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A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. VII

Fourth Edition

Originally published by Robert Dodsley in the Year 1744.

Now first chronologically arranged, revised and enlarged
with the Notes of all the Commentators, and new Notes.

1876.

CONTENTS:

Tancred And Gismunda
The Wounds Of Civil War
Mucedorus
The Two Angry Women Of Abington
Look About You

EDITION

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

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

INTRODUCTION.

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

    But in thy brest if eny spark remaine
    Of thy dere love. If ever yet I coulde
    So moche of thee deserve, or at the least
    If with my last desire I may obtaine
    This at thy handes, geve me this one request
    And let me not spend my last breath in vaine.
    My life desire I not, which neither is
    In thee to geve nor in my self to save,
    Althoughe I wolde. Nor yet I aske not this
    As mercye for myne Erle in ought to crave,
    Whom I to well do knowe howe thou hast slayen.
    No, no, father, thy hard and cruell wronge
    With pacience as I may I will sustaine
    In woefull life which now shall not be longe.
    But this one suite, father, if unto me
    Thou graunt, though I cannot the same reacquite
    Th'immortall goddes shall render unto thee
    Thy due reward and largely guerdon it,
    That sins it pleased thee not thus secretly
    I might enjoy my love, his corps and myne
    May nathelesse together graved be
    And in one tombe our bodies both to shrine
    With which this small request eke do I praie
    That on the same graven in brasse thou place
    This woefull epitaphe which I shall saye,
    That all lovers may rue this mornefull case;
    Loe here within one tombe where harbor twaine
    Gismonda Quene and Countie Pallurine!
    She loved him, he for her love was slayen,
    For whoes revenge eke lyes she here in shrine.
                                  [GISMONDA _dieth_

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

    SCENE III.

        TANCRED _cometh out of_ GISMOND'S _Chamber_.

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

    FINIS.

    EPILOGUS.

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

    FINIS.

    The Tragedie of Gismonde of Salerne.

Such is a specimen of the play as it was originally acted before Queen
Elizabeth, at the Inner Temple, in the year 1568. It was the production
of five gentlemen, who were probably students of that society; and by
one of them, Robert Wilmot, afterwards much altered and published in the
year 1591.[1] [Wilmot had meanwhile become rector of North Okenham, in
Essex];[2] and in his Dedication to the Societies of the Inner and
Middle Temples, he speaks of the censure which might be cast upon him
from the indecorum of publishing a dramatic work arising from his
calling. When he died, or whether he left any other works, are points
equally uncertain.

"Nearly a century after the date of that play," observes Lamb, in his
'Extracts from the Garrick Plays,' "Dryden produced his admirable
version of the same story from Boccaccio. The speech here extracted
(the scene between the messengers and Gismunda) may be compared with
the corresponding passage in the 'Sigismunda and Guiscardo' with no
disadvantage to the older performance. It is quite as weighty, as
pointed, and as passionate."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

             Your Worships' most dutiful
                             and humble Orator,
                                 ROBERT WILMOT.

TO HIS FRIEND R.W.

Master R.W., look not now for the terms of an intreater: I will beg no
longer; and for your promises, I will refuse them as bad payment:
neither can I be satisfied with anything but a peremptory performance of
an old intention of yours, the publishing I mean of those waste papers
(as it pleaseth you to call them, but, as I esteem them, a most
exquisite invention) of Gismund's tragedy. Think not to shift me off
with longer delays, nor allege more excuses to get further respite, lest
I arrest you with my _actum est_, and commence such a suit of unkindness
against you, as when the case shall be scann'd before the judges of
courtesy, the court will cry out of your immoderate modesty. And thus
much I tell you before: you shall not be able to wage against me in the
charges growing upon this action, especially if the worshipful company
of the Inner-Temple gentlemen patronise my cause, as undoubtedly they
will, yea, and rather plead partially for me, than let my cause
miscarry, because themselves are parties. The tragedy was by them most
pithily framed, and no less curiously acted in view of her Majesty, by
whom it was then as princely accepted, as of the whole honourable
audience notably applauded: yea, and of all men generally desired, as a
work, either in stateliness of show, depth of conceit, or true ornaments
of poetical art, inferior to none of the best in that kind: no, were the
Roman Seneca the censurer. The brave youths that then (to their high
praises) so feelingly performed the same in action, did shortly after
lay up the book unregarded, or perhaps let it run abroad (as many
parents do their children once past dandling) not respecting so much
what hard fortune might befall it being out of their fingers, as how
their heroical wits might again be quickly conceived have been ever
since wonderful fertile. But this orphan of theirs (for he wand'reth as
it were fatherless) hath notwithstanding, by the rare and beautiful
perfections appearing in him, hitherto never wanted great favourers and
loving preservers. Among whom I cannot sufficiently commend your
charitable zeal and scholarly compassion towards him, that have not only
rescued and defended him from the devouring jaws of oblivion, but
vouchsafed also to apparel him in a new suit at your own charges,
wherein he may again more boldly come abroad, and by your permission
return to his old parents, clothed perhaps not in richer or more costly
furniture than it went from them, but in handsomeness and fashion more
answerable to these times, wherein fashions are so often altered. Let
one word suffice for your encouragement herein; namely, that your
commendable pains in disrobing him of his antique curiosity, and
adorning him with the approved guise of our stateliest English terms
(not diminishing, but more augmenting his artificial colours of absolute
poesy, derived from his first parents) cannot but be grateful to most
men's appetites, who upon our experience we know highly to esteem such
lofty measures of sententiously composed tragedies.

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

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

      _Tuus fide & facultate_

                     GUIL. WEBBE.[3]

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

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

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

Hereupon I have endured some conflicts between reason and judgment,
whether it were convenient for the commonwealth, with the _indecorum_ of
my calling (as some think it) that the memory of Tancred's tragedy
should be again by my means revived, which the oftener I read over, and
the more I considered thereon, the sooner I was won to consent
thereunto: calling to mind that neither the thrice reverend and learned
father, M. Beza, was ashamed in his younger years to send abroad, in his
own name, his tragedy of "Abraham,"[4] nor that rare Scot (the scholar
of our age) Buchanan, his most pathetical Jephtha.

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

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

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

          Yours devoted in his ability,

                                  R. WILMOT.

A PREFACE TO THE QUEEN'S MAIDENS OF HONOUR.[5]

1. A SONNET OF THE QUEEN'S MAIDS.

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

2. ANOTHER TO THE SAME.

Flowers of prime, pearls couched all in gold,
Light of our days, that glads the fainting hearts
Of them that shall your shining gleams behold,
Salve of each sore, recure of inward smarts,
In whom virtue and beauty striveth so
As neither yields: behold here, for your gain,
Gismund's unlucky love, her fault, her woe,
And death; at last her cruel father slain
Through his mishap; and though you do not see,
Yet read and rue their woful tragedy.
So Jove, as your high virtues done deserve,
Grant you such pheers[6] as may your virtues serve
With like virtues; and blissful Venus send
Unto your happy loves an happy end.

3. ANOTHER TO THE SAME.

Gismund, that whilome liv'd her father's joy
And died his death, now dead, doth (as she may)
By us pray you to pity her annoy.
And, to requite the same, doth humbly pray,
Heavens to forefend[7] your loves from like decay.
The faithful earl doth also make request,
Wishing those worthy knights whom ye embrace,
The constant truth that lodged in his breast.
His hearty love, not his unhappy case,
Befall to such as triumph in your grace.
The king prays pardon of his cruel hest,[8]
And for amends desires it may suffice.
That by his blood he warneth all the rest
Of fond fathers, that they in kinder wise
Intreat the jewels where their comfort lies.
We, as their messengers, beseech ye all
On their behalfs to pity all their smarts.
And for ourselves (although the worth be small)
We pray ye to accept our humble hearts,
Avow'd to serve with prayer and with praise
Your honours, all unworthy other ways.[9]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.[10]

CUPID.
TANCRED, _the King_.
GISMUNDA, _the King's Daughter_.
LUCRECE, _her Aunt_.
GUISCARD, _Count Palurin_.
RENUCHIO, _Captain of the Guard_.
JULIO, _Lord Chamberlain_.
MEGAERA.
CHORUSES.[11]

ARGUMENT OF THE TRAGEDY.[12]

Tancred, the Prince of Salerne, overloves
His only daughter (wonder of that age)
Gismund, who loves the County[13] Palurin
Guiscard, who quites her likings with his love:
A letter in a cane describes the means
Of their two meetings in a secret cave.
Unconstant fortune leadeth forth the king
To this unhappy sight, wherewith in rage
The gentle earl he doometh to his death,
And greets his daughter with her lover's heart.
Gismunda fills the goblet with her tears,
And drinks a poison which she had distill'd,
Whereof she dies, whose deadly countenance
So grieves her father, that he slew himself.

ANOTHER OF THE SAME, MORE AT LARGE, IN PROSE.[14]

Tancred, King of Naples and Prince of Salerne, gave his only daughter
Gismund (whom he most dearly loved) in marriage to a foreign prince,
after whose death she returned home to her father, who having felt great
grief of her absence whilst her husband lived, immeasurably esteeming
her, determined never to suffer any second marriage to bereave him of
her. She, on the other side, waxing weary of that her father's purpose,
bent her mind to the secret love of the County Palurin: to whom (he
being likewise inflamed with love of her) by a letter subtly enclosed in
a cloven cane, she gave to understand a convenient way for their desired
meetings, through an old ruinous vault, whose mouth opened directly
under her chamber floor. Into this vault when she was one day descended
(for the conveyance of her lover), her father in the mean season (whose
only joy was in his daughter) came to her chamber, and not finding her
there, supposing her to have been walked abroad for her[15] disport, he
threw him down on her bed, and covered his head with a curtain, minding
to abide and rest there till her return. She, nothing suspecting this
her father's unseasonable coming, brought up her lover out of the cave
into her chamber, where her father espied their secret love: and he (not
espied of them) was upon this sight stricken with marvellous grief; but
either for that the sudden despite had amazed him, and taken from him
all use of speech, or for that he resolved himself to a more convenient
revenge, he then spake nothing, but noted their return into the vault,
and secretly departed. Afterward, bewailing his mishap, he commanded the
earl to be attached, imprisoned, strangled, unbowelled, and his heart in
a cup of gold to be presented to his daughter:[16] she thankfully
receiveth the present, filling the cup (wherein the heart was) with her
tears, with a venomous potion (by her distilled for that purpose) she
drank to her earl. Which her father hearing of, came too late to comfort
his dying daughter, who for her last request besought him that her lover
and herself might in one tomb be together buried for a perpetual memory
of their faithful loves; which request he granted, adding to the burial
himself, slain with his own hands, to his own reproach, and the terror
of all other hard-hearted fathers.

Introductio in Actum Secundum.

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

Introductio in Actum Tertium.

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

Introductio in Actum Quartum.

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

Introductio in Actum Quintum.

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

TANCRED AND GISMUNDA.[17]

ACT I., SCENE 1.

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

CUPID. There rest my chariot on the mountaintops.[18]
I, that in shape appear unto your sight[19]
A naked boy, not cloth'd but with my wings,
And that great God of Love, who with his might
Ruleth the vast wide world and living things.[20]
This left hand bears Vain Hope, short joyful state,
With Fair Resemblance, lovers to allure:
This right hand holds Repentance all too late,
War, fire,[21] blood, and pains without recure.
On sweet ambrosia is not my food,
Nectar is not my drink: as to the rest
Of all the gods: I drink the lover's blood.
And feed upon the heart[22] within his breast.
Well hath my power in heaven and earth been try'd,
And deepest hell my piercing force hath known.
The marble seas[23] my wonders hath descry'd,
Which elder age throughout the world hath blown.[24]
To me the king of gods and men doth yield,
As witness can the Greekish maid,[25] whom I
Made like a cow go glowing through[26] the field,
Lest jealous Juno should the 'scape espy.
The doubled night, the sun's restrained course,
His secret stealths, the slander to eschew,
In shape transform'd,[27] we[28] list not to discourse.
All that and more we forced him to do.
The warlike Mars hath not subdu'd our[29] might,
We fear'd him not, his fury nor disdain,
That can the gods record, before whose sight
He lay fast wrapp'd in Vulcan's subtle chain.
He that on earth yet hath not felt our power,
Let him behold the fall and cruel spoil
Of thee, fair Troy, of Asia the flower,
So foul defac'd, and levell'd[30] with the soil
Who forc'd Leander with his naked breast
So many nights to cut the frothy waves,
But Hero's love, that lay inclos'd in Sest?
The stoutest hearts to me shall yield them slaves.
Who could have match'd the huge Alcides'[31] strength?
Great Macedon[32] what force might have subdu'd?
Wise Scipio who overcame at length,
But we, that are with greater force endu'd?
Who could have conquered the golden fleece[33]
But Jason, aided by Medea's art?
Who durst have stol'n fair Helen out of Greece
But I, with love that bold'ned Paris' heart?
What bond of nature, what restraint avails[34]
Against our power? I vouch to witness truth.
The myrrh tree,[35] that with shamefast tears bewails
Her father's love, still weepeth yet for ruth,[36]
But now, this world not seeing in these days
Such present proofs of our all-daring[37] power,
Disdains our name, and seeketh sundry ways
To scorn and scoff, and shame us every hour.
A brat, a bastard, and an idle boy:
A[38] rod, a staff, a whip to beat him out!
And to be sick of love, a childish toy:
These are mine honours now the world about,
My name disgrac'd to raise again therefore,
And in this age mine ancient renown
By mighty acts intending to restore,
Down to the earth in wrath now am I come;
And in this place such wonders shall ye hear,
As these your stubborn and disdainful hearts
In melting tears and humble yielding fear
Shall soon relent by sight of others' smarts.
This princely palace will I enter in,
And there inflame the fair Gismunda so,
Enraging all her secret veins within,
Through fiery love that she shall feel much woe.[39]
Too-late-Repentance, thou shalt bend my bow;
Vain Hope, take out my pale, dead, heavy shaft,
Thou, Fair Resemblance, foremost forth shalt go,
With Brittle Joy: myself will not be least,
But after me comes Death and deadly Pain.
Thus shall ye march, till we return again.[40]
Meanwhile, sit still, and here I shall you show
Such wonders, that at last with one accord
Ye shall relent, and say that now you know
Love rules the world, Love it a mighty lord.[41]

    [CUPID _with his train entereth into_ KING TANCRED'S _palace_.

ACT I., SCENE 2.

    GISMUNDA _in purple cometh out of her chamber,
    attended by four maids that are the Chorus_.

GISMUNDA. "O vain, unsteadfast state of mortal things!
Who trust this world, leans to a brittle stay:
Such fickle fruit his flattering bloom forth brings,
Ere it be ripe, it falleth to decay."
The joy and bliss that late I did possess,
In weal at will, with one I loved best,
Is turned now into so deep distress,
As teacheth me to know the world's unrest.[42]
For neither wit nor princely stomachs serve
Against his force, that slays without respect
The noble and the wretch: ne doth reserve
So much as one for worthiness elect.
Ah me, dear lord! what well of tears may serve
To feed the streams of my foredulled eyes,
To weep thy death, as thy death doth deserve,
And wail thy want in full sufficing wise?
Ye lamps of heaven, and all ye heavenly powers,[43]
Wherein did he procure your high disdain?
He never sought with vast huge mountain towers
To reach aloft, and over-view your reign:
Or what offence of mine was it unwares,
That thus your fury should on me be thrown,
To plague a woman with such endless cares?
I fear that envy hath the heavens this shown:
The sun his glorious virtues did disdain;
Mars at his manhood mightily repin'd;
Yea, all the gods no longer could sustain,
Each one to be excelled in his kind.
For he my lord surpass'd them every one;[44]
Such was his honour all the world throughout.
But now, my love, oh! whither art thou gone?
I know thy ghost doth hover hereabout,
Expecting me, thy heart, to follow thee:
And I, dear love, would fain dissolve this strife.
But stay awhile, I may perhaps foresee
Some means to be disburden'd of this life,
"And to discharge the duty of a wife,[45]
Which is, not only in this life to love,
But after death her fancy not remove."
Meanwhile accept of these our daily rites,
Which with my maidens I shall do to thee,
Which is in songs to cheer our dying sprites
With hymns of praises of thy memory.

    _Cantant.

    Quae mihi cantio nondum occurrit_.[46]

ACT I, SCENE 3.

    _The song ended_, TANCRED _the King cometh
    out of his palace with his guard_.

TANCRED. Fair daughter, I have sought thee out with grief,
To ease the sorrows of thy vexed heart.
How long wilt thou torment thy father thus,
Who daily dies to see thy needless tears?
Such bootless plaints, that know nor mean nor end,
Do but increase the floods of thy lament;
And since the world knows well there was no want
In thee of ought, that did to him belong,
Yet all, thou seest, could not his life prolong.
Why then dost thou provoke the heavens to wrath?
His doom of death was dated by his stars,
"And who is he that may withstand his fate?"
By these complaints small good to him thou dost,
Much grief to me, more hurt unto thyself,
And unto nature greatest wrong of all.

GISMUNDA. Tell me not of the date of nature's days,
Then in the April of her springing age:
No, no, it was my cruel destiny,
That spited at the pleasance of my life.

TANCRED. My daughter knows the proof of nature's course.
"For as the heavens do guide the lamp of life,
So can they reach no farther forth the flame,
Than whilst with oil they do maintain the same."

GISMUNDA. Curst be the stars, and vanish may they curst,
Or fall from heaven, that in their dire aspèct[47]
Abridg'd the health and welfare of my love.

TANCRED. Gismund, my joy, set all these griefs apart;
"The more thou art with hard mishap beset,
The more thy patience should procure thine ease."

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

TANCRED. What then avails thee fruitless thus to rue
His absence, whom the heavens cannot return?
Impartial death thy husband did subdue,
Yet hath he spar'd thy kingly father's life:
Who during life to thee a double stay,
As father and as husband, will remain,
With double love to ease thy widow's want,
Of him whose want is cause of thy complaint.
Forbear thou therefore all these needless tears,
That nip the blossoms of thy beauty's pride.

GISMUNDA. Father, these tears love challengeth of due.

TANCRED. But reason saith thou shouldst the same subdue.

GISMUNDA. His funerals are yet before my sight.

TANCRED. In endless moans princes should not delight.

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

TANCRED. And so continues poor and desolate.

GISMUNDA. Who can forget a jewel of such price?

TANCRED. She that hath learn'd to master her desires.
"Let reason work, what time doth easily frame
In meanest wits, to bear the greatest ills."

GISMUNDA. So plenteous are the springs
Of sorrows that increase my passions,
As neither reason can recure my smart,
Nor can your care nor fatherly comfort
Appease the stormy combats of my thoughts;
Such is the sweet remembrance of his life.
Then give me leave: of pity, pity me,
And as I can, I shall allay these griefs.

TANCRED. These solitary walks thou dost frequent,
Yield fresh occasions to thy secret moans:
We will therefore thou keep us company,
Leaving thy maidens with their harmony.
Wend[48] thou with us. Virgins, withdraw yourselves.

    [TANCRED _and_ GISMUNDA, _with the guard, depart into the palace;
    the four maidens stay behind, as Chorus to the Tragedy_.

CHORUS 1. The diverse haps which always work our care,
Our joys so far, our woes so near at hand,
Have long ere this, and daily do declare
The fickle foot on which our state doth stand.
"Who plants his pleasures here to gather root,
And hopes his happy life will still endure,
Let him behold how death with stealing foot
Steps in when he shall think his joys most sure."
No ransom serveth to redeem our days
If prowess could preserve, or worthy deeds,
He had yet liv'd, whose twelve labours displays
His endless fame, and yet his honour spreads.
And that great king,[49] that with so small a power
Bereft the mighty Persian of his crown,
Doth witness well our life is but a flower,
Though it be deck'd with honour and renown.

CHORUS 2. "What grows to-day in favour of the heaven,
Nurs'd with the sun and with the showers sweet,
Pluck'd with the hand, it withereth ere even.
So pass our days, even as the rivers fleet."
The valiant Greeks, that unto Troia gave
The ten years' siege, left but their names behind.
And he that did so long and only save
His father's walls,[50] found there at last his end.
Proud Rome herself, that whilome laid her yoke
On the wide world, and vanquish'd all with war,
Yet could she not remove the fatal stroke
Of death from them that stretch'd her pow'r so far.

CHORUS 3. Look, what the cruel sisters once decree'd,
The Thunderer himself cannot remove:
They are the ladies of our destiny,
To work beneath what is conspir'd above.
But happy he that ends this mortal life
By speedy death: who is not forc'd to see
The many cares, nor feel the sundry griefs,
Which we sustain in woe and misery.
Here fortune rules who, when she list to play,
Whirleth her wheel, and brings the high full low:
To-morrow takes, what she hath given to-day,
To show she can advance and overthrow.
Not Euripus'[51] (unquiet flood) so oft
Ebbs in a day, and floweth to and fro,
As fortune's change plucks down that was aloft,
And mingleth joy with interchange of woe.

CHORUS 4. "Who lives below, and feeleth not the strokes,
Which often-times on highest towers do fall,
Nor blustering winds, wherewith the strongest oaks
Are rent and torn, his life is sur'st of all:"
For he may fortune scorn, that hath no power
On him, that is well pleas'd with his estate:
He seeketh not her sweets, nor fears her sour,
But lives contented in his quiet rate,
And marking how these worldly things do vade,[52]
Rejoiceth to himself, and laughs to see
The folly of men, that in their wits have made
Fortune a goddess, placed in the sky.

                            _Exegit_ ROD. STAF.

FINIS ACTUS I.

ACT II, SCENE 1.

    GISMUNDA AND LUCRECE.

GISMUNDA. Dear aunt, my sole companion in distress,
And true copartner of my thoughtful cares:
When with myself I weigh my present state,
Comparing it with my forepassed days,
New heaps of cares afresh begin t'assay
My pensive heart, as when the glittering rays
Of bright Phoebus are suddenly o'erspread
With dusky clouds, that dim his golden light:
Namely, when I, laid in my widow's bed,
Amid the silence of the quiet night,
With curious thought the fleeting course observe
Of gladsome youth, how soon his flower decays,
"How time once past may never have recourse,
No more than may the running streams revert
To climb the hills, when they been rolled down
The hollow vales. There is no curious art,
Nor worldly power: no, not the gods can hold
The sway of flying time, nor him return,
When he is past: all things unto his might
Must bend, and yield unto the iron teeth
Of eating time." This in the shady night
When I record: how soon my youth withdraws
Itself away, how swift my pleasant spring
Runs out his race,--this, this, aunt, is the cause,
When I advise me sadly[53] on this thing,
That makes my heart in pensive dumps dismay'd.
For if I should my springing years neglect,
And suffer youth fruitless to fade away;
Whereto live I? or whereto was I born?
Wherefore hath nature deck'd me with her grace?
Why have I tasted these delights of love,
And felt the sweets of Hymeneus' bed?
But to say sooth, dear aunt, it is not I,
Sole and alone, can thus content to spend
My cheerful years: my father will not still
Prolong my mournings, which have griev'd him,
And pleased me too long. Then this I crave,
To be resolved of his princely mind.
For, stood it with the pleasure of his will
To marry me, my fortune is not such,
So hard, that I so long should still persist
Makeless alone in woful widowhood.
And shall I tell mine aunt? Come hither then,
Give me that hand: By thine own right hand,
I charge thy heart my counsels to conceal.
Late have I seen, and seeing took delight,
And with delight, I will not say, I love
A prince, an earl, a county in the court.
But love and duty force me to refrain,
And drive away these fond affections,
Submitting them unto my father's hest.
But this, good aunt, this is my chiefest pain,
Because I stand at such uncertain stay.
For, if my kingly father would decree
His final doom, that I must lead my life
Such as I do, I would content me then
To frame my fancies to his princely hest,
And as I might, endure the grief thereof.
But now his silence doubleth all my doubts,
Whilst my suspicious thoughts 'twixt hope and fear
Distract me into sundry passions:
Therefore, good aunt, this labour must be yours,
To understand my father's will herein,
For well I know your wisdom knows the means,
So shall you both allay my stormy thoughts,
And bring to quiet my unquiet mind.

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

GISMUNDA. I leave you to the fortune of my stars.

    [GISMUNDA _departeth into her chamber_, LUCRECE
    _abiding on the stage_.

LUCRECE. The heavens, I hope, will favour your request.
My niece shall not impute the cause to be
In my default, her will should want effect:
But in the king is all my doubt, lest he
My suit for her new marriage should reject.
Yet shall I prove him: and I heard it said,
He means this evening in the park to hunt.[54]
Here will I wait attending his approach.

ACT II., SCENE 2.

    TANCRED _cometh out of his palace with_ GUISCARD,
    _the_ COUNTY PALURIN, JULIO, _the Lord Chamberlain_,
    RENUCHIO, _captain of his guard, all ready to hunt_.

TANCRED. Uncouple all our hounds; lords, to the chase--
Fair sister Lucre[ce], what's the news with you?

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

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

LUCRECE. She lives, my lord, and hath her outward health;
But all the danger of her sickness lies
In the disquiet of her princely mind.

TANCRED. Resolve me; what afflicts my daughter so?

LUCRECE. Since when the princess hath entomb'd her lord,
Her late deceased husband of renown;
Brother, I see, and very well perceive,
She hath not clos'd together in his grave
All sparks of nature, kindness, nor of love:
But as she lives, so living may she feel
Such passions as our tender hearts oppress,
Subject unto th'impressions of desire:
For well I wot my niece was never wrought
Of steel, nor carved from the stony rock:
Such stern hardness we ought not to expect
In her, whose princely heart and springing years
Yet flow'ring in the chiefest heat of youth,
Is led of force to feed on such conceits,
As easily befalls that age, which asketh ruth
Of them, whom nature bindeth by foresight
Of their grave years and careful love to reach
The things that are above their feeble force:
And for that cause, dread lord, although--

TANCRED. Sister, I say,
If you esteem or ought respect my life,
Her honour and the welfare of our house,
Forbear, and wade[55] no farther in this speech.
Your words are wounds. I very well perceive
The purpose of this smooth oration:
This I suspected, when you first began
This fair discourse with us. Is this the end
Of all our hopes, that we have promised
Unto ourself by this her widowhood?
Would our dear daughter, would our only joy,
Would she forsake us? would she leave us now,
Before she hath clos'd up our dying eyes,
And with her tears bewail'd our funeral?
No other solace doth her father crave;
But, whilst the fates maintain his dying life,
Her healthful presence gladsome to his soul,
Which rather than he willing would forego,
His heart desires the bitter taste of death.
Her late marriage hath taught us to our grief,
That in the fruits of her perpetual sight
Consists the only comfort and relief
Of our unwieldy age: for what delight,
What joy, what comfort, have we in this world;
Now grown in years, and overworn with cares,
Subject unto the sudden stroke of death,
Already falling, like the mellowed fruit,
And dropping by degrees into our grave?
But what revives us, what maintains our soul
Within the prison of our wither'd breast,
But our Gismunda and her cheerful sight?
O daughter, daughter! what desert of mine,
Wherein have I been so unkind to thee,
Thou shouldst desire to make my naked house
Yet once again stand desolate by thee?
O, let such fancies vanish with their thoughts:
Tell her I am her father, whose estate,
Wealth, honour, life, and all that we possess,
Wholly relies upon her presence here.
Tell her, I must account her all my joy,
Work as she will: but yet she were unjust
To haste his death, that liveth by her sight.

LUCRECE. Her gentle heart abhors such ruthless thoughts.

TANCRED. Then let her not give place to these desires.

LUCRECE. She craves the right that nature challengeth.

TANCRED. Tell her, the king commandeth otherwise.

LUCRECE. The king's commandment always should be just.

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

LUCRECE. Just to command: but justly must he charge.

TANCRED. He chargeth justly that commands as king.

LUCRECE. The king's command concerns the body best.

TANCRED. The king commands obedience of the mind.

LUCRECE. That is exempted by the law of kind.

TANCRED. That law of kind[56] to children doth belong.

LUCRECE. In due obedience to their open wrong?

TANCRED. I then, as king and father, will command.

LUCRECE. No more than may with right of reason stand.

TANCRED. Thou knowest our mind, resolve[57] her, depart--
Return the chase, we have been chas'd enough.

    [TANCRED _returneth into his palace, and leaveth the hunt_.

LUCRECE. He cannot hear, anger hath stopp'd his ears,
And over-love his judgment hath decay'd
Ah, my poor niece! I shrewdly fear thy cause,
Thy just complaint, shall never be reliev'd.

ACT II., SCENE 3.

    GISMUNDA _cometh alone out of her chamber_.

GISMUNDA. By this I hope my aunt hath mov'd the king,
And knows his mind, and makes return to me
To end at once all this perplexity.
Lo, where she stands. O, how my trembling heart
In doubtful thoughts panteth within my breast.
For in her message doth rely my smart,
Or the sweet quiet of my troubled mind.

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

GISMUNDA. A resolution that resolves my blood
Into the icy drops of Lethe's flood.

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

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

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

    [GISMUNDA _and_ LUCRECE _depart into_ GISMUNDA'S _chamber_.

CHORUS 1. Who marks our former times and present years,
What we are now, and looks what we have been,
He cannot but lament with bitter tears
The great decay and change of all women.
For as the world wore on, and waxed old,
So virtue quail'd,[58] and vice began to grow.
So that that age, that whilome was of gold,
Is worse than brass, more vile than iron now.
The times were such (that if we aught believe
Of elder days), women examples were
Of rare virtues: Lucrece disdain'd to live
Longer than chaste; and boldly without fear
Took sharp revenge on her enforced heart
With her own hands: for that it not withstood
The wanton will, but yielded to the force
Of proud Tarquin, who bought her fame with blood.

CHORUS 2. Queen Artemisia thought an heap of stones
(Although they were the wonder of that age)
A worthless grave, wherein to rest the bones
Of her dear lord, but with bold courage
She drank his heart, and made her lovely breast
His tomb, and failed not of wifely faith,
Of promis'd love and of her bound behest,
Until she ended had her days by death.
Ulysses' wife (such was her steadfastness)
Abode his slow return whole twenty years:
And spent her youthful days in pensiveness,
Bathing her widow's bed with brinish tears.[59]

CHORUS 3. The stout daughter of Cato, Brutus' wife, Portia,
When she had heard his death, did not desire
Longer to live: and lacking use of knife
(A most strange thing) ended her life by fire,
And ate whot-burning coals. O worthy dame!
O virtues worthy of eternal praise!
The flood of Lethe cannot wash out thy fame,
To others' great reproach, shame, and dispraise.

CHORUS 4. Rare are those virtues now in women's mind!
Where shall we seek such jewels passing strange?
Scarce can you now among a thousand find
One woman stedfast: all delight in change.
Mark but this princess, that lamented here
Of late so sore her noble husband's death,
And thought to live alone without a pheer;
Behold how soon she changed hath that breath!
I think those ladies that have lived 'tofore,
A mirror and a glass to womenkind;
By those their virtues they did set such store,
That unto us they none bequeath'd behind;
Else in so many years we might have seen
As virtuous as ever they have been.

CHORUS 1. Yet let not us maidens condemn our kind,
Because our virtues are not all so rare:
For we may freshly yet record in mind,
There lives a virgin,[60] one without compare,
Who of all graces hath her heavenly share;
In whose renown, and for whose happy days,
Let us record this paean of her praise.

    _Cantant_.

FINIS ACTUS II. _Per_ HEN. NO.[61]

ACT III., SCENE 1.

CUPID. So now they feel what lordly Love can do,
  That proudly practise to deface his name;
In vain they wrastle with so fierce a foe;
  Of little sparks arise a blazing flame.
"By small occasions love can kindle heat,
  And waste the oaken breast to cinder dust."
Gismund I have enticed to forget
  Her widow's weeds, and burn in raging lust:
'Twas I enforc'd her father to deny
Her second marriage to any peer;
'Twas I allur'd her once again to try
The sour sweets that lovers buy too dear.
The County Palurin, a man right wise,
A man of exquisite perfections,
I have like wounded with her piercing eyes,
And burnt her heart with his reflections.
These two shall joy in tasting of my sweet,
To make them prove more feelingly the grief
That bitter brings: for when their joys shall fleet,
Their dole shall be increas'd without relief.
Thus Love shall make worldlings to know his might;
Thus Love shall force great princes to obey;
Thus Love shall daunt each proud, rebelling spirit;
Thus Love shall wreak his wrath on their decay.
Their ghosts shall give black hell to understand,
How great and wonderful a god is Love:
And this shall learn the ladies of this land
With patient minds his mighty power to prove.
From whence I did descend, now will I mount
To Jove and all the gods in their delights:
In throne of triumph there will I recount,
How I by sharp revenge on mortal wights
Have taught the earth, and learned hellish sprites
To yield with fear their stubborn hearts to Love,
Lest their disdain his plagues and vengeance
prove.
          [CUPID _remounteth into the heavens_.

ACT III., SCENE 2.

    LUCRECE _cometh out of_ GISMUNDA'S _chamber solitary_.

LUCRECE. Pity, that moveth every gentle heart
To rue their griefs, that be distress'd in pain,
Enforceth me to wail my niece's smart,
Whose tender breast no long time may sustain
The restless toil, that her unquiet mind
Hath caus'd her feeble body to endure;
But why it is (alack!) I must not find,
Nor know the man, by whom I might procure
Her remedy, as I of duty ought,
As to the law of kinship doth belong.
With careful heart the secret means I sought,
Though small effect is of my travail sprung:
Full often as I durst I have assay'd
With humble words the princess to require
To name the man which she hath so denay'd,[62]
That it abash'd me further to desire,
Or ask from whence those cloudy thoughts proceed,
Whose stony force, that smoky sighs forth send,
Is lively witness how that careful dread
And hot desire within her do contend:
Yet she denies what she confess'd of yore,
And then conjoin'd me to conceal the same;
She loved once, she saith, but never more,
Nor ever will her fancy thereto frame.
Though daily I observed in my breast
What sharp conflicts disquiet her so sore,
That heavy sleep cannot procure her rest,
But fearful dreams present her evermore
Most hideous sights her quiet to molest;
That starting oft therewith, she doth awake,
To muse upon those fancies which torment
Her thoughtful heart with horror, that doth make
Her cold chill sweat break forth incontinent
From her weak limbs. And while the quiet night
Gives others rest, she, turning to and fro,
Doth wish for day: but when the day brings light,
She keeps her bed, there to record her woe.
As soon as when she riseth, flowing tears
Stream down her cheeks, immixed with deadly groans,
Whereby her inward sorrow so appears,
That as salt tears the cruel cause bemoans.
In case she be constrained to abide
In prease[63] of company, she scarcely may
Her trembling voice restrain it be not spy'd,
From careful plaints her sorrows to bewray.
By which restraint the force doth so increase,
When time and place give liberty to plain,
That as small streams from running never cease,
Till they return into the seas again;
So her laments, we fear, will not amend,
Before they bring her princely life to end.
To others' talk when as she should attend,
Her heaped cares her senses so oppress,
That what they speak, or whereto their words tend,
She knows not, as her answers do express.
Her chief delight is still to be alone,
Her pensive thoughts within themselves debate:
But whereupon this restless life is grown,
Since I know not, nor how the same t'abate;
I can no more but wish it as I may,
That he which knows it, would the same allay,
For which the Muses with my song shall pray.

ACT III., SCENE 3.

    _After the song, which was by report very sweetly repeated
    by the Chorus_, LUCRECE _departeth into_ GISMUNDA'S _chamber,
    and_ GUISCARD _cometh out of the palace with_ JULIO _and_
    RENUCHIO, _gentlemen, to whom he turneth, and saith_:

GUISCARD. Leave me, my friends; this solitary walk
Enticeth me to break your company.
Leave me, my friends, I can endure no talk.
Let me entreat this common courtesy.    [_The gentlemen depart_.
What grievous pain they 'dure, which neither may
Forget their loves, ne yet enjoy their love,
I know by proof, and daily make assay.
Though Love hath brought my lady's heart to love,
My faithful love with like love to requite;
This doth not quench, but rather cause to flame
The creeping fire which, spreading in my breast
With raging heat, grants me no time of rest.
If they bewail their cruel destiny,
Which spend their love, where they no love can find,
Well may I plain, since fortune haleth[64] me
To this torment of far more grievous kind;
Wherein I feel as much extremity,
As may be felt in body or in mind.
For by that sight, which should recure my pain,
My sorrows are redoubled all in vain.
Now I perceive that only I alone
Am her belov'd, her looks assure me so:
The thought thereof provokes me to bemoan
Her heavy plight that grieveth at my woe.
This intercourse of our affections--
I her to serve, she thus to honour me--
Bewrays the truth of our elections,
Delighting in this mutual sympathy.
Thus love for love entreat's the queen of love,
That with her help Love's solace we may prove.
I see my mistress seeks as well as I
To stay the strife of her perplexed mind:
Full fain she would our secret company,
If she the wished way thereof might find.
Heavens, have ye seen, or hath the age of man
Recorded such a miracle as this--
In equal love two noble hearts to frame,
That never spake one with another's bliss?
I am assured that she doth assent
To my relief, that I should reap the same,
If she could frame the means of my content,
Keeping herself from danger of defame.
In happy hour right now I did receive
This cane from her; which gift though it be small,
Receiving it, what joys I did conceive
Within my fainting spirits therewithal!
Who knoweth love aright, may well conceive
By like adventures that to them befall.
"For needs the lover must esteem that well,
Which comes from her, with whom his heart doth dwell."
Assuredly it is not without cause
She gave me this; something she meant thereby:
For therewithal I might perceive her pause
Awhile, as though some weighty thing did lie
Upon her heart, which she concealed, because
The standers-by should not our loves descry:
This clift bewrays that it hath been disclos'd;
Perhaps herein she hath something inclos'd:    [_He breaks it_.
O thou great thunderer! who would not serve,
Where wit with beauty chosen have their place?
Who could devise more wisely to conserve
Things from suspect? O Venus, for this grace
That deigns me, all unworthy, to deserve
So rare a love, in heaven I should thee place.
This sweet letter some joyful news contains,
1 hope it brings recure to both our pains.
                                [_He reads it_.

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

O blissful chance my sorrows to assuage!
Wonder of nature, marvel of our age!
Comes this from Gismund? did she thus enfold
This letter in the cane? may it be so?
It were too sweet a joy; I am deceiv'd.
Why shall I doubt, did she not give it me?
Therewith she smil'd, she joy'd, she raught[65] the cane,
And with her own sweet hand she gave it me:
And as we danc'd, she dallied with the cane,
And sweetly whisper'd I should be her king,
And with this cane, the sceptre of our rule,
Command the sweets of her surprised heart.
Therewith she raught from her alluring locks
This golden tress, the favour of her grace,
And with her own sweet hand she gave it me:
O peerless queen, my joy, my heart's decree!
And, thou fair letter, how shall I welcome thee?
Both hand and pen, wherewith thou written wert,
Blest may ye be, such solace that impart!
And blessed be this cane, and he that taught
Thee to descry the hidden entry thus:
Not only through a dark and dreadful vault,
But fire and sword, and through whatever be,
Mistress of my desires, I come to thee.

    [GISCARD _departeth in haste unto the palace_.

CHORUS 1. Right mighty is thy power, O cruel Love,
High Jove himself cannot resist thy bow;
Thou sent'st him down, e'en from the heavens above,
In sundry shapes here to the earth below:
Then how shall mortal men escape thy dart,
The fervent flame and burning of thy fire;
Since that thy might is such, and since thou art
Both of the seas and land the lord and sire?

CHORUS 2. But why doth she that sprang from Jove's high head,
And Phoebus's sister sheen, despise thy power,
Ne fear thy bow? Why have they always led
A maiden life, and kept untouch'd the flower?
Why doth Aegistus love, and to obtain
His wicked will, conspire his uncle's death?
Or why doth Phaedra burn, from whom is slain
Theseus' chaste son, or Helen, false of faith?
"For love assaults not but the idle heart,
And such as live in pleasure and delight;
He turneth oft their gladsome joys to smart,
Their play to plaint, their sport into despite."

CHORUS 3. 'Tis true, that Dian chaseth with her bow
The flying hart, the goat, and foamy boar:
By hill, by dale: in heat, in frost, in snow:
She recketh not, but laboureth evermore;
Love seeks not her, ne knoweth where[66] to find.
Whilst Paris kept his herd on Ida down,
Cupid ne'er sought him out, for he is blind;
But when he left the field to live in town,
He fell into his snare, and brought that brand
From Greece to Troy, which after set on fire
Strong Ilium, and all the Phryges land:
"Such are the fruits of love, such is his hire."[67]

CHORUS 4. Who yieldeth unto him his captive heart,
Ere he resist, and holds his open breast
Withouten war to take his bloody dart,
Let him not think to shake off, when him list,
His heavy yoke. "Resist his first assault;
Weak is his bow, his quenched brand is cold;
Cupid is but a child, and cannot daunt
The mind that bears him, or his virtues bold."
But he gives poison so to drink in gold,
And hideth under pleasant baits his hook;
But ye beware, it will be hard to hold
Your greedy minds, but if ye wisely look
What sly snake lurks under those flowers gay.
But ye mistrust some cloudy smokes, and fear
A stormy shower after so fair a day:
Ye may repent, and buy your pleasure dear;
For seldom-times is Cupid wont to send
"Unto an idle love a joyful end."

FINIS ACTUS. _G. Al_.

ACT IV., SCENE 1.

    _Before this act_ MEGAERA _riseth out of hell, with the
    other furies_, ALECTO _and_ TYSIPHONE _dancing an hellish
    round; which done, she saith_:

MEGAERA. Sisters, begone, bequeath the rest to me,
That yet belongs unto this tragedy.
                         [_The two furies depart down_.
Vengeance and death from forth the deepest hell
I bring the cursed house, where Gismund dwells.
Sent from the grisly god, that holds his reign
In Tartar's ugly realm, where Pelops' sire
(Who with his own son's flesh, whom he had slain,
Did feast the gods) with famine hath his hire;
To gape and catch at flying fruits in vain,
And yielding waters to his gasping throat;
Where stormy Aeol's son with endless pain
Rolls up the rock; where Tytius hath his lot
To feed the gripe that gnaws his growing heart;[68]
Where proud Ixion, whirled on the wheel,
Pursues himself; where due deserved smart
The damned ghosts in burning flame do feel--
From thence I mount: thither the winged god,
Nephew to Atlas that upholds the sky,
Of late down from the earth with golden rod
To Stygian ferry Salerne souls did guide,
And made report how Love, that lordly boy,
Highly disdaining his renown's decay,
Slipp'd down from heaven, and filled with fickle joy
Gismunda's heart, and made her throw away
Chasteness of life to her immortal shame:
Minding to show, by proof of her foul end,
Some terror unto those that scorn his name.
Black Pluto (that once found Cupid his friend
In winning Ceres' daughter, queen of hells;)
And Parthie, moved by the grieved ghost
Of her late husband, that in Tartar dwells,
Who pray'd due pains for her, that thus hath lost
All care of him and of her chastity.
The senate then of hell, by grave advice
Of Minos, Aeac, and of Radamant,
Commands me draw this hateful air, and rise
Above the earth, with dole and death to daunt
The pride and present joys, wherewith these two
Feed their disdained hearts; which now to do,
Behold I come with instruments of death.
This stinging snake, which is of hate and wrath,
I'll fix upon her father's heart full fast,
And into hers this other will I cast,
Whose rankling venom shall infect them so
With envious wrath and with recureless woe,
Each shall be other's plague and overthrow.
"Furies must aid, when men surcease to know
Their gods: and hell sends forth revenging pain
On those whom shame from sin cannot restrain."

ACT IV., SCENE 2.

    MEGAERA _entereth into the palace, and meeteth with_
    TANCRED _coming out of_ GISMUNDA'S _chamber with_
    RENUCHIO _and_ JULIO, _upon whom she throweth her
    snake_.[69]

TANCRED. Gods! are ye guides of justice and revenge?
O thou great Thunderer! dost thou behold
With watchful eyes the subtle 'scapes of men
Harden'd in shame, sear'd up in the desire
Of their own lusts? why then dost thou withhold
The blast of thy revenge? why dost thou grant
Such liberty, such lewd occasion
To execute their shameless villainy?
Thou, thou art cause of all this open wrong,
Thou, that forbear'st thy vengeance all too long.
If thou spare them, rain then upon my head
The fulness of thy plagues with deadly ire,
To reave this ruthful soul, who all too sore
Burns in the wrathful torments of revenge.
O earth, the mother of each living wight,
Open thy womb, devour this wither'd corpse.
And thou, O hell (if other hell there be
Than that I feel), receive my soul to thee.
O daughter, daughter (wherefore do I grace
Her with so kind a name?) O thou fond girl,
The shameful ruin of thy father's house,
Is this my hoped joy? Is this the stay
Must glad my grief-ful years that waste away?
For life, which first thou didst receive from me,
Ten thousand deaths shall I receive by thee.
For all the joys I did repose in thee.
Which I, fond man, did settle in thy sight,
Is this thy recompense--that I must see
The thing so shameful and so villanous:
That would to God this earth had swallowed
This worthless burthen into lowest deeps,
Rather than I, accursed, had beheld
The sight that hourly massacres my life?
O whither, whither fly'st thou forth, my soul?
O whither wand'reth my tormented mind?
Those pains, that make the miser[70] glad of death,
Have seiz'd on me, and yet I cannot have
What villains may command--a speedy death.
Whom shall I first accuse for this outrage?
That God that guideth all, and guideth so
This damned deed? Shall I blaspheme their names--
The gods, the authors of this spectacle?
Or shall I justly curse that cruel star,
Whose influence assign'd this destiny?
But may that traitor, shall that vile wretch live,
By whom I have receiv'd this injury?
Or shall I longer make account of her,
That fondly prostitutes her widow's shame?--
I have bethought me what I shall request.    [_He kneels_.
On bended knees, with hands heav'd up to heaven,
This, sacred senate of the gods, I crave:
First on the traitor your consuming ire;
Next on the cursed strumpet dire revenge;
Last on myself, the wretched father, shame.    [_He riseth_.
O! could I stamp, and therewithal command
Armies of furies to assist my heart,
To prosecute due vengeance on their souls!
Hear me, my friends; but as ye love your lives,
Reply not to me; hearken and stand amaz'd.
When I, as is my wont, O fond delight!
Went forth to seek my daughter, now my death--
Within her chamber, as I thought, she was;
But there I found her not--I deemed then
For her disport she and her maidens were
Down to the garden walk'd to comfort them;
And thinking thus, it came into my mind
There all alone to tarry her return:
And thereupon I, weary, threw myself
Upon her widow's bed, for so I thought,
And in the curtain wrapp'd my cursed head.
Thus as I lay, anon I might behold
Out of the vault, up through her chamber floor,
My daughter Gismund bringing hand in hand
The County Palurin. Alas! it is too true;
At her bed's feet this traitor made me see
Her shame, his treason, and my deadly grief--
Her princely body yielded to this thief;
The high despite whereof so wounded me
That, trance-like, as a senseless stone I lay;
For neither wit nor tongue could use the mean
T'express the passions of my pained heart.
Forceless, perforce, I sank down to this pain,
As greedy famine doth constrain the hawk
Piecemeal to rend and tear the yielding prey:
So far'd it with me in that heavy stound.
But now what shall I do? how may I seek
To ease my mind, that burneth with desire
Of dire revenge? For never shall my thoughts
Grant ease unto my heart, till I have found
A mean of vengeance to requite his pains,
That first convey'd this sight unto my soul.--
Renuchio!

RENUCHIO. What is your highness' will?

TANCRED. Call my daughter: my heart boils, till I see
Her in my sight, to whom I may discharge
All the unrest that thus distempereth me.    [_Exit_ RENUCHIO.
Should I destroy them both? O gods, ye know
How near and dear our daughter is to us.
And yet my rage persuades me to imbrue
My thirsty hands in both their trembling bloods,
Therewith to cool my wrathful fury's heat.
But, Nature, why repin'st thou at this thought?
Why should I think upon a father's debt
To her that thought not on a daughter's due?
But still, methinks, if I should see her die,
And therewithal reflex her dying eyes
Upon mine eyes, that sight would slit my heart:
Not much unlike the cockatrice, that slays
The object of his foul infections,
O, what a conflict doth my mind endure!
Now fight my thoughts against my passions:
Now strive my passions against my thoughts:
Now sweats my heart, now chill cold falls it dead.
Help, heavens, and succour, ye celestial powers!
Infuse your secret virtue on my soul.
Shall nature win? shall justice not prevail?
Shall I, a king, be proved partial?
"How shall our subjects then insult on us,
When our examples, that are light to them,
Shall be eclipsed with our proper deeds?"
And may the arms be rented from the tree,
The members from the body be dissever'd?
And can the heart endure no violence?
My daughter is to me mine only heart,
My life, my comfort, my continuance;
Shall I be then not only so unkind
To pass all nature's strength, and cut her off?
But therewithal so cruel to myself,
Against all law of kind to shred in twain
The golden thread that doth us both maintain?
But were it that my rage should so command,
And I consent to her untimely death,
Were this an end to all our miseries?
No, no, her ghost will still pursue our life,
And from the deep her bloodless, ghastful spirit
Will, as my shadow in the shining day,
Follow my footsteps, till she take revenge.
I will do thus: therefore the traitor dies,
Because he scorned the favour of his king,
And our displeasure wilfully incurr'd:
His slaughter, with her sorrow for his blood,
Shall to our rage supply delightful food.
Julio--

JULIO. What is't your majesty commands?

TANCRED. Julio, if we have not our hope in vain,
Nor all the trust we do repose in thee,
Now must we try, if thou approve the same.
Herein thy force and wisdom we must see,
For our command requires them both of thee.

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

TANCRED. Well, to be short, for I am griev'd too long
By wrath without revenge, I think you know
Whilom there was a palace builded strong
For war within our court, where dreadless peace
Hath planted now a weaker entrance.
But of that palace yet one vault remains
Within our court, the secret way whereof
Is to our daughter Gismund's chamber laid:
There is also another mouth hereof
Without our wall, which now is overgrown;
But you may find it out, for yet it lies
Directly south a furlong from our palace!
It may be known--hard-by an ancient stoop,[71]
Where grew an oak in elder days decay'd;
There will we that you watch; there shall you see
A villain traitor mount out of a vault.
Bring him to us; it is th'Earl Palurin.
What is his fault, neither shall you inquire,
Nor list we to disclose. These cursed eyes
Have seen the flame, this heart hath felt the fire
That cannot else be quench'd but with his blood.
This must be done: this will we have you do.

JULIO. Both this, and else whatever you think good.

    [JULIO _departeth into the palace_.

ACT IV., SCENE 3.

    RENUCHIO _bringeth_ GISMUND _out of her chamber, to
    whom_ TANCRED _saith_.

TANCRED. Renuchio, depart: leave us alone.    [_Exit_ RENUCHIO.
Gismund, if either I could cast aside
All care of thee! or if thou wouldst have had
Some care of me, it would not now betide,
That either thorough thy fault my joy should fade,
Or by thy folly I should bear the pain
Thou hast procur'd: but now 'tis neither I
Can shun the grief, whom thou hast more than slain:
Nor may'st thou heal or ease the grievous wound
Which thou hast given me. That unstained life,
Wherein I joy'd, and thought it thy delight,
Why hast thou lost it? Can it be restor'd?
Where is thy widowhood, there is thy shame.
Gismund, it is no man's nor men's report,
That have by likely proofs inform'd me thus.
Thou know'st how hardly I could be induc'd
To vex myself, and be displeas'd with thee,
With flying tales of flattering sycophants.
No, no, there was in us such settled trust
Of thy chaste life and uncorrupted mind
That if these eyes had not beheld thy shame.
In vain ten thousand censures could have told
That thou didst once unprincelike make agree
With that vile traitor County Palurin:
Without regard had to thyself or me,
Unshamefastly to stain thy state and mine.
But I, unhappiest, have beheld the same,
And, seeing it, yet feel th'exceeding grief
That slays my heart with horror of that thought:
Which grief commands me to obey my rage,
And justice urgeth some extreme revenge,
To wreak the wrongs that have been offer'd us.
But nature, that hath lock'd within thy breast
Two lives, the same inclineth me to spare
Thy blood, and so to keep mine own unspilt.
This is that overweening love I bear
To thee undutiful, and undeserved.
But for that traitor, he shall surely die;
For neither right nor nature doth entreat
For him, that wilfully, without all awe
Of gods or men, or of our deadly hate,
Incurr'd the just displeasure of his king;
And to be brief, I am content to know
What for thyself thou canst object to us,
Why thou should'st not together with him die.
So to assuage the griefs that overthrow
Thy father's heart.

GISMUND. O king and father, humbly give her leave
To plead for grace, that stands in your disgrace.
Not that she recks this life,[72] for I confess
I have deserv'd, when so it pleaseth you,
To die the death, mine honour and my name,
As you suppose, distained with reproach:
And well contented shall I meet the stroke
That must dissever this detested head
From these lewd limbs. But this I wish were known,
That now I live not for myself alone.
For when I saw that neither my request,
Nor the entreaty of my careful aunt,
Could win your highness' pleasure to our will;
"Then love, heat of the heart, life of the soul,
Fed by desire, increasing by restraint,"
Would not endure controlment any more,
But violently enforc'd my feeble heart
(For who am I, alas! still to resist
Such endless conflicts?) to relent and yield:
Therewith I chose him for my lord and pheer,
Guiscard mine Earl, that holds my love full dear.
Then if it be so settled in your mind,
He shall not live, because he dar'd to love
Your daughter: thus I give your grace to know.
Within his heart there is inclos'd my life.
Therefore, O father, if that name may be
Sweet to your ears, and that we may prevail
By name of father, that you favour us:
But otherwise, if now we cannot find
That which our falsed hope did promise us;
Why then proceed, and rid our trembling hearts
Of these suspicions; since neither in this case
His good deserts in service to your grace,
Which always have been just, nor my desires,
May mitigate the cruel rage of grief
That strains your heart, but that mine Earl must die;
Then all in vain you ask, what I can say,
Why I should live. Sufficeth for my part
To say I will not live, and so resolve.

TANCRED. Dar'st thou so desperate decree thy death?

GISMUND. A dreadless heart delights in such decrees.

TANCRED. Thy kind abhorreth such unkindly thoughts.

GISMUND. Unkindly thoughts they are to them that live
In kindly love.

TANCRED.        As I do unto thee.

GISMUND. To take his life who is my love from me?

TANCRED. Have I then lost thy love?

GISMUND.                            If he shall lose
His life, that is my love.

TANCRED.
                           Thy love? Begone.
Return into thy chamber.

GISMUND.
                         I will go.

    [GISMUND _departeth to her chamber_.

ACT IV., SCENE 4.

    JULIO _with his guard bringeth in the_ COUNTY PALURIN _prisoner_.

JULIO. If it please your highness, hither have we brought
This captive Earl, as you commanded us.
Whom, as we were foretold, even there we found.
Where by your majesty we were enjoin'd
To watch for him. What more your highness wills.
This heart and hand shall execute your best.

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

GUISCARD. My lord the king, neither do I mislike
Your sentence, nor do your smoking sighs,
Reach'd from the entrails of your boiling heart,
Disturb the quiet of my calmed thoughts:
For this I feel, and by experience prove,
Such is the force and endless might of love,
As never shall the dread of carrion death,
That hath envy'd our joys, invade my breast.
For if it may be found a fault in me,
That evermore hath lov'd your majesty,
Likewise to honour and to love your child;
If love unto you both may be a fault--
But unto her my love exceeds compare--
Then this hath been my fault, for which I joy,
That in the greatest lust of all my life,
I shall submit for her sake to endure
The pangs of death. O mighty lord of Love,
Strengthen thy vassal boldly to receive
Large wounds into this body for her sake!
Then use my life or death, my lord and king,
For your relief to ease your grieved soul:
For whether I live, or else that I must die
To end your pains, I am content to bear;
Knowing by death I shall bewray the truth
Of that sound heart, which living was her own,
And died alive for her, that lived mine.

TANCRED. Thine, Palurin? What! lives my daughter thine?
Traitor, thou wrong'st me, for she liveth mine.
Rather I wish ten thousand sundry deaths,
Than I to live, and see my daughter thine.
Thine that is dearer than my life to me?
Thine whom I hope to see an emp[e]ress?
Thine whom I cannot pardon from my sight?
Thine unto whom we have bequeath'd our crown?--
Julio, we will that thou inform from us
Renuchio the captain of our guard,
That we command this traitor be convey'd
Into the dungeon underneath our tower;
There let him rest, until he be resolv'd
What farther we intend; which to understand
We will Renuchio repair to us.

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

TANCRED. "This is the soundest safety for a king,
To cut them off, that vex or hinder him."

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

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

JULIO. No, but by his devout submission.

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

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

TANCRED. And may the subject countermand the king?

JULIO. No, but entreat him.

TANCRED.                    What he shall decree?

JULIO. What wisdom shall discern.

TANCRED.                          Nay, what our word
Shall best determine. We will not reply.
Thou know'st our mind: our heart cannot be eas'd,
But with the slaughter of this Palurin.
                [The KING hasteth into his palace.

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

    [GUISCARD _is led to prison_.

CHORUS 1. Who doth not know the fruits of Paris' love,
Nor understand the end of Helen's joy?
He may behold the fatal overthrow
Of Priam's house and of the town of Troy--
His death at last and her eternal shame;
For whom so many noble knights were slain.
So many a duke, so many a prince of fame
Bereft his life, and left there in the plain.
Medea's armed hand, Eliza's sword,
Wretched Leander drenched in the flood.
Phillis, so long that waited for her lord:
All these too dearly bought their loves with blood.

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

CHORUS 3. Remember thou in virtue serve therefore
Thy chaste lady: beware thou do not love,
As whilom Venus did the fair Adone,
But as Diana lov'd th'Amazon's son;
Through whose request the gods to him alone
Restor'd new life. The twine that was undone,
Was by the sisters twisted up again.
The love of virtue in thy lady's looks,
The love of virtue in her learned talk;
This love yields matter for eternal books.
This love enticeth him abroad to walk,
There to invent and write new roundelays
Of learn'd conceit, her fancies to allure
To vain delights: such humours he allays,
And sings of virtue and her garments pure.

CHORUS 4. Desire not of thy sovereign the thing
Whereof shame may ensue by any mean;
Nor wish thou aught that may dishonour bring.
So whilom did the learned Tuscan[73] serve
His fair lady; and glory was their end.
Such are the praises lovers done deserve,
Whose service doth to virtue and honour tend.

FINIS ACTUS IV. COMPOSUIT CH. HAT.[74]

ACT V., SCENE 1.

    RENUCHIO _cometh out of the palace_.

RENUCHIO. O cruel fate! O miserable chance!
O dire aspect of hateful destinies!
O woe may not be told! Suffic'd it not
That I should see, and with these eyes behold
So foul, so bloody, and so base a deed:
But more to aggravate the heavy cares
Of my perplexed mind, must only I,
Must I alone be made the messenger,
That must deliver to her princely ears
Such dismal news, as when I shall disclose,
I know it cannot but abridge her days?
As when the thunder and three-forked fire,
Rent through the clouds by Jove's almighty power,
Breaks up the bosom of our mother earth,
And burns her heart, before the heat be felt.
In this distress, whom should I most bewail,
My woe, that must be made the messenger
Of these unworthy and unwelcome news?
Or shall I moan thy death, O noble Earl?
Or shall I still lament the heavy hap,
That yet, O Queen, attends thy funeral?

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

CHORUS 2. What mean these questions? whither tend these words?
Resolve us maidens, and release our fears.
Whatever news thou bring'st, discover them.
Detain us not in this suspicious dread!
"The thought whereof is greater than the woe."

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

CHORUS 3. We humbly pray thee to forbear these words,
So full of terror to our maiden hearts:
"The dread of things unknown breeds the suspect
Of greater dread, until the worst be known."
Tell therefore what hath chanc'd, and whereunto
This bloody cup thou holdest in thy hand.

RENUCHIO. Since so is your request, that I shall do,
Although my mind so sorrowful a thing
Repines to tell, and though my voice eschews
To say what I have seen; yet since your will
So fixed stands to hear for what I rue,
Your great desires I shall herein fulfil.
Fast by Salerne city, amids the plain,
There stands a hill whose bottom, huge and round.
Thrown out in breadth, a large space doth contain:
And gathering up in height, small from the ground,
Still less and less it mounts: there sometime was
A goodly tower uprear'd, that flower'd in fame
While fate and fortune serv'd; but time doth pass,
And with his sway suppresseth all the same:
For now the walls be even'd with the plain,
And all the rest so foully lies defac'd,
As but the only shade doth there remain
Of that, which there was built in time forepass'd:
And yet that shows what worthy work tofore
Hath there been rear'd. One parcel of that tower[75]
Yet stands, which eating time could not devour:
A strong turret, compact of stone and rock,
Hugy without, but horrible within:
To pass to which, by force of handy stroke,
A crooked strait is made, that enters in,
And leads into this ugly loathsome place.
Within the which, carved into the ground,
A deep dungeon[76] there runs of narrow space.
Dreadful and dark, where never light is found:
Into this hollow cave, by cruel hest
Of King Tancred, were divers servants sent
To work the horror of his furious breast,
Erst nourish'd in his rage, and now stern bent
To have the same perform'd. I woful man,
Amongst the rest, was one to do the thing.
That to our charge so straitly did belong,
In sort as was commanded by the king.
Within which dreadful prison when we came,
The noble County Palurin, that there
Lay chain'd in gyves,[77] fast fetter'd in his bolts,
Out of the dark dungeon we did uprear,
And hal'd him thence into a brighter place,
That gave us light to work our tyranny.
But when I once beheld his manly face,
And saw his cheer, no more appall'd with fear
Of present death, than he whom never dread
Did once amate:[78] my heart abhorred then
To give consent unto so foul a deed:
That wretched death should reave so worthy a man.
On false fortune I cried with loud complaint,
That in such sort o'erwhelms nobility.
But he, whom never grief ne fear could taint,
With smiling cheer himself oft willeth me
To leave to plain his case, or sorrow make
For him; for he was far more glad apaid
Death to embrace thus for his lady's sake,
Than life or all the joys of life, he said.
For loss of life, quoth he, grieves me no more
Than loss of that which I esteemed least:
My lady's grief, lest she should rue therefore,
Is all the cause of grief within my breast.
He pray'd therefore, that we would make report
To her of those his last words he would say:
That, though he never could in any sort
Her gentleness requite, nor never lay
Within his power to serve her as he would;
Yet she possess'd his heart with hand and might,
To do her all the honour that he could.
This was to him, of all the joys that might
Revive his heart, the chiefest joy of all,
That to declare the faithful heart which he
Did bear to her, fortune so well did fall,
That in her love he should both live and die.
After these words he stay'd, and spake no more,
But joyfully beholding us each one,
His words and cheer amazed us so sore,
That still we stood; when forthwith thereupon:
But, why slack you, quoth he, to do the thing
For which you come? make speed, and stay no more:
Perform your master's will. Now tell the king
He hath his life, for which he long'd so sore:
And with those words himself with his own hand
Fast'ned the bands about his neck. The rest
Wond'ring at his stout heart, astonied[79] stand
To see him offer thus himself to death.
What stony breast, or what hard heart of flint
Would not relent to see this dreary sight?
So goodly a man, whom death nor fortune's dint
Could once disarm, murder'd with such despite;
And in such sort bereft, amidst the flowers
Of his fresh years, that ruthful was to seen:
"For violent is death, when he devours
Young men or virgins, while their years be green."
Lo! now our servants seeing him take the bands,
And on his neck himself to make them fast;
Without delay set to their cruel hands,
And sought to work their fierce intent with haste.
They stretch the bloody bands; and when the breath
Began to fail his breast, they slack'd again:
Thrice did they pull, and thrice they loosed him,
So did their hands repine against their hearts:
And ofttimes loosed to his greater pain.
"But date of death, that fixed is so fast,
Beyond his course there may no wight extend;"
For strangled is this noble Earl at last,
Bereft of life, unworthy such an end.

CHORUS. O damned deed!

RENUCHIO.              What, deem you this to be
All the sad news that I have to unfold?
Is here, think you, end of the cruelty
That I have seen?

CHORUS.           Could any heavier woe
Be wrought to him, than to destroy him so?

RENUCHIO. What, think you this outrage did end so well?
The horror of the fact, the greatest grief,
The massacre, the terror is to tell.

CHORUS. Alack! what could be more? they threw percase
The dead body to be devour'd and torn
Of the wild beasts.

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

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

RENUCHIO.            After his breath was gone,
Forced perforce thus from his panting breast,
Straight they despoiled him; and not alone
Contented with his death, on the dead corpse,
Which ravenous beasts forbear to lacerate,
Even upon this our villains fresh begun
To show new cruelty; forthwith they pierce
His naked belly, and unripp'd it so,
That out the bowels gush'd. Who can rehearse
Their tyranny, wherewith my heart yet bleeds?
The warm entrails were torn out of his breast,
Within their hands trembling, not fully dead;
His veins smok'd, his bowels all-to reeked,
Ruthless were rent, and thrown about the place:
All clottered lay the blood in lumps of gore,
Sprent[80] on his corpse, and on his paled face;
His trembling heart, yet leaping, out they tore,
And cruelly upon a rapier
They fix'd the same, and in this hateful wise
Unto the king this heart they do present:
A sight long'd for to feed his ireful eyes.
The king perceiving each thing to be wrought
As he had will'd, rejoicing to behold
Upon the bloody sword the pierced heart,
He calls then for this massy cup of gold,
Into the which the woful heart he cast;
And reaching me the same: now go, quoth he,
Unto my daughter, and with speedy haste
Present her this, and say to her from me,
Thy father hath here in this cup thee sent
That thing to joy and comfort thee withal,
Which thou lovedst best, even as thou wert content
To comfort him with his chief joy of all.

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

RENUCHIO.          Thus was Earl Palurin
Strangled unto the death, yea, after death
His heart and blood disbowell'd from his breast.
But what availeth plaint? It is but breath
Forewasted all in vain. Why do I rest
Here in this place? Why go I not, and do
The hateful message to my charge committed?
O, were it not that I am forced thereto
By a king's will, here would I stay my feet,
Ne one whit farther wade in this intent!
But I must yield me to my prince's hest;
Yet doth this somewhat comfort mine unrest,
I am resolv'd her grief not to behold,
But get me gone, my message being told.
Where is the princess' chamber?

CHORUS. Lo, where she comes.

ACT V., SCENE 2.

    GISMUND _cometh out of her chamber, to whom_
    RENUCHIO _delivereth his cup, saying_:

RENUCHIO. Thy father, O queen, here in this cup hath sent
The thing to joy and comfort thee withal
Which thou lovedst best, even as thou wast content
To comfort him with his chief joy of all.

GISMUNDA. I thank my father, and thee, gentle squire,
For this thy travail; take thou, for thy pains,
This bracelet, and commend me to the king.    [RENUCHIO _departeth_.
So, now is come the long-expected hour,
The fatal hour I have so looked for;
Now hath my father satisfied his thirst
With guiltless blood, which he so coveted.
What brings this cup? Ah me! I thought no less,
It is mine Earl's, my County's pierced heart.
Dear heart, too dearly hast thou bought my love;
Extremely rated at too high a price!
Ah, my sweet heart, sweet wast thou in thy life,
But in thy death thou provest passing sweet.
A fitter hearse than this of beaten gold
Could not be 'lotted to so good an heart:
My father therefore well provided thus
To close and wrap thee up in massy gold,
And therewithal to send thee unto me,
To whom of duty thou dost best belong.
My father hath in all his life bewray'd
A princely care and tender love to me;
But this surpasseth--in his later days
To send me this, mine own dear heart, to me.
Wert thou not mine, dear heart, whilst that my love
Danced and play'd upon thy golden strings?
Art thou not mine, dear heart, now that my love
Is fled to heaven, and got him golden wings?
Thou art mine own, and still mine own shalt be,
Therefore my father sendeth thee to me.
Ah, pleasant harborough[81] of my heart's thought!
Ah, sweet delight, the quickener of my soul!
Seven times accursed be the hand that wrought
Thee this despite, to mangle thee so foul:
Yet in this wound I see mine own true love,
And in this wound thy magnanimity,
And in this wound I see thy constancy.
Go, gentle heart, go rest thee in thy tomb,
Receive this token at thy last farewell.    [_She kisseth it_.
Thine own true heart anon will follow thee,
Which panting lusteth[82] for thy company.
Thus hast thou run, poor heart! thy mortal race,
And rid thy life from fickle fortune's snares;
Thus hast thou lost this world and worldly cares,
And of thy foe, to honour thee withal,
Receiv'd a golden grave to thy desert.
Nothing doth want to thy just funeral,
But my salt tears to wash thy bloody wound:
Which to the end thou might'st receive, behold
My father sends thee in this cup of gold;
And thou shalt have them, though I was resolv'd
To shed no tears, but with a cheerful face
Once did I think to wet thy funeral
Only with blood and with no weeping eye.
This done, forthwith my soul shall fly to thee;
For therefore did my father send thee me.
Ah, my pure heart! with sweeter company
Or more content, how safer may I prove
To pass to places all unknown with thee!
Why die I not therefore? why do I stay?
Why do I not this woful life forego,
And with these hands enforce this breath away?
What means this gorgeous glittering head-attire?
How ill beseem these billaments[83] of gold
Thy mournful widowhood? away with them--
                [_She undresseth her hair_.
So let thy tresses, flaring in the wind,
Untrimmed hang about thy bared neck.
Now, hellish furies, set my heart on fire,
Bolden my courage, strengthen ye my hands,
Against their kind, to do a kindly deed.
But shall I then unwreaken[84] down descend?
Shall I not work some just revenge on him
That thus hath slain my love? shall not these hands
Fire his gates, and make the flame to climb
Up to the pinnacles with burning brands,
And on his cinders wreak my cruel teen[85]?
Be still, fond girl; content thee first to die,
This venom'd water shall abridge thy life:
    [_She taketh a vial of poison out of her pocket_.
This for the same intent provided I,
Which can both ease and end this raging strife.
Thy father by thy death shall have more woe,
Than fire or flames within his gates can bring:
Content thee then in patience hence to go,
Thy death his blood shall wreak upon the king.
Now not alone (a grief to die alone)
"The only mirror of extreme annoy;"
But not alone thou diest, my love, for I
Will be copartner of thy destiny.
Be merry then, my soul; can'st thou refuse
To die with him, that death for thee did choose?

CHORUS 1. What damned fury hath possessed our Queen?
Why sit we still beholding her distress?
Madam, forbear, suppress this headstrong rage.

GISMUNDA. Maidens, forbear your comfortable words.

CHORUS 2. O worthy Queen, rashness doth overthrow
The author of his resolution.

GISMUNDA. Where hope of help is lost, what booteth fear?

CHORUS 3. Fear will avoid the sting of infamy.

GISMUNDA. May good or bad reports delight the dead?

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

GISMUNDA. An easy grief by counsel may be cur'd.

CHORUS 1. But headstrong mischiefs princes should avoid.

GISMUNDA. In headlong griefs and cases desperate?

CHORUS 2. Call to your mind, Gismund, you are the Queen.

GISMUNDA. Unhappy widow, wife, and paramour.

CHORUS 3. Think on the king.

GISMUNDA.                    The king, the tyrant king?

CHORUS 4. Your father.

GISMUNDA.              Yes, the murtherer of my love.

CHORUS 4. His force.

GISMUNDA.            The dead fear not the force of men.

CHORUS 1. His care and grief.

GISMUNDA.                     That neither car'd for me,
Nor grieved at the murther of my love.
My mind is settled; you with these vain words
Withhold me but too long from my desire.
Depart ye to my chamber.

CHORUS.                  We will haste
To tell the king hereof.
                     [CHORUS _depart into the palace_.

GISMUNDA.                I will prevent
Both you and him. Lo, here this hearty draught,
The last that in this world I mean to taste,
Dreadless of death, mine Earl, I drink to thee.
So now work on; now doth my soul begin
To hate this light, wherein there is no love;
No love of parents to their children;
No love of princes to their subjects true;
No love of ladies to their dearest loves:
Now pass I to the pleasant land of love,
Where heavenly love immortal flourisheth.
The gods abhor the company of men;
Hell is on earth; yea, hell itself is heaven
Compar'd with earth. I call to witness heaven;
Heaven, said I? No; hell[86] record I call,
And thou, stern goddess of revenging wrongs,
Witness with me, I die for his pure love.
That lived mine.

    [_She lieth down, and covereth her face
    with her hair_.

ACT V., SCENE 3.

    TANCRED _in haste cometh out of his palace with_ JULIO.

TANCRED. Where is my daughter?

JULIO. Behold, here, woful king!

TANCRED. Ah me! break, heart; and thou, fly forth, my soul.
What, doth my daughter Gismund take it so?
What hast thou done? O, let me see thine eyes!
O, let me dress up those untrimmed locks![87]
Look up, sweet child, look up, mine only joy,
'Tis I, thy father, that beseecheth thee:
Rear up thy body, strain thy dying voice
To speak to him; sweet Gismund, speak to me.

GISMUNDA. Who stays my soul? who thus disquiets me?

TANCRED. 'Tis I, thy father; ah! behold my tears,
Like pearled dew, that trickle down my cheeks,
To wash my silver hairs.

GISMUNDA.                O father king,
Forbear your tears, your plaint will not avail.

TANCRED. O my sweet heart, hast thou receiv'd thy life
From me, and wilt thou, to requite the same,
Yield me my death? yea, death, and greater grief--
To see thee die for him, that did defame
Thine honour thus, my kingdom, and thy name?

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

TANCRED. Say, lovely child, say on, whate'er it be,
Thy father grants it willingly to thee.

GISMUNDA. My life I crave not, for it is not now
In you to give, nor in myself to save;
Nor crave I mercy for mine Earl and me,
Who hath been slain with too much cruelty.
With patience I must a while abide
Within this life, which now will not be long.
But this is my request--father, I pray
That, since it pleased so your majesty,
I should enjoy my love alive no more,
Yet ne'ertheless let us not parted be,
Whom cruel death could never separate:
But as we liv'd and died together here,
So let our bodies be together tomb'd:
Let him with me, and I with him, be laid
Within one shrine, wherever you appoint.
This if you grant me, as I trust you will,
Although I live not to requite this grace,
Th'immortal gods due recompense shall give
To you for this: and so, vain world, farewell--
My speech is painful, and mine eyesight fails.

TANCRED. My daughter dies--see how the bitter pangs
Of tyrannous death torments her princely heart!
She looks on me, at me she shakes her head;
For me she groans; by me my daughter dies;
I, I the author of this tragedy.--
On me, on me, ye heavens, throw down your ire!
Now dies my daughter! [_she dies_] hence with
princely robes! [_He throws aside his robes_.
O fair in life! thrice fairer in thy death!
Dear to thy father in thy life thou wert,
But in thy death dearest unto his heart;
I kiss thy paled cheeks, and close thine eyes.
This duty once I promis'd to myself
Thou shouldst perform to me; but ah! false hope,
Now ruthful, wretched king, what resteth thee?
Wilt thou now live wasted with misery?
Wilt thou now live, that with these eyes didst see
Thy daughter dead? wilt thou now live to see
Her funerals, that of thy life was stay?
Wilt thou now live that wast her life's decay?
Shall not this hand reach to this heart the stroke?
Mine arms are not so weak, nor are my limbs
So feebled with mine age, nor is my heart
So daunted with the dread of cowardice,
But I can wreak due vengeance on that head,
That wrought the means these lovers now be dead.
Julio, come near, and lay thine own right hand
Upon my thigh[88]--now take thine oath of me.

JULIO. I swear to thee, my liege lord, to discharge
Whatever thou enjoinest Julio.

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

JULIO.                         I swear.
But will the king do so unkingly now?

TANCRED. A kingly deed the king resolves to do.

JULIO. To kill himself?

TANCRED.                To send his soul to ease.

JULIO. Doth Jove command it?

TANCRED.                     Our stars compel it.

JULIO. The wise man overrules his stars.

TANCRED.                                 So we.

JULIO. Undaunted should the minds of kings endure.

TANCRED. So shall it in this resolution.
Julio, forbear: and as thou lov'st the king,
When thou shalt see him welt'ring in his gore.
Stretching his limbs, and gasping in his groans,
Then, Julio, set to thy helping hand,
Redouble stroke on stroke, and drive the stab
Down deeper to his heart, to rid his soul.
Now stand aside, stir not a foot, lest thou
Make up the fourth to fill this tragedy.
These eyes that first beheld my daughter's shame;
These eyes that longed for the ruthful sight
Of her Earl's heart; these eyes that now have seen
His death, her woe, and her avenging teen;
Upon these eyes we must be first aveng'd.
Unworthy lamps of this accursed lump,
Out of your dwellings! [_Puts out his eyes_] So; it fits us thus
In blood and blindness to go seek the path
That leadeth down to everlasting night.
Why fright'st thou, dastard? be thou desperate;
One mischief brings another on his neck,
As mighty billows tumble in the seas,
Now, daughter, seest thou not how I amerce
My wrath, that thus bereft thee of thy love,
Upon my head? Now, fathers, learn by me,
Be wise, be warn'd to use more tenderly
The jewels of your joys. Daughter, I come.

                             [_Kills himself_.

FINIS.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY JULIO.

Lo here the sweets of grisly pale despair!
These are the blossoms of this cursed tree,
Such are the fruits of too much love and care,
O'erwhelmed in the sense of misery.
With violent hands he that his life doth end,
His damned soul to endless night doth wend.
Now resteth it that I discharge mine oath,
To see th'unhappy lovers and the king
Laid in one tomb. I would be very loth
You should wait here to see this mournful thing:
For I am sure, and do ye all to wit,
Through grief wherein the lords of Salerne be,
These funerals are not prepared yet:
Nor do they think on that solemnity.
As for the fury, ye must understand,
Now she hath seen th'effect of her desire,
She is departed, and hath left our land.
Granting this end unto her hellish ire.
Now humbly pray we, that our English dames
May never lead their loves into mistrust;
But that their honours may avoid the shames,
That follow such as live in wanton lust.
We know they bear them on their virtues bold,
With blissful chastity so well content
That, when their lives and loves abroad are told,
All men admire their virtuous government;
Worthy to live where fury never came,
Worthy to live where love doth always see,
Worthy to live in golden trump of fame,
Worthy to live and honoured still to be.
Thus end our sorrows with the setting sun:
Now draw the curtains, for our scene is done.

                                    R.W.

THE WOUNDS OF CIVIL WAR.

_EDITION.

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

MR. COLLIER'S PREFACE.[89]

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

Langbaine seems to be under a mistake when he states that Lodge was of
Cambridge. Wood claims him for the University of Oxford,[90] where he
traces him as early as 1573, when he must have been about seventeen
years old, if he were born, as is generally supposed, in 1556. We are
told by himself that he was a Servitor of Trinity College, and that he
was educated under Sir Edward Hoby. At what time and for what cause
Lodge left Oxford is not known; but Stephen Gosson, in the dedication of
his "Plays Confuted in Five Actions," printed about 1582,[91] accuses
him of having become "a vagrant person, visited by the heavy hand of
God," as if he had taken to the stage, and thereby had incurred the
vengeance of heaven. In 1584, when Lodge answered Gosson, he was a
student of Lincoln's Inn;[92] and to "his courteous friends, the
Gentlemen of the Inns of Court," he dedicated his "Alarum against
Usurers." He afterwards, as he informs Lord Hunsdon, in the epistle
before his "Rosalynde," 1590, "fell from books to arms;" and he calls it
"the work of a soldier and a scholar," adding that he had sailed with
Captain Clarke to the islands of Terceras and the Canaries. In 1596, he
published his "Margarite of America," and he mentions that it was
written in the Straits of Magellan, on a voyage with Cavendish. To this
species of vagrancy, however, Gosson did not refer.

That Lodge was vagrant in his pursuits we have sufficient evidence; for,
after having perhaps been upon the stage, having entered himself at
Lincoln's Inn, having become a soldier, and having sailed with Clarke
and Cavendish, he went, according to Wood, to study medicine at
Avignon.[93] This change, if it took place at all, which may admit of
doubt,[94] did not occur until after 1596. In 1595 his "Fig for Momus"
appeared. Besides Satires, it contains Epistles and Eclogues; and in one
of the latter Lodge speaks in his own person, under the character of
"Golde" (the same letters that compose his name), and there states his
determination no longer to pursue ill-rewarded poetry--

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

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

The principal reasons for supposing that Lodge studied medicine are the
existence of a "Treatise of the Plague," published by "Thomas Lodge,
Doctor in Physic," in 1603, and of a collection of medical recipes in
MS., called "The Poor Man's Legacy," addressed to the Countess of
Arundel, and sold among the books of the Duke of Norfolk.[95] [There can
be little or no question that the physician and poet were one and the
same. In "England's Parnassus," 1600, he is called indifferently Thomas
Lodge and Doctor Lodge.] The author of the "Treatise of the Plague"
expressly tells the Lord Mayor of London, in the dedication, that he was
"bred and brought up" in the city. Thomas Heywood, in his "Troja
Britannica," 1609, enumerates the celebrated physicians then living--

    "As famous Butler, Pedy, Turner, Poe,
    Atkinson, Lyster, _Lodge_, who still survive."--C. 3.

It hardly deserves remark that Lodge is placed last in this list; but
had he been the same individual who had written for the stage, was the
friend of so many dramatists, and was so well known as a lyric poet, it
seems likely that Heywood would have said more about him.[96] It is a
singular coincidence, that having written how to prevent and cure the
plague, he should die of that disease during the great mortality of
1625. Wood's expressions on this point, however, are not decisive: "He
made his last _exit_ (of the plague, I think) in September 1625, leaving
then behind him a widow called Joan." It has been conjectured [rather
foolishly] that he was a Roman Catholic, from a statement made by one of
his biographers that, while he practised medicine in London, he was much
patronised by persons of that persuasion.

There are but two existing dramatic productions on the title-pages of
which the name of Lodge is found:[97] the one he wrote alone, and the
other in partnership with Robert Greene:--

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

(2.) A Looking Glasse for London and Englande. Made by Thomas Lodge,
Gentleman, and Robert Greene, _in Artibus Magister_. 1594, 1598, 1602,
1617, all in 4to.[98]

The most remarkable [of his works], and that which has been most often
reprinted, is his "Rosalynde" which, as is well known, Shakespeare
closely followed in "As You Like It."[99]

Anterior to the date of any of his other pieces must have been Lodge's
defence of stage-plays, because Stephen Gosson replied to it about 1582.
It was long thought, on the authority of Prynne, that Lodge's tract was
called "The Play of Plays," but Mr Malone ascertained that to be a
different production. The only copy of Lodge's pamphlet seen by Mr
Malone was without a title, and it was probably the same that was sold
among the books of Topham Beauclerc in 1781. It is spoken of in "The
French Academy" [1589] as having "lately passed the press;" but Lodge
himself, in his "Alarum against Usurers," very clearly accounts for its
extreme rarity: he says, "by reason of the slenderness of the subject
(because it was in defence of plaies and play-makers) the godly and
reverent that had to deal in the cause, misliking it, forbad the
publishing;" and he charges Gosson with "comming by a private unperfect
coppye," on which he framed his answer, entitled, "Plays confuted in
Five Actions."

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

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

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

THE MOST LAMENTABLE AND TRUE

    TRAGEDIES OF

MARIUS AND SYLLA.[100]

    _Enter on the Capitol_ SULPITIUS, _Tribune_, CAIUS MARIUS,
    Q. POMPEY, _Consul_, JUNIUS BRUTUS, LUCRETIUS, CAIUS GRANIUS,
    LECTORIUS, LUCIUS MERULA, _Jupiter's Priest, and_ CINNA;
    _whom placed, and their Lictors before them with their rods
    and axes_, SULPITIUS _beginneth_.

SULPITIUS. Grave senators, and fathers of this state,
Our strange protractions and unkind delays
Where weighty wars doth call us out to fight,
Our factious wits, to please aspiring lords,
(You see) have added power unto our foes,
And hazarded rich Phrygia and Bithinia,
With all our Asian holds and cities too.
Thus Sylla seeking to be general,
Who is invested in our consul's pall,[101]
Hath forced murders in a quiet state;
The cause whereof even Pompey may complain,
Who, seeking to advance a climbing friend,
Hath lost by death a sweet and courteous son.
Who now in Asia but Mithridates
Laughs at these fond dissensions I complain?
While we, in wrangling for a general,
Forsake our friends, forestal our forward war,
And leave our legions full of dalliance:
Waiting our idle wills at Capua.
Fie, Romans! shall the glories of your names,
The wondrous beauty of this capitol,
Perish through Sylla's insolence and pride;
As if that Rome were robb'd of true renown,
And destitute of warlike champions now?
Lo, here the man, the rumour of whose fame,
Hath made Iberia tremble and submit:
See Marius, that in managing estate,
Though many cares and troubles he hath pass'd,
And spent his youth, upon whose reverend head
The milk-white pledge of wisdom sweetly spreads.
He, six times consul, fit for peace or war,
Sits drooping here, content to brook disgrace,
Who glad to fight through follies of his foes
Sighs for your shame, whilst you abide secure.
And I that see and should recure these wrongs,
Through Pompey's late vacation and delay,
Have left to publish him for general,
That merits better titles far than these.
But, nobles, now the final day is come,
When I, your tribune, studying for renown,
Pronounce and publish Marius general,
To lead our legions against Mithridates,
And crave, grave fathers, signs of your content.

Q. POMPEY. Believe me, noble Romans and grave senators,
This strange election, and this new-made law
Will witness our unstable government,
And dispossess Rome of her empery:
For although Marius be renown'd in arms,
Famous for prowess, and grave in warlike drifts,
Yet may the sunshine of his former deeds
Nothing eclipse our Sylla's dignity.
By lot and by election he was made
Chief general against Mithridates,
And shall we then abridge him of that rule?
'Twere injury to Sylla and to Rome:
Nor would the height of his all-daring mind
Brook to the death so vile and foul disgrace.

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

LUCRETIUS. So thus we strive abroad to win renown,
And nought regard at home our waning states.
Brutus, I say, the many brave exploits,
The warlike acts that Sylla has achiev'd
Show him a soldier and a Roman too,
Whose care is more for country than himself.
Sylla nill brook[102], that in so many wars,
So hard adventures and so strange extremes,
Hath borne the palm and prize of victory,
Thus with dishonour to give up his charge.
Sylla hath friends and soldiers at command,
That first will make the towers of Rome to shake,
And force the stately capitol to dance,
Ere any rob him of his just renown.
Then we that through the Caspian shores have run,
And spread with ships the Oriental sea,
At home shall make a murder of our friends,
And massacre our dearest countrymen.

LECTORIUS. The power of Sylla nought will 'vail 'gainst Rome;
And let me die, Lucretius, ere I see
Our senate dread for any private man. Therefore,
Renown'd Sulpitius, send for Sylla back:
Let Marius lead our men in Asia.

L. MERULA. The law the senate wholly doth affirm:
Let Marius lead our men in Asia.

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

C. GRANIUS. Honour and victory follow Marius' steps!
For him doth Granius wish to fight for Rome.

SULPITIUS. Why then, you sage and ancient sires of Rome,
Sulpitius here again doth publish forth,
That Marius by the senate here is made
Chief general to lead the legions out
Against Mithridates and his competitors.
Now victory, for honour of Rome, follow Marius!

             [_Here let_ MARIUS _rouse himself_.

MARIUS. Sage and imperial senators of Rome,
Not without good advisement have you seen
Old Marius silent during your discourse:
Yet not for that he fear'd to plead his cause,
Or raise his honour trodden down by age,
But that his words should not allure his friends
To stand on stricter terms for his behoof.
Six times the senate by election hath
Made Marius consul over warlike Rome,
And in that space nor Rome nor all the world
Could ever say that Marius was untrue.
These silver hairs, that hang upon my face,
Are witnesses of my unfeigned zeal.
The Cymbrians, that erewhile invaded France,
And held the Roman empire in disdain,
Lay all confounded under Marius' sword:
Fierce Scipio, the mirror once of Rome,
Whose loss as yet my inward soul bewails,
Being ask'd who should succeed and bear his rule,
Even this, quoth he, shall Scipio's armour bear;
And therewithal clapp'd me upon the back.[103]
If then, grave lords, my former-passed youth
Was spent in bringing honours unto[104] Rome,
Let then my age and latter date of years,
Be sealed up for honour unto Rome.

    _Here enter_ SYLLA, _with Captains and Soldiers_.

SULPITIUS. Sylla, what mean these arms and warlike troops?
These glorious ensigns and these fierce alarm[s]
'Tis proudly done to brave the capitol!

SYLLA. These arms, Sulpitius, are not borne for hate,
But maintenance of my confirmed state:
I come to Rome with no seditious thoughts,
Except I find too froward injuries.

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

SYLLA. What serious matters have these lords in hand?

SULPITIUS. The senators with full decree appoint
Old Marius for their captain-general,
To lead thy legions into Asia,
And fight against the fierce Mithridates.

SYLLA. To Marius? Jolly stuff! Why then I see
Your lordships mean to make a babe of me.

J. BRUTUS. 'Tis true, Sylla, the senate hath agreed
That Marius shall those bands and legions bear,
Which you now hold, against Mithridates.

SYLLA. Marius should[105] lead them then, if Sylla said not no;
And I should be a consul's shadow then.
Trustless senators and ungrateful Romans,
For all the honours I have done to Rome,
For all the spoils I brought within her walls,
Thereby for to enrich and raise her pride,
Repay you me with this ingratitude?
You know, unkind, that Sylla's wounded helm
Was ne'er hung up once, or distain'd with rust:
The Marcians that before me fell amain,
And like to winter-hail on every side,
Unto the city Nuba I pursued,
And for your sakes were thirty thousand slain.
The Hippinians and the Samnites Sylla brought
As tributaries unto famous Rome:
Ay, where did Sylla ever draw his sword,
Or lift his warlike hand above his head
For Romans' cause, but he was conqueror?
And now, unthankful, seek you to disgrade
And tear the plumes that Sylla's sword hath won?
Marius, I tell thee Sylla is the man
Disdains to stoop or vail his pride to thee.
Marius, I say thou may'st nor shalt not have
The charge that unto Sylla doth belong,
Unless thy sword could tear it from my heart,
Which in a thousand folds impales[106] the same.

MARIUS. And, Sylla, hereof be thou full assur'd:
The honour, whereto mine undaunted mind
And this grave senate hath enhanced me,
Thou nor thy followers shall derogate.
The space[107] of years that Marius hath o'erpass'd
In foreign broils and civil mutinies,
Hath taught him this: that one unbridled foe
My former fortunes never shall o'ergo.

SYLLA. Marius, I smile at these thy foolish words;
And credit me, should laugh outright, I fear,
If that I knew not how thy froward age
Doth make thy sense as feeble as thy joints.

MARIUS. Sylla, Sylla, Marius' years have taught
Him how to pluck so proud a younker's plumes;
And know, these hairs, that dangle down my face,
In brightness like the silver Rhodope,
Shall add so haughty courage to my mind,
And rest such piercing objects 'gainst thine eyes,
That mask'd in folly age shall force thee stoop.

SYLLA. And by my hand I swear, ere thou shalt 'maze me so,
My soul shall perish but I'll have thy beard.
Say, grave senators, shall Sylla be your general?

SULPITIUS. No: the senate, I, and Rome herself agrees
There's none but Marius shall be general.
Therefore, Sylla, these daring terms unfit
Beseem not thee before the capitol.

SYLLA. Beseem not me? Senators, advise you.
Sylla hath vowed, whose vows the heavens record,
Whose oaths have pierc'd and search'd the deepest vast,
Ay, and whose protestations reign on earth:
This capitol, wherein your glories shine,
Was ne'er so press'd and throng'd with scarlet gowns
As Rome shall be with heaps of slaughtered souls,
Before that Sylla yield his titles up.
I'll make[108] her streets, that peer into the clouds,
Burnish'd with gold and ivory pillars fair,
Shining with jasper, jet, and ebony,
All like the palace of the morning sun,
To swim within a sea of purple blood,
Before I lose the name of general.

MARIUS. These threats against thy country and these lords,
Sylla, proceed from forth a traitor's heart;
Whose head I trust to see advanced up
On highest top of all this capitol,
As erst was many of thy progeny,
Before thou vaunt thy victories in Rome.

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

MARIUS. I take thy word: Marius will meet thee there,
And prove thee, Sylla, traitor unto Rome,
And all that march under thy trait'rous wings.
Therefore they that love the Senate and Marius,
Now follow him.

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

    [_Here let the Senate rise and cast away their gowns,
    having their swords by their sides. Exit_ MARIUS, _and
    with him_ SULPITIUS, JUNIUS, BRUTUS, LECTORIUS.

Q. POMPEY. Sylla, I come to thee.

LUCRETIUS. Sylla, Lucretius will die with thee.

SYLLA. Thanks, my noble lords of Rome.

    [_Here let them go down, and_ SYLLA _offers to go
    forth, and_ ANTHONY _calls him back_:

ANTHONY. Stay, Sylla; hear Anthony breathe forth