Antient; no
matter, twill serue to sweare by) in my con
science, I thinke some kinde of Peace has
more hidden oppressions, and violent heady
sinnes, (tho looking of a gentle nature) then
a protest warre. 3 4

Pye. Troth, and for mine owne part, I am
a poore Gentleman, & a Scholler: I haue beene
matriculated in the Vniuersitie, wore out sixe
Gownes there, seene some fooles, and some
Schollers, some of the Citty, and some of the
Countrie, kept order, went bare-headed ouer
the Quadrangle, eate my Commons with a good
stomacke, and Battled with Discretion; at
last, hauing done many slights and trickes to
maintaine my witte in vse (as my braine would
neuer endure mee to bee idle,) I was expeld the
Vniuersitie, onely for stealing a Cheese out
of Jesus Colledge.

Skir. 1st possible? 48

Pye. Oh! there was one Welshman (God
forgiue him) pursued it hard; and neuer left, till
I turnde my staff e toward London, where when
I came, all my friends were pitt-hold, gone to
Graues, (as indeed there was but a few left
before.) Then was I turnde to my wittes, to
shift in the world, to towre among Sonnes and
Heyres, and Fooles, and Gulls, and Ladyes
eldest Sonnes, to worke vpon nothing, to f eede
out of Flint, and euer since has iny belly beene
much beholding to my braine. But, now, to
returne to you, old Skirmish: I say as you say,
and for my part wish a Turbulency in the
world, for I haue nothing to loose but my
wittes, and I thinke they are as mad as they
will be: and to strengthen your Argument the
more, I say an honest warre is better then
a bawdy peace, as touching my profession.
The multiplicitie of Schollers, hatcht and
nourisht in the idle Calmes of peace, makes
'em like Fishes one deuoure another; and the
communitie of Learning has so plaide vpon
affections, and thereby almost Religion is
come about to Phantasie, and discredited by
being too much spoken off in so many &
meane mouths, I my selfe, being a Scholler
and a Graduate, haue no other comfort by

31 lia's Q 62 nothing in the world but Ff 70
lia's <j 71 that thereby M

223

ACT I, Sc. II.

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

my learning, but the Affection of my words, to i by this time is dropt out of her Eyes: deuice
know how Scholler -like to name what I want, well managde may doe good vppon her: it
& can call my selfe a Begger both in Greeke : stands firme, my first practise shall bee there,
and Lattin: and therfore, not to cogg with I Skir. You haue my voyce, George. 132
Peace, He not be afraide to say, 'tis a great , Pye-boord. Sh'as a gray Gull to her Brother,
Breeder, but a barren Nourisher: a great getter a foole to her onely sonne, and an Ape to her
of Children, which must either be Theeues or yongest Daughter. I ouerheard 'em seuerally,
Rich -men, Knaues or Beggers. 83 and from their words lie deriue my deuice;

Skirmish. Well, would I had beene borne and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shall be my
a Knaue then, when I was borne a Begger; for second in all slights.

if the truth were knowne, I thinke I was begot | Skir. Nere doubt mee, George Pye-boord,
when my Father had neuer a penny in his ! onely you must teach me to coniure. 1 40

purse

Pye. Puh, faint not, old Skirmish; let this
warrant thee, Facilis Descensus Auerni, 'tis
an easie iourney to a Knaue; thou raaist bee
a Knaue when thou wilt; and Peace is a good

Madam to all other professions, and an arrant now? what's hee?

Enter Captaine Idle, pinioned, & with
a guarde of Officers passeth oner

the Stage.
Pye. Puh, He perfect thee, Peter. How

Drabbe to vs, let vs handle her accordingly,
and by our wittes thriue in despight of her;
for since the lawe Hues by quarrells, the
Courtier by smooth God-morrowes; and euery
profession makes it selfe greater by imperfec-

Tis

Skir. Oh Georgel this sight kils me.

my sworne Brother, Captaine Idle.

Pye. Captaine Idle.' 1 45

Skir. Apprehended for some fellonious act

or other. Hee has started out, h'as made a

tions, why not wee then by shiftes, wiles, and i Night on't, lackt siluer. I cannot but commend
forgeries? and seeing our braines are our onely j his resolution; he would not pawne his Buffe-
Patrimonies, let's spend with iudgment, not : lerkin. I would eyther some of vs were
like a desperate sonne and heire, but like | employde, or might pitch our Tents at Vsurers
a sober and discreete Templer, one that will : doores, to kill the slaues as they peepe out at

neuer marche beyond the bounds of his
allowance. And for our thriuing meanes,
thus: I my selfe will put on the Deceit of a
Fortune-teller. 107

Skirm. A Fortune-teller? Very proper.

Pye. And you of a figure -caster, or a Con-
iurer.

Skir. A Coniurer? 1 1 1

Pye. Let me alone; He instruct you, and
teach you to deceiue all eyes, but the Diuels.

Skir. Oh I, for I would not deceiue him, and
I could choose, of all others. 115

Pye. Feare not, I warrant you; and so by

the Wicket. 153

Pye. Indeed, those are our ancient Emmies ;
they keepe our moneyin their hands, and make
vs to bee hangd for robbing of 'em. But, come,
letts follow after to the Prison, and know the
Nature of his offence; and what we can steed
him in, hee shall be sure of; and lie vphold it
still, that a charitable Knaue is better then
a soothing Puritaine. [Exeunt. 161

(SCENE m. A street.}
Enter at one doore Corporall Oth, a Vaine-

those meanes wee shall helpe one another to
Patients, as the condition of the age affoords
creatures enow for cunning to worke vpon.

Skir. Oh wondrous! new fooles and fresh
Asses. 121

Pye. Oh, fit, fit! excellent.

Skir. What, in the name of Coniuring? 7 r

Pye-boord. My memorie greetes mee hap- haue met with you'next our hearts; you are
pily with an admirable subiect to graze vpon: the man that we are forbidden to keepe com-
The Lady-Widdow, who of late I sawe weeping I pany withall. Wee must not sweare I can tell
in her Garden for the death of her Husband; you, and you haue the name for swearing. 5
sure she 'as but a watrish soule, and halfe on't Sim. I, Corporall Oth, I would you would

glorious fellow; and at the other, three of the
Widdow Puritaines Seruingmen, Nicholas
Saint -Tantlings, Simon Saint-Mary-Oueries,
and Frailtie, in black scuruie mourning
coates, and Bookes at their Girdles, as cam
ming from Church. They meete.
Nich. What, Corporall 0/ft? I am sorry we

76 Affliction Q
108 A Fortune-t

94 us. LetJf 100 the onely Ff

eller add. to line 107 6, Ff: corr.
109 of om. Ff, etc. 117 those] these Ff 128 she'asl

he '

she's Ff: she has M on't] oft 31

do so much as forsake vs, sir; we cannot abide
you, wee must not be seene in your company.

224

136 drive Ff

Scene III. etc. add. M

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

ACT I, Sc. IV.

Frail. There is none of vs, I can tell you,
but shall be soundly whipt for swearing. 10

Corp. Why, how now, we three? Puritanicall
Scrape -shoes, Flesh a good Friday es! a hand.

All. Oh!

Corp. Why, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings,
Simon Saint Mary Queries, ha's the De'ele
possest you, that you sweare no better? you
halfe-ChristnedKo/omi/es,youvngod-motherd
Varlets, do's the first lesson teach you to bee
proud, and the second to bee Cocks -combes?
proud Cocks-combes! not once to doe dutie to
a man of Marke! 21

Frail. A man of Marke, quatha! I doe not
thinke he can shew a Beggers Noble.

Corpo. A Corporall, a Commander, one of
spirit, that is able to blowe you vp all drye with
your Bookes at your Girdles. 2 6

Simon. Wee are not taught to beleeue that,

pir, for we know the breath of man is weake.

[Corporall breaths vpon Frailtie.

Frail. Foh, you lie, Nicholas; for here's one
strong inough. Blowe vs vp, quatha: hee may
well blow me aboue twelue -score off an him.
I warrant, if the winde stood right, a man might
smell him from the top of Newgate, to the
Leades of Ludgate. 34

Corp. Sirrah, thou Hollow-Booke of Waxe-
candle

Nicho. I, you may say what you will, so
you sweare not.

Corp. I sweare by the 39

Nicho. Hold, hold, good Corporall Oth ;
for if you sweare once, wee shall all fall downe
in a sowne presently.

Corp. I must and will sweare: youquiuering
Cocks-combes, my Captainc is imprisoned,
and by Vulcans Lether Cod-piece point

Nich. O Simon, what an oth was there. 46

Frail. If hee should chance to breake it,
the poore mans Breeches would fall downe
about his heeles, for Venus allowes him but
one point to his hose. 5

Corpor. With these my Bullye-Feete I will
thumpe ope the Prison doores, and braine the
Keeper with the begging Boxe, but De see my
honest sweete Captaine Idle at libertie.

Nich. How, Captaine Ydlel my olde Aunts
sonne, my deere Kinsman, in Capadochio? 56

Cor. I, thou Church -peeling, thou Holy-
paring, religious outside, thou! if thou hadst
any grace in thee, thou would'st visit him,
releiue him, sweare to get him out. 60

Nicho. Assure you, Corporall, indeed -la,
tis the first time I heard on't.

25 drye] three M
-Feete] -Fleet F3

T. B.

4-2 swoon FS, etc.

Cor. Why do't now, then, Marmoset: bring
forth thy yearly -wages, let not a Commander
perish! 65

Simon. But, if hee bee one of the wicked,
hee shall perish.

Nich. Well, Corporall, He e'en along with
you, to visit my Kinsman: if I can do him any
good, I will, but I haue nothing for him.
Simon Saint Mary Oueris and Fraylty, pray
make a lie for me to the Knight my Maister,
old Sir Godfrey.

Cor. A lie? may you lie then? 74

Fray. 0, I, we may lie, but we must not
sweare.

Sim. True, wee may lie with our Neigh
bors wife, but wee must not sweare we did so.

Cor. Oh, an excellent Tag of religion! 79

Nic. Oh Simon, I haue thought vpon a
sound excuse; it will go currant: say that I am
gon to a Fast.

Sim. To a Fast? very good.

Nic. I, to a Fast, say, with Maister Fnl-
bellie the Minister. 85

Sim. Maister Ful-belliel an honest man:
he feedes the flock well, for he's an excellent
feeder. [Exit Corporal, Nicholas.

Fray. 0, 1, 1 haue seene him eate vp a whole

Pigge, and afterward falle to the pettitoes. 90

[Exit Simon and Fraylty.

(SCENE IV.)

The Prison, Marshalsea.

Enter Captaine Ydle at one dore, and (later

Pyeboard and) old souldier at the other.

George Py-boord, speaking within.
Pye. Pray turne the key.
Sker. Turne the key, I pray.
Cap. Who should those be? I almost know
their voyces. 4

O my friends! [Entring.

Ya're welcome to a smelling Roome here.
You newly tooke leaue of the ayre; ist not
a strange sauour?

Pie. As all prisons haue: smells of sundry

wretches,

Who, tho departed, leaue their sents behind

'em. 10

By Gold, Captaine, I am sincerely sory for

thee.

Cap. By my troth, George, I thanke thee;
but pish, what must be, must bee.

Skir. Captaine, what doe you lie in for? ist

great? what's your offence? 15

Cap. Faith, my offence is ordinarie, com-

75 me must 89 vp om. FP, ttc. 90 falls :
fall Ff, etc. Scene IV. <W. -V 7 ist] has it M

225

ACT I, Sc. IV.

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

mon: A Hie-waye; and I feare mee my penal-
tie will be ordinarie and common too: a halter.

Pie. Nay, prophecy not so ill; it shall go

heard,
But He shift for thy life. 20

Cap. Whether I liue or die, thou'art an
honest George. He tell you siluer flou'd not
with mee, as it had done, (for now the tide
runnes to Bawdes and flatterers.) I had a
start out, and by chaunce set vpon a fat
steward, thinking his purse had beene as
pursey as his bodie; and the slaue had about
him but the poore purchase of tenne groates:
notwithstanding, beeing descryed, pursued,
and taken, I know the Law is so grim, in
respect of many desprate, vnsetled souldiours,
that I feare mee I shall daunce after their pipe
for't. 33

Skir. I am twice sory for you, Captaine:
first that your purchase was so small, and now
that your danger is so great.

Cap. Push, the worst is but death, ha
you a pipe of Tobacco about you? 38

Skir. I thinke I haue there abouts about me.
[Cap. blowes a pipe.

Cap. Her's a cleane Gentleman too, to
receiue.

Pie. Well, I must cast about some happy

slight.

Worke braine, that euer didst thy Maister
right!

Cor. Keeper! let the key be turn'd! 44
[Corporall and Nicholas within.

Nie. I, I pray, Maister keeper, giues a cast
of your office.

Cap. How now? more Visitants? what,
Corporal Othl

Pie. Skir. Corporal? 49

Cor. In prison, honest Captaine? this must
not be.

Nic. How do you, Captaine Kinsman?

Cap. Good Cocks-combe! what makes that
pure, starch'd foole here? 54

Nic. You see, Kinsman, I am som-what
bould to call in, and see how you do. I heard
you were safe inough, and I was very glad on't
that it was no worse.

Cap. This is a double torture now, this
foole by'th booke 59

Do's vexe me more then my imprisonment.
What meant you, Corporall, to hooke him
hither?

Cor. Who, he? he shall releiue thee, and

supply thee;
He make him doo't. 63

37 Pish . 59-61 Prose Ff, etc. 60 Do's] doth
Ff, etc.

Cap. (aside, to Oath) Fie, what vaine breath
you spend! hee supply? He sooner expect
mercy from a Vsurer when my bonds f orf etted,
sooner kindnesse from a Lawier when my
mony's spent: nay, sooner charity from the
deuill, then good from a Puritaine! He looke
for releife from him, when Lucifer is restor'd
to his bloud, and in Heauen againe! 71

Nic. I warrant, my Kinsman's talking of
me, for my left eare burnes most tyrannically.

Pie. Captaine Ydle, what's he there? hee
lookes like a Monkey vpward, and a Crane
downe-ward. 76

Cap. Pshaw, a foolish Cozen of mine; I
must thanke God for him.

Pie. Why, the better subiect to worke a
scape vpon; thou shalt e'en change clothes
with him, and leaue him here, and so 81

Cap. Push, I publish't him e'en now to my
Corporall: hee will be damn'd, ere hee do me
so much good; why, I know a more proper,
a more handsome deuice then that, if the
slaue would be sociable. Now, goodman
Fleer e- /ace? 87

Nic. Oh, my Cozen begins to speake to me
now: I shall bee acquainted with him againe,
I hope.

Skirmish. Looke what ridiculous Raptures
take hold of his wrinckles. 92

Pye. Then, what say you to this deuice?
a happy one, Captaine?

Capt. Speake lowe, George; Prison Rattes
haue wider eares then those in Malt-lofts. 96

Nic. Cozen, if it lay in my power, as they
say to do

Cap. Twould do me an exceeding pleasure,

indeed, that, but nere talke forder on't: the

foole will be hang'd, ere he do't. 101

(To the Corporal.}

Cor. Pax, lie thump 'im to't.

Pie. Why, doe but trie the Fopster, and
breake it to him bluntly. 104

Cap. And so my disgrace will dwell in his
lawes, and the slaue slauer out our purpose
to his Maister, for would I were but as sure
on't as I am sure he will deny to do't.

Nic. I would bee heartily glad, Cozen, if
any of my friendships, as they say, might-
stand ah 1 1 1

Pie. Why, you see he offers his friend -ship
foolishly to you alreadie.

Captain. I, that's the hell on't, I would hee
would offer it wisely.

Nich. Verily, and indeed la, Couzen 1 1 6

Cap. I haue tooke note of thy fleeres a good
while: if thou art minded to do mee good as

100 but om. Ff 101 S. D. add. M 102 'im] 'em Q

226

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

ACT I, Sc. IV.

thou gapst vpon me comfortably, and giu'st
me charitable faces, which indeede is but
a fashion in you all that are Puritaines wilt
soone at night steale me thy Maisters chaine?

Nich. Oh, I shall sowne!

Pie. Corporal, he starts already. 124

Cap. I know it to be worth three hundred
Crownes, & with the halfe of that I can buy
my life at a Brokers, at second hand, which
now lies in pawne to th' La we : if this thou
refuse to do, being easie and nothing dan
gerous, in that thou art held in good opinion
of thy Maister, why tis a palpable Argument
thou holdst my life at no price, and these thy
broken & vnioynted offers are but only created
in thy lip, now borne, and now buried, foolish
breath onlie. What, woult do't? shall I looke
for happinesse in thy answere? 136

Nic. Steale my Maisters chaine, quo'the?
no, it shal nere bee sayd, that Nicholas Saint
Tantlings committed Bird -lime 1

Cap. Nay, I told you as much; did I not?
tho he be a Puritaine, yet he will be a true
man.

Nich. Why, Couzen, you know tis written,
thou shall not steale. 144

Cap. Why, and foole, thou shalt loue thy
Neighbour, and helpe him in extremities.

Nich. Masse, I think e it bee, indeede: in
what Chapter's that, Couzen?

Cap. Why, in the first of Charity, the 2.
verse. 150

Nich. The first of Charity, quathal that's
a good iest; there's no such Chapter in my
bookel

Cap. No, I knew twas torne out of thy
Booke, & that makes so little in thy heart. 155

Pie. Come, let me tell you, ya're too
vnkinde a Kinsman, yfaith; the Captaine lou-
ing you so deerely, I, like the Pomwater of
his eye, and you to be so vncomfortable: fie,
fie. 1 60

Nic. Pray, do not wish me to bee hangd:
any thing else that I can do, had it beene to
rob, I would ha don't; but I must not steale:
that's the word, the literall, thou shalt not
steale; and would you wish me to steale, then?

Pie. No, faith, that were to much, to speake
truth: why, woult thou nim it from him? 167

Nich. That I will!

Pie. Why, ynough, bullie; hee shall bee
content with that, or he shall ha none; let mee
alone with him now! Captaine, I ha dealt
with your Kins -man in a Corner; a good,
kinde-naturde fellow, mee thinkes: goe too,
155 makes it so R, etc. 169 shall]

154 know Ff
will Ff, etc.

you shall not haue all your owne asking, you
shall bate somewhat on't: he is not contented
absolutely, as you would say, to steale the
chaine from him, but to do you a pleasure,
he will nim it from him. 178

Nich. I, that I will, Couzen.

Cap. Well, seeing he will doe no more, as
far as I see, I must bee contented with that.

Cor. Here's no notable gullery! 182

Pie. Nay, He come neerer to you, Gentle
man: because weele haue onely but a helpe
and a mirth on't, the knight shall not loose
his chaine neither, but (it shall) be only laide
out of the way some one or two daies.

Nich. I, that would be good indeed,
Kinsman. ' 189

Pie. For I haue a farder reach to profit vs
better by the missing on't onelie, then if wee
had it out-right, as my discourse shall make
it knowne too you. When thou hast the
chaine, do but conuay it out at back-dore into
the Garden, and there hang it close in the
Rosemary banck but for a small season; and
by that harmlesse deuise, I know how to
winde Captaine Ydle out of prison: the Knight
thy Maister shall get his pardon and release
him, & he satisfie thy Maister with his own
chaine, & wondrous thankes on both hands.

Nich. That were rare indeed, la: pray, let
me know how. 203

Pie. Nay, tis very necessary thou shouldst
know, because thou must be imploide as an
Actor.

Nich. An Actor? no, that's a Plaier;
and our Parson railes againe Plaiers mightily,
I can tell you, because they brought him
drunck vpp'oth Stage once, as hee will bee
horribly druncke. 211

Cor. Masse, I cannot blame him then,
poore Church -spout.

Pie. Why, as an Intermedler, then?

Nich. I, that, that. 215

Pie. Giue me Audience, then: when the
old Knight thy Maister has ragdc his fill for
the losse of the chaine, tell him thou hast
a Kinsman in prison, of such exquisit Art,
that the diuill himselie is trench Lackey to
him, and runnes bare-headed by his horse -
bellie (when hee has one) whome hee will
cause with most Yrish Dexterity to fetch his
chaine, tho twere hid vnder a mine of sea-cole,
and nere make Spade or Pickaxe his instru
ments: tell him but this, with farder instruc-

186 it shall add. M 191 on't] oft M 194

at] at a Ff, etc. 208 against Ff, etc. 210 upo'th'
Ff 217 radge Q : rag'd Ff

227

ACT I, Sc. IV,

THE PVEITAINE WIDDOW

tions thou shalt receiue from mee, and thou
shoust thy selfe a Kinsman indeed.

Cor. A dainty Bullie.

Skir. An honest Booke -keeper. 230

Cap. And my three times thrice hunnie
Couzen.

Nich. Nay, grace of God, He robbe him on't
suddainlie, and hang it in the Rosemary banck;
but I beare that minde, Couaen, I would not
steale any thing, mee thinkes, for mine owne
Father. 237

Skir. He beares a good minde in that,
Captaine!

Pie. Why, well sayde; he begins to be an
honest fellow, faith.

Cor. In troth, he does. 242

Nich. You see, Couzen, I am willing to do
you any kindnesse, alwaies sailing my selfe
harmelesse. [Exit Nicholas.

Captaine. Why, I thanke thee; fare thee
well, I shall requite it.

Cor. Twill bee good for thee, Captaine, that
thou hast such an egregious Asse to thy
Coozen. 250

Cap. I, is hee not a fine foole, Corporall?
But, George, thou talks t of Art and Coniuring;
How shall that bee?

Pib. Puh, bee't not in your care:
Leaue that to me and my directions. 255
Well, Captaine, doubt not thy deliuerie now,
E'en with the vantage, man, to gaine by

prison,
As my thoughts prompt me: hold on, braine

and plot!

I ayme at many cunning far euents,
All which I doubt not but to hit at length. 260
He to the Widdow with a quaint assault.
Captaine, be merry.

Capt. Who, I? Kerrie, merry, Buffe-
lerkin.

Pye. Oh, I am happy in more slights, and
one will knit strong in another. Corporall
Oth. F 266

Corp. Hob, Bully?

Pye. And thou, old Peter Skirmish; I haue
a necessary taske for you both.

Skir. Lay't vpon, George Pye-boord. 270

Corp. What ere it bee, weele manage it.

Pye. I would haue you two maintaine a
quarrell before the Lady Widdowes doore, and
drawe your swords i'th edge of the Euening;
clash a little, clash, clash. 275

Corp. Fuh!

Let vs alone to make our Blades ring noone,
Tho it be after Supper.

247 S. D. Exit Xich. repeated Q 254 Prefix Peb Q
270 it upon us M

Pye. (I) Know you can. And out of that
false fire, I doubt not but to raise strange
beleefe And, Captaine, to countenance my
deuice the better, and grace my words to the
Widdow, I haue a good plaine Sattin sute,
that I had of a yong Reueller t'other night:
for words passe not regarded now a dayes,
vnlesse they come from a good suite of
cloaths, which the Fates and my wittes haue
bestowed vpon me. Well, Captaine Idle, if
I did not highly loue thee, I would nere bee
scene within twelue score of a prison, for I
protest at this instant, I walke in great danger
of small debts; I owe money to seuerall
Hostisses, and you know such liUs will quickly
be vpon a mans lack.

Capt. True, George. 295

Pye. Fare thee well, Captaine. Come, Cor-
p or all and Ancient I thou shalt heare more
newes next time we greete thee.

Corp. More newes! I, by yon Beare at

Bridge -Foote in heauen shalt thou. 300

[Exeunt (Pyeboard, Skirmish, and Oath.}

Capt. Inough: my friends, farewell.
This prison shewes as if Ghosts did part in Hell.

(ACT H.)

(SCENE I. A room in the widow's house.')
Enter Moll yongest Daughter to the Widdow:

alone.

Moll. Not Marry 1 forsweare Marriage?
why, all women know 'tis as honorable a thing
as to lye with a man; and I to spight my Sisters
vowe the more, haue entertainde a suter
already, a fine gallant Knight of the last
Fether: hee sayes he will Coach mee too, and
well appoint mee, allow mee money to Dice
with -all, and many such pleasing protestations
hee sticks vpon my lips; indeed, his short-
winded Father ith' Countrie is wondrous
wealthy, a most abhominable Farmer, and
therefore hee may doote in time: troth, He
venture vpon him. Women are not without
wayes enow to helpe them-selues: if he proue
wise and good as his word, why, I shall loue
him, and vse him kindly: and if hee prooue an
Asse, why, in a quarter of an houres warning
I can transforme him into an Oxe; there
comes in my Relief e agen. 19

Enter Frailtie.

Frail. O, Mistresse M oil, Mistresse Moll.
Moll. How now? what's the newes?

279 I add. Fl 300 in heauen] in the even con!.

M 302ifom.M Act II. whl R Scene I. etc.
, </,/. -V 12 doote] dote Ff : do it 31

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

ACT II, Sc. I.

Frail. The Knight your suter, sir lohn
Penny -Dub

Moll. Sir lohn Penny-Dub 1 ! where? where?

Frail. Hee's walking in the Gallerie.

Moll. Has iny Mother scene him yet? 25

Frail. no, shoe's spitting in the Kitchin.

Moll. Direct him hether softly, good

Frailtie,

He meete him halfe way.

Frail. That's iust like running a Tilt; but
I hope heele breake nothing this time. (Exit.")

Enter Sir lohn Penny -Dub.
Moll. "Tis happinesse my Mother saw him
not: 31

welcome, good Sir lohn.

Penny-dub. I thanke you, faith. Nay, you
must stand mee, till I kisse you: 'tis the fashion
euery where, I -faith, and I came from Court
enow. 36

Moll. Nay, the Fates forfend that I should
anger the fashion 1

Penny. Then, not forgetting the sweete of
new ceremonies, I first fall back, then recouer-
ing my selfe, make my honour to your lip thus:
and then accost it. 42

Moll. Trust me, very pritty, and mouing;
y'are worthy on't, sir.

Kissing : Enter Widdow and Sir Godfr.

0, my Mother, my Mother 1 now shee's here,
weele steale into the Gallery. [Exeunt. 46

Sir God/. Nay, Sister, let Reason rule you,
doe not play the foole; stand not in your owne
light. Youhaue wealthy offers, large tendrings;
doe not with -stand your good fortune: who
comes a wooing to you, I pray? no small foole;
a rich Knight ath Citty, Sir Oliuer Muck-hill
no small foole I can tell you: and furthermore,
as I heard late by your Maide-seruants, (as
your Maide-seruants will say to mee any
thing, I thanke 'em) both your Daughters are
not without Suters, I, and worthy ones too!
one a Briske Courtier, Sir Andrew Tip -staff e,
suter a farre off to your eldest Daughter, and
the third a huge-welthie Farmers sonne, a
fine young Countrie Knight, they call him Sir
lohn Penny-Dub: a good name, marry; hee
may haue it coynde when hee lackes money.
What blessings are these, Sister! 64

Wid. Tempt me not, Satan.

Sir God/. Satan? doe I looke like Satan?

1 hope the Deuill's not so old as I, I tro.

Wid. You wound my sences, Brother, when
you name

25 Ha's Q S. D. Exit add. M 36 e'now F2 :
ven now M

62 Penny-Da)) Q

39 of] in conj. Sf. 44 on't] of it 31

A suter to me: oh, I cannot abide it,

I take in poison, when I heare one nam'd. 70

Enter Simon.
How now, Simon? where's my sonne Edmund!

Sim. Verily Madame, hee is at vaine
Exercise, dripping in the Tennis-court.

Wid. At Tennis-court? oh, now his father's
gon, I shall haue no rule with him; oh, wicked
Edmond, I might well compare this with the
Prophecie in the Chronicle, tho farre inferior:
as Harry of Monmouth woone all, and Harry
of Windsor lost all; so Edmund of Bristow,
that was the Father, got all, and Edmond of
London, that's his sonne now, will spend all.

Sir God/. Peace, Sister, weele haue him
reformd, there's hope on him yet, tho it be but
a little. 84

Enter Frailtie.

Frail. Forsooth, Madam, there are two or
three Archers at doore would very gladly
speake with your Ladyship.
Wid. Archers?

Sir God/. Your husbands Fletcher, I
warrant. 90

Wid. Oh!
Let them come neere, they bring home things

of his.
Troth, I should ha forgot ? em. How now,

Villaine?
Which be those Archers? 94

Enter the suters Sir Andrew Tipstaffe, Sir
Oliuer Muck -hill, and Penny -dub.

Frail. Why, do you not see 'em before you?
are not these Archers? what do you call 'em?
Shooters: Shooters and Archers are all one,
I hope.

Wid. Out, ignorant slaue.

Muck. Nay, pray be patient, Lady, 100
We come in way of honorable loue.

Tipst. Penny. Wee doe.

Muck. To you.

Tipst. Penny. And to your Daughters. 104

Widdow. 0, why will you offer mee this
Gentlemen? indeed I will not looke vppon you
when theTearesare scarce out of mine Eyes,
not yet washt off from my Cheekes, and my
deere husbands body scarce so colde as the
Coffin, what reason haue you to offer it?
I am not like some of your Widdowes that will
burie one in the Euening, and bee sure to
another ere morning. Pray, away; pray,
take your answeres, good Knights, and you

82 him] hem Q 83 on] of M 93 Ends now Q,
Ff: con: M 112 sure to have M

229

ACT II, Sc. I.

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOVV

bee sweete Knights. I haue vow'd neuer to
marry; and so haue my daughters too! 116

Penny. I, two of you haue, but the thirds
a good wench!

Muck. Lady, a shrewde answere, marry;
the best is, tis but the first, and hee's a blunt
wooer, that will leaue for one sharpe answere.

Tip. Where bee your daughters, Lady? I
hope theile giue vs better encouragements. 123

Wid. Indeed, theyle answere you so; tak't
a my word, theile giue you the very same
answere Verbatim, truely la.

Penny. Mum: MolTs a good wench still,
I know what shee'le doo.

Muck. Well, Lady, for this time weele take
our leaues, hoping for better comfort. 130

Wid. neuer, neuer! and I Hue these
thousand yeares! and you bee good Knights,
doe not hope; twill bee all Vaine, Vayne,
looke you, put off all your suites, and you
come to me againe. 1 35

(Exeunt Sir John and Sir Andrew.}

Fray. Put off all their suites, quatha? I, that's
the best wooing of a Widdow, indeed, when a
man's Nonsuted; that is, when he's a bed with
her. [Going out, Muckhill and sir Godfrey.

Muck. Sir Godfrey, here's twenty Angells

more: worke hard for me; there's life int yet.

[Exit Muckhill

Sir God/. Feare not, Sir Oliuer Muckhill,
lie stick close for you; leaue all with me. 143

Enter George Py-boord, the scholler.

Pye. By your leaue, Ladie Widdow.

Wid. What, another suiter now?

Py. A suiter! no, I protest, Ladie, if you'de
giue me your selfe, Ide not be troubled with
you.

Wid. Say you so, Sir? then you're the
better welcome, sir. 150

Pie. Nay, Heauen blesse mee from a Wid
dow, vnlesse I were sure to bury her speedily!

Wid. Good bluntnesse: well, your busi-
nesse, sir?

Pie. Very needfull; if you were in priuate
once.

Wid. Needfull? brother, pray leaue vs;
and you, sir. 158

Fray. I should laugh now, if this blunt
fellow should put 'em all by side the stirrop,
and vault into the saddle himselfe. I haue
seene as mad a trick. [Exit Frailtie.

Enter Daughters.

Wid. Now Sir? here's none but we
Daughters, forbeare. 164

134 your] yours Q 135 & D. add. M

Pyb. no, pray, let 'em stay, for what I
haue to speake importeth equally to them as
to you.

Wid. Then you may stay.

Pyb. I pray bestow on me a serious eare,
For what I speake is full of weight and feare.

Wid. Feare? 171

Pyb. I, ift passe vnregarded, and vneff ected;
Else peace and ioy: I pray, Attention.
Widdowe, I haue beene a meere stranger for
these parts that you Hue in, nor did I euer know
the Husband of you, and Father of them, but
I truly know bycertaine spirit uall Intelligence,
that he is in Purgatorie. 178

Wid. Purgatorie? tub; that word deserues
to bee spit vpon. I wonder that a man of
sober toung, as you seeme to be, should haue
the folly to beleeue there's such a place. 182

Pyb. Well, Lady, in cold bloud I speake it;
I assure you that there is a Purgatory, in
which place I know your husband to recide,
and wherein he is like to remaine, till the
dissolution of the world, till the last generall
Bon -fire, when all the earth shall melt into
nothing and the Seas scalde their finnie
labourers: so long is his abidance, vnlesse you
alter the propertie of your purpose, together
with each of your Daughters theirs; that is,
the purpose of single life in your selfe and your
eldest Daughter, and the speedie determina
tion of marriage in your youngest. 1 95

Moll. How knowes hee that? what, has
some Deuill told him?

Wid. Strange he should know our

thoughts: Why, but, Daughter, haue you

purposde speedy Marriage? 200

Pyb. You see she tels you I, for shee sayes
nothing. Nay, giue me credit as you please.
I am a stranger to you, and yet you see I know
your determinations, which must come to mee
Metaphisically, and by a super -naturall intel
ligence. 206

Wid. This puts Amazement on me.

Franck. Know our seacrets!

Mol. Ide thought to steale a marriage:

would his tongue
Had dropt out when he blabt it! 210

Wid. But, sir, my husband was too honest
a dealing man to be now in any purgatories

Pie. 0, Do not loade your conscience with

vntruths;

Tis but meere folly now to guild him ore, 214
That has past but for Copper. Praises here
Cannot vnbinde him there: confesse but truth.

166-7 as you Ff
>3 and and
hem Q : 'em fy

196 ha's -201 for om. Ff

203 and and " 209-10 Frost JI 111 him M':

230

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

ACT II, Sc. I.

I know he got his wealth with a hard gripe:
Oh hardly, hardly.

Wid. This is most strange of all: how

knowes he that?

Pie. He would eate fooles and ignorant

heires cleane vp; 220

And had his drinck from many a poore mans

browe,

E'en as their labour brewde it.
He would scrape ritches to him most vn-

iustly;

The very durt betweene his nailes was II -got,
And not his owne, oh, I groane to speake
on't, 225

The thought makes me shudder shudder I

Wid. It quakes me too, now I thinke on't.

Sir, I am much grieu'd, that you, a stranger,

should so deeply wrong my dead husband!

Pie. Oh I 230

Wid. A man that would keepe Church so

duly; rise early, before his seruants, and e'en

for Religious hast, go vngarterd, vnbuttend,

nay,sirReuerence, vntrust,to Morning Prayer.

Pie. Oh, vff. 235

Wid. Dine quickly vpon hie -day es, and

when I had great guests, would e'en shame

me and rize from the Table, to get a good

seate at an after -noone Sermon. 239

dore, wheerof the humaine creature dies, two
of you the elder shall run mad. 267

Mother and Franck. Ohl

Mol. That's not I yet!

Pie. And with most impudent prostitution
show your naked bodies to the veiw of all
beholders.

Wid. Our naked bodies? fie, for shame!

Pie. Attend mee : and your yonger daughter
bee strocken dumbe. 275

Mol. Dumbe? out, alasse: tis the worst
paine of all for a Woman. Ide rather bee
madde, or runne naked, or any thing: dumbe?

Pie. Giue eare: ere the euening fall vpon
Hill, Bogge, and Meadow, this my speech shal
haue past probation, and then shal I be
belieued accordingly. 282

Widdow. If this bee true, wee are all
sham'de, all vndon.

Mol. Dumbe? He speake as much as euer
I can possible before euening! 286

Pie. But if it so come to passe (as for your
faire sakes I wish it may) that this presage of
your strange fortunes be preuented by that
accident of death and bloud -shedding which
I before told you off: take heed vpon your liues
that two of you, which haue vow'd neuer to
marry, seeke you out husbands with all present

Pie. There's the diuill, there's the diuill! j speede, and you, the third, that haue such a

true, hee thought it Sanctity ynough, if he
had kild a man, so tad beene done in a Pue, or
vndon his Neigh(b)our, so ta'd beene nere
ynough to'th Preacher. Oh, a Sermon's a
fine short cloake of an houre long, and wil
hide the vpper-part of a dissembler. Church!
I, he seem'd al Church, & his conscience was
as hard as the Pulpit!

Wid. I can no more endure this.

Pie. Nor I, widdow, endure to flatter. 250

Wz'd. Is this all your businesse with me?

Pie. No, Lady, tis but the induction too'te.
You may beleiue my straines, I strike all true,

desire to out -strip chastitie, looke you meddle
not with a husband. 296

Moll. A double torment.

Pyb. The breach of this keepes your father
in Purgatorie, and the punishments that shall
follow you in this world would with horror
kill the Eare should heare 'em related. 301

Wid. Marry? why I vowd neuer to marry.

Franke. And so did I.

Moll. And I vowde neuer to be such an
Asse, but to marry: what a crosse Fortune's
this! 306

Pyb. Ladies, tho I bee a Fortune-teller,

And if your conscience would leap vp to your j I cannot better Fortunes; you haue 'em from
tongue, your selfe would affirme it: and that ' me as they are reueald to me: I would they
you shall perceiue I knowe of things to come j were to your tempers, and fellowes with your

as well as I doe of what is present, a Brother
of your husbands shall shortly haue a losse.

Wid. A losse; marry, heauen for-fend!
Sir Godfrey, my brother? 260

Pie. Nay, keepe in your wonders, till I haue
told you the fortunes of you all; which are
more fearefull, if not happily preuented: for

blouds, that's all the bitternesse I would you.

Widdow. Oh, 'tis a iust vengeance for my
husbands hard purchases. 3'3

Pyb. I wish you to be -thinke your selues,
and leaue 'em.

Wid. He to Sir Godfrey, my Brother, and
acquaint him with these fearefull presages.

For, Mother, they portend losses

your part & your daughters, if there be not j Franck.
once this day some bloud-shed before your to him.

Wid. Oh, I, they doe, they doe.
222-6 End scrape, dirt, own, me, shudder M 225
Kniix oh, Q, Ff 237 guests F2: guesse Q, Fl
242 tad] it had'Jf

320

266-7 of you two the elder Ff eldest R 286

possibly M 293 you OH;. Ff, etc. 315 leaue m Q

231

ACT II, Sc. I.

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

If any happy issue crowne thy words,
I will reward thy cunning.

Pyb. 'Tis enough Lady; I wish no higher.
[Exit (Wid. and Fran.)

Mol. Dumbe! and not marry, worse! 324
Neither to speake, nor kisse, a double curse.

[Exit.

Pyb. So all this comes well about yet. I
play the Fortune-teller as well as if I had
had a Witch to my Grannam: for by good
happinesse, being in my Hostisses Garden,
which neighbours the Orchard of the Widdow,
I laid the hole of mine eare to a hole in the
wall, and heard 'em make these vowes, &
speake those words vpon which I wrought
these aduantages; and to encourage my for-

gerie the more, I may now perceiue in 'em j within. Frailty!
a naturall simplicitie which will easily swallow
an abuse, if any couering be Ouer it: and to
confirme my former presage to the Widdow,
I haue aduizde old Peter Skirmish, the Soul-
dier, to hurt Corporall Oth vpon the Leg; and
in that hurry He rush amongst 'em, and in
stead of gluing the Corporal some Cordiall to
comfort him, He power into his mouth a po
tion of a sleepy Nature, to make him seeme as
dead; for the which the old souldier beeing
apprehended, and ready to bee borne to execu
tion, He step in, & take vpon me the cure of
the dead man, vpon paine of dying the con-
demneds death: the Corporall will wake at his

Actus 3.
(SCENE I. The street before the Wido w's house.}

Enter Simon Saint Mary-Oueries and
Frailty.

Frai. Sirrah Simon Saint Mary -Queries, my
Mistris sends away all her suiters and puts
fleas in their eares.

Sim. Frailty, she dos like an honest, chast,
and vertuous woman; for widdowes ought not
to wallow in the puddle of iniquity. 6

Fra. Yet, Simon, many widdowes wil do't,
what so comes on't.

Sim. True, Frailtie, their filthy flesh desires
a Coniunction Copulatiue. What strangers are

minute, when the sleepy force has wrought it
selfe, and so shall I get my selfe into a most
admired opinion, and vnder the pretext of that
cunning, beguile as I see occasion: and if that
foolish Nicholas Saint Tantlings keepe true
time with the chaine, my plot will be sound,
the Captaine deliuered, and my wits applauded
among schollers and souldiers for euer. 357
[Exit Py -board.

(SCENE II. A Garden.)

Enter Nicholas Saint Tantlings with the
chaine.

Nic. Oh, I haue found an excellent aduan-
tage to take away the chaine: my Maister put
it off e'en now to say on a new Doublet, and
I sneak't it away by little & little most Puri
tanically. Wee shal haue good sport anon
when ha's mist it about my Cozen the Con-
iurer. The world shall see I'me an honest
man of my word, for now I'me going to hang
it betweene Heauen & Earth among the Rose
mary branches. [Exit Nich.

323 S. D. Wid. etc. add. R 357 amongst F2, etc.
Scene II. etc. add. 31 6 ha's : has Fl : he has

F2, etc.

Frai. Ther's none, Simon, but Maister
Pilfer the Tailer: he's aboue with Sir Godfreie
praysing of a Doublet: and I must trudge anon
to fetch Maister Suds, the Barber. 15

Simon. Maister Suds, a good man; he
washes the sinns of the Beard cleane.

Enter old Skirmish the souldier.

Skir. How now, creatures? whats a clock?

Frai. Why, do you take vs to be lacke
ath' Clock-house? 20

Skir. I say agen to you what's a clocke?

Sim. Truly la, wee goe by the clocke of
our conscience: all worldly Clockes, we know,
goe false, and are set by drunken Sextons. 24

Skir. Then what's a clock in your con
science? oh, I must breake off, here comes
the corporall hum, hum! what's a clock?

Enter Corporall.

Corp. A clock? why, past seuenteene.

Frai. Past seuenteene? nay, ha's met with
his match now, Corporall Oth will fit him. 30

Skir. Thou doost not bawke or baffle me,
doost thou? I am a Souldier past seuen
teene!

Corp. I, thou art not angry with the figures,
art thou? I will prooue it vnto thee: 12. and 1 .
is thirteene, I hope, 2. foureteene, 3. fifteene,
4. sixteene, and 5. seauenteene; then past
seauenteene: I will take the Dyals part in a
iust cause.

Skir. I say 'tis but past fiue, then. 40

Corp. He sweare 'tis past seauenteene, then:
doost thou not know numbers? canst thou not
cast?

Scene I. etc. add. 31 16 Sud's a Ff S. D.

follows 18 0, Ff soulders : con: F3 19-20 at
'h Q : at th' Ff Jacks o' the M 21, 25, "27 what
is't o'clock M

232

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

ACT III, St. II.

Skir. Cast? dost thou speake of my casting
ith' street? [Draw.

Corp. I, and in the Market place. 46

Sim, Clubs, clubs, clubs 1

[Simon runs in.

Frail. I, I knew by their shuffling, Clubs j
would be Trumpe; masse, here's the Knaue,
and hee can doe any good vppon 'em: Clubs,
clubs, clubs! 51

Enter Py-boord.

Corp. villaine, thou hast opend a vaine
in my leg.

Pyb. How now 1 for shame, for shame; put
vp, put vp. 55

Corp. By yon blew Welkin, 'twas out of
my part, George, to bee hurt on the leg.

Enter Officers.

Pyb. Oh peace now I haue a Cordiall here
to comfort thee.

Offi. Downe with 'em, downe with em; lay
hands vpon the villaine. 61

Skir. Lay hands on me?
Pyb. lie not be seene among em now.

(Exit Pyeboard.}
Corp. line hurt, and had more need haue

Surgeons

Lay hands vpon me then rough Officers.
Offi. Goe, carry him to be drest then. 66
(Exeunt some of the Sheriffs Officers
with Corporal Oath.}

This mutinous Souldier shall along with me to
prison.

Skir. To prison? where's George!

Offi. Away with him. [Exeunt with Skir.

(Re-enter Pyeboard.}

Pyb. So. 71

All lights as I would wish. The amazd

widdow

Will plant me strongly now in her beleefe,
And wonder at the vertue of my words:
For the euent turnes those presages from
em 75

Of being mad and dumbe, and begets

ioy

Mingled with admiration. These emptie crea
tures,

Souldier and Corporall, were but ordaind
As instruments for me to worke vpon.
Now to my patient; here's his potion. 80

[Exit Pyboord.

52, 56, 64 Prefix Cap. 0, Ff 63 S. D. add. M
66 S. I), ndd. M after 68 70 hem Q S. D.

Scene II. The same. Re-enter Pyeboard M 75

em] them J/

233

(SCENE II. An apartment in the Widow's

house.}

Enter the Widdow with her two
Daughters.

Wid. O wondrous happinesse, beyond our
thoughts:

luckie faire euent! I thinke our fortunes,
Were blest een in our Cradles: we are quitted
Of all those shamefull violent presages

By this rash bleeding chance. Goe, Frailtie,
run, and know, s

Whether he be yet liuing, or yet dead,
That here before my doore receiu'd his hurt.

Frail. Madam, hee was carryed to the
superiour, but if he had no money when hee
came there, I warrant hee's dead by this time.

[Exit Frailtie.

Franck. Sure, that man is a rare fortune
teller; neuer lookt vpon our hands, nor vpon
any marke about vs : a wondrous fellow, surelie,

Moll. I am glad, I haue the vse of my
tongue yet: tho of nothing else. I shall finde
the way to marry too, I hope, shortly. 1 6

Wid. O where's my Brother, sir Godfrey!

1 would hee were here, that I might relate to
him how prophetically the cunning Gentleman
spoke in all things. 20

Enter Sir Godfrey in a rage.

Sir Godf. O my Chain e, my Chainel I haue
lost my Chaine. Where be these Villains,
Varlets?

Wid. Oh! has lost his Chaine.

Sir Godf. My Chaine, my chaine! 25

Widdow. Brother, bee patient, heare mee
speake: you know I told you that a cunning
man told me that you should haue a losse, and
he has prophicied so true. 2 9

Sir Godf. Out, he's a villaine, to prophecy
of the losse of my chaine: twas worth aboue
three hundred Crownes, besides, twas my
Fathers, my fathers fathers, my Grand -fathers
huge grand -fathers. I had as lieue ha lost my
Neck, as the chaine that hung about it. 0, my
chaine, my chaine! 36

Wid. Oh, brother, who can be against a
misfortune! tis happy twas no more.

Sir Godf. No, more! goodly godly sister,
would you had me lost more? my best gowne,
too, with the cloth of gold -lace? my holiday
Gascoines, and my lerkin set with pearle? no
more! 43

Wid. Oh, Brother! you can reade

Scene II. etc.] Scene III. etc 31 9 superiour]

surgeon conj. St. 24 has Q : li'as Ff : he has M

34 lieve Ff : Hue Q 40 had] (?) have had

ACT III, Sc. II.

THE PVRITAINE WIDDOW

Sir God/. But I cannot reade where my
chaine is. What strangers haue beene here?
vou let in strangers, Theeues, and Catch -poles;
how comes it gonne? there was none aboue
with mee but my Taylor; and my Taylor will
not steale, I hope? 5<>

Mol. No, he's afrayde of a chainel

Enter Fraylty.

Wid. How now, sirrah? the newes?

Fray. Mistres, he may well be cald a
Corporall now, for his corpes are as dead as
a cold Capons. 55

Wid. More happinesse.

Sir God/. Sirrah, what's this to my chaine?
where's my chaine, knaue?

Fray. Your chaine, sir?

Sir God/. My chaine is lost, villaine. 60

Fray. I would hee were hang'd in chaines
that has it then for me. Alasse, sir, I saw none
of your chaine, since you were hung with it
your selfe.

Sir God/. Out, varlet! it had full three
thousand Lincks. 65

I haue oft told it ouer at my praiers:
Ouer and ouer, full three thousand Lincks.

Frayl. Had it so, sir: sure, it cannot be lost
then; He put you in that comfort.

Sir God/. Why, why? 70

Frayl. Why, if your chaine had so many
Lincks, it cannot clause but come to light.

Enter Nichol