ACT THE FIFTH
SCENE I.—Castle of Sir Cuthbert Anderson.
Enter Queen Dorothea in man's apparel and in a nightgown, Lady Anderson, and Nano; and Sir Cuthbert Anderson behind.
Lady And. My gentle friend, beware, in taking air,
Your walks grow not offensive to your wounds.
Q. Dor. Madam, I thank you of your courteous care:
My wounds are well-nigh clos'd, though sore they are.
Lady And. Methinks these closèd wounds should breed more grief,
Since open wounds have cure, and find relief.
Q. Dor. Madam, if undiscover'd wounds you mean,
They are not cur'd, because they are not seen.
Lady And. I mean the wounds which do the heart subdue.
Nano. O, that is love: Madam, speak I not true?
[Sir Cuthbert Anderson overhears.
Lady And. Say it were true, what salve for such a sore?
Nano. Be wise, and shut such neighbours out of door.
Lady And. How if I cannot drive him from my breast?
Nano. Then chain him well, and let him do his best.
Sir Cuth. [aside]. In ripping up their wounds, I see their wit;
But if these wounds be cur'd, I sorrow it.
Q. Dor. Why are you so intentive to behold
My pale and woful looks, by care controll'd?
Lady And. Because in them a ready way is found
To cure my care and heal my hidden wound.
Nano. Good master, shut your eyes, keep that conceit;
Surgeons give coin to get a good receipt.
Q. Dor. Peace, wanton son; this lady did amend
My wounds; mine eyes her hidden griefs shall end.
Nano. Look not too much, it is a weighty case
Whereas a man puts on a maiden's face;
For many times, if ladies 'ware them not,
A nine months' wound, with little work is got.
Sir Cuth. [aside]. I'll break off their dispute, lest love proceed
From covert smiles, to perfect love indeed.
[Comes forward.
Nano. The cat's abroad, stir not, the mice be still.
Lady And. Tut, we can fly such cats, when so we will.
Sir Cuth. How fares my guest? take cheer, naught shall default,
That either doth concern your health or joy:
Use me; my house, and what is mine is yours.
Q. Dor. Thanks, gentle knight; and, if all hopes be true,
I hope ere long to do as much for you.
Sir Cuth. Your virtue doth acquit me of that doubt:
But, courteous sir, since troubles call me hence,
I must to Edinburgh unto the king,
There to take charge, and wait him in his wars.—
Meanwhile, good madam, take this squire in charge,
And use him so as if it were myself.
Lady And. Sir Cuthbert, doubt not of my diligence:
Meanwhile, till your return, God send you health.
Q. Dor. God bless his grace, and, if his cause be just,
Prosper his wars; if not, he'll mend, I trust.
Good sir, what moves the king to fall to arms?
Sir Cuth. The King of England forageth his land,
And hath besieg'd Dunbar with mighty force.
What other news are common in the court.
Read you these letters, madam;
[giving letters to Lady Anderson]
tell the squire
The whole affairs of state, for I must hence.
Q. Dor. God prosper you, and bring you back from thence!
[Exit Sir Cuthbert Anderson.
Madam, what news?
Lady And. They say the queen is slain.
Q. Dor. Tut, such reports more false than truth contain.
Lady And. But these reports have made his nobles leave him.
Q. Dor. Ah, careless men, and would they so deceive him?
Lady And. The land is spoil'd, the commons fear the cross;
All cry against the king, their cause of loss:
The English king subdues and conquers all.
Q. Dor. Alas, this war grows great on causes small!
Lady And. Our court is desolate, our prince alone,
Still dreading death.
Q. Dor. Woe's me, for him I mourn!
Help, now help, a sudden qualm
Assails my heart!
Nano. Good madam, stand his friend:
Give us some liquor to refresh his heart.
Lady And. Daw thou him up,[289] and I will fetch thee forth
Potions of comfort, to repress his pain. [Exit.
Nano. Fie, princess, faint on every fond report!
How well-nigh had you open'd your estate!
Cover these sorrows with the veil of joy,
And hope the best; for why this war will cause
A great repentance in your husband's mind.
Q. Dor. Ah, Nano, trees live not without their sap,
And Clytie cannot blush but on the sun;
The thirsty earth is broke with many a gap,
And lands are lean where rivers do not run:
Where soul is reft from that it loveth best,
How can it thrive or boast of quiet rest?
Thou know'st the prince's loss must be my death,
His grief, my grief; his mischief must be mine.
O, if thou love me, Nano, hie to court!
Tell Ross, tell Bartram, that I am alive;
Conceal thou yet the place of my abode:
Will them, even as they love their queen,
As they are chary of my soul and joy,
To guard the king, to serve him as my lord.
Haste thee, good Nano, for my husband's care
Consumeth me, and wounds me to the heart.
Nano. Madam, I go, yet loth to leave you here.
Q. Dor. Go thou with speed: even as thou hold'st me dear,
Return in haste. [Exit Nano.
Re-enter Lady Anderson.
Lady And. Now, sir, what cheer? come taste this broth I bring.
Q. Dor. My grief is past, I feel no further sting.
Lady And. Where is your dwarf? why hath he left you, sir?
Q. Dor. For some affairs: he is not travell'd far.
Lady And. If so you please, come in and take your rest.
Q. Dor. Fear keeps awake a discontented breast.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Porch to the Castle of the Countess of Arran.
After a solemn service, enter from the Countess of Arran's house a service, with musical songs of marriages, or a mask, or pretty triumph: to them Ateukin and Jaques.
Ateu. What means this triumph, friend? why are these feasts?
First Revel. Fair Ida, sir, was married yesterday
Unto Sir Eustace, and for that intent
We feast and sport it thus to honour them:
An, if you please, come in and take your part;
My lady is no niggard of her cheer.
[Exeunt Revellers.
Jaq. Monseigneur, why be you so sadda? faites bonne chere: foutre de ce monde!
Ateu. What, was I born to be the scorn of kin?
To gather feathers like to a hopper-crow,
And lose them in the height of all my pomp?
Accursèd man, now is my credit lost!
Where are my vows I made unto the king?
What shall become of me, if he shall hear
That I have caus'd him kill a virtuous queen,
And hope in vain for that which now is lost?
Where shall I hide my head? I know the heavens
Are just and will revenge; I know my sins
Exceed compare. Should I proceed in this,
This Eustace must amain be made away.
O, were I dead, how happy should I be!
Jaq. Est ce donc à tel point votre etat? faith, then adieu, Scotland, adieu, Signior Ateukin: me will homa to France, and no be hanged in a strange country. [Exit.
Ateu. Thou dost me good to leave me thus alone,
That galling grief and I may yoke in one.
O, what are subtle means to climb on high,
When every fall swarms with exceeding shame?
I promis'd Ida's love unto the prince,
But she is lost, and I am false forsworn.
I practis'd Dorothea's hapless death,
And by this practice have commenc'd a war.
O cursèd race of men, that traffic guile,
And, in the end, themselves and kings beguile!
Asham'd to look upon my prince again,
Asham'd of my suggestions and advice,
Asham'd of life, asham'd that I have err'd,
I'll hide myself, expecting for[290] my shame.
Thus God doth work with those that purchase fame
By flattery, and make their prince their game. [Exit.
SCENE III.—The English Camp before Dunbar.
Enter the King of England, Lord Percy, Samles, and others.
K. of Eng.[291] Thus far, ye English peers, have we display'd
Our waving ensigns with a happy war;
Thus nearly hath our furious rage reveng'd
My daughter's death upon the traitorous Scot.
And now before Dunbar our camp is pitch'd;
Which, if it yield not to our compromise,
The plough shall furrow where the palace stood,
And fury shall enjoy so high a power
That mercy shall be banish'd from our swords.
Enter Douglas and others on the walls.
Doug. What seeks the English king?
K. of Eng. Scot, open those gates, and let me enter in:
Submit thyself and thine unto my grace,
Or I will put each mother's son to death,
And lay this city level with the ground.
Doug. For what offence, for what default of ours,
Art thou incens'd so sore against our state?
Can generous hearts in nature be so stern
To prey on those that never did offend?
What though the lion, king of brutish race,
Through outrage sin, shall lambs be therefore slain?
Or is it lawful that the humble die
Because the mighty do gainsay the right?
O English king, thou bearest in thy crest
The king of beasts, that harms not yielding ones:
The roseal cross is spread within thy field,
A sign of peace, not of revenging war.
Be gracious, then, unto this little town;
And, though we have withstood thee for awhile
To show allegiance to our liefest liege,
Yet, since we know no hope of any help,
Take us to mercy, for we yield ourselves.
K. of Eng. What, shall I enter, then, and be your lord?
Doug. We will submit us to the English king.
[They descend, open the gates, and humble themselves.
K. of Eng. Now life and death dependeth on my sword:
This hand now rear'd, my Douglas, if I list,
Could part thy head and shoulders both in twain;
But, since I see thee wise and old in years,
True to thy king, and faithful in his wars,
Live thou and thine. Dunbar is too-too small
To give an entrance to the English king:
I, eagle-like, disdain these little fowls,
And look on none but those that dare resist.
Enter your town, as those that live by me:
For others that resist, kill, forage, spoil.
Mine English soldiers, as you love your king,
Revenge his daughter's death, and do me right.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—Near the Scottish Camp.
Enter a Lawyer, a Merchant, and a Divine.
Law. My friends, what think you of this present state?
Were ever seen such changes in a time?
The manners and the fashions of this age
Are, like the ermine-skin, so full of spots,
As sooner may the Moor be washèd white
Than these corruptions banish'd from this realm.
Merch. What sees Mas Lawyer in this state amiss?
Law. A wresting power that makes a nose of wax
Of grounded law, a damn'd and subtle drift
In all estates to climb by others' loss;
An eager thirst of wealth, forgetting truth.
Might I ascend unto the highest states,
And by descent discover every crime,
My friends, I should lament, and you would grieve
To see the hapless ruins of this realm.
Div. O lawyer, thou hast curious eyes to pry
Into the secret maims of their estate;
But if thy veil of error were unmask'd,
Thyself should see your sect do maim her most.
Are you not those that should maintain the peace,
Yet only are the patrons of our strife?
If your profession have his ground and spring
First from the laws of God, then country's right,
Not any ways inverting nature's power,
Why thrive you by contentions? why devise you
Clauses, and subtle reasons to except?
Our state was first, before you grew so great,
A lantern to the world for unity:
Now they that are befriended and are rich
Oppress the poor: come Homer without coin,
He is not heard. What shall we term this drift?
To say the poor man's cause is good and just,
And yet the rich man gains the best in law?
It is your guise (the more the world laments)
To coin provisos to beguile your laws;
To make a gay pretext of due proceeding,
When you delay your common-pleas for years.
Mark what these dealings lately here have wrought:
The crafty men have purchas'd great men's lands;
They powl,[292] they pinch, their tenants are undone;
If these complain, by you they are undone;
You fleece them of their coin, their children beg,
And many want, because you may be rich:
This scar is mighty, Master Lawyer.
Now war hath gotten head within this land,
Mark but the guise. The poor man that is wrong'd
Is ready to rebel; he spoils, he pills;
We need no foes to forage that we have:
The law, say they, in peace consumèd us,
And now in war we will consume the law.
Look to this mischief, lawyers: conscience knows
You live amiss; amend it, lest you end!
Law. Good Lord, that these divines should see so far
In others' faults, without amending theirs!
Sir, sir, the general defaults in state
(If you would read before you did correct)
Are, by a hidden working from above,
By their successive changes still remov'd.
Were not the law by contraries maintain'd,
How could the truth from falsehood be discern'd?
Did we not taste the bitterness of war,
How could we know the sweet effects of peace?
Did we not feel the nipping winter-frosts,
How should we know the sweetness of the spring?
Should all things still remain in one estate,
Should not in greatest arts some scars be found?
Were all upright, nor chang'd, what world were this?
A chaos, made of quiet, yet no world,
Because the parts thereof did still accord:
This matter craves a variance, not a speech.
But, Sir Divine, to you: look on your maims,
Divisions, sects, your simonies, and bribes,
Your cloaking with the great for fear to fall,—
You shall perceive you are the cause of all.
Did each man know there was a storm at hand,
Who would not clothe him well, to shun the wet?
Did prince and peer, the lawyer and the least,
Know what were sin, without a partial gloss,
We'd need no long discovery then of crimes,
For each would mend, advis'd by holy men.
Thus [I] but slightly shadow out your sins;
But, if they were depainted out of life,
Alas, we both had wounds enough to heal!
Merch. None of you both, I see, but are in fault;
Thus simple men, as I, do swallow flies.
This grave divine can tell us what to do;
But we may say, "Physician, mend thyself."
This lawyer hath a pregnant wit to talk;
But all are words, I see no deeds of worth.
Law. Good merchant, lay your fingers on your mouth;
Be not a blab, for fear you bite yourself.
What should I term your state, but even the way
To every ruin in this commonweal?
You bring us in the means of all excess,
You rate it and retail it as you please;
You swear, forswear, and all to compass wealth;
Your money is your god, your hoard your heaven;
You are the groundwork of contention.
First, heedless youth by you is over-reach'd;
We are corrupted by your many crowns:
The gentlemen, whose titles you have bought,
Lose all their fathers' toil within a day,
Whilst Hob your son, and Sib your nutbrown child,
Are gentlefolks, and gentles are beguil'd.
This makes so many noble minds to stray,
And take sinister courses in the state.
Enter a Scout.
Scout. My friends, be gone, an if you love your lives!
The King of England marcheth here at hand:
Enter the camp, for fear you be surpris'd.
Div. Thanks, gentle scout,—God mend that is amiss,
And place true zeal whereas corruption is! [Exeunt.
SCENE V.—Castle of Sir Cuthbert Anderson.
Enter Queen Dorothea in man's apparel, Lady Anderson, and Nano.
Q. Dor. What news in court, Nano? let us know it.
Nano. If so you please, my lord, I straight will show it:
The English king hath all the borders spoil'd,
Hath taken Morton prisoner, and hath slain
Seven thousand Scottish lads not far from Tweed.
Q. Dor. A woful murder and a bloody deed!
Nano. The king, our liege, hath sought by many means
For to appease his enemy by prayers:
Naught will prevail unless he can restore
Fair Dorothea, long supposèd dead:
To this intent he hath proclaimèd late,
That whosoe'er return the queen to court
Shall have a thousand marks for his reward.
Lady And. He loves her, then, I see, although enforc'd,
That would bestow such gifts for to regain her.
Why sit you sad, good sir? be not dismay'd.
Nano. I'll lay my life, this man would be a maid.
Q. Dor. [aside to Nano]. Fain would I show myself, and change my tire.
Lady And. Whereon divine you, sir?
Nano. Upon desire.
Madam, mark but my skill. I'll lay my life,
My master here, will prove a married wife.
Q. Dor. [aside to Nano]. Wilt thou bewray me, Nano?
Nano. [aside to Dor.]. Madam, no:
You are a man, and like a man you go:
But I, that am in speculation seen,[293]
Know you would change your state to be a queen.
Q. Dor. [aside to Nano]. Thou art not, dwarf, to learn thy mistress' mind:
Fain would I with thyself disclose my kind,
But yet I blush.
Nano. [aside to Dor.]. What? blush you, madam, than,[294]
To be yourself, who are a feignèd man?[295]
Lady And. Deceitful beauty, hast thou scorn'd me so?
Nano. Nay, muse not, madam, for he tells you true.
Lady And. Beauty bred love, and love hath bred my shame.
Nano. And women's faces work more wrongs than these:
Take comfort, madam, to cure your disease.
And yet he loves a man as well as you,
Only this difference, he cannot fancy two.
Lady And. Blush, grieve, and die in thine insatiate lust.
Q. Dor. Nay, live, and joy that thou hast won a friend,
That loves thee as his life by good desert.
Lady And. I joy, my lord, more than my tongue can tell:
Though not as I desir'd, I love you well.
But modesty, that never blush'd before,
Discover my false heart: I say no more.
Let me alone.
Q. Dor. Good Nano, stay awhile.
Were I not sad, how kindly could I smile,
To see how fain I am to leave this weed!
And yet I faint to show myself indeed:
But danger hates delay; I will be bold.—
Fair lady, I am not [as you] suppose,
A man, but even that queen, more hapless I,
Whom Scottish king appointed hath to die;
I am the hapless princess, for whose right,
These kings in bloody wars revenge despite;
I am that Dorothea whom they seek,
Yours bounden for your kindness and relief;
And, since you are the means that save my life,
Yourself and I will to the camp repair,
Whereas your husband shall enjoy reward,
And bring me to his highness once again.
Lady And. Pardon, most gracious princess, if you please,
My rude discourse and homely entertain;
And, if my words may savour any worth,
Vouchsafe my counsel in this weighty cause:
Since that our liege hath so unkindly dealt,
Give him no trust, return unto your sire;
There may you safely live in spite of him.
Q. Dor. Ah lady, so would worldly counsel work;
But constancy, obedience, and my love,
In that my husband is my lord and chief,
These call me to compassion of his state:
Dissuade me not, for virtue will not change.
Lady And. What wondrous constancy is this I hear!
If English dames their husbands love so dear,
I fear me in the world they have no peer.
Nano. Come, princess, wend, and let us change your weed:
I long to see you now a queen indeed. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI.—Camp of the King of Scots.
Enter the King of Scots, the English Herald, and Lords.
K. of Scots. He would have parley, lords. Herald, say he shall,
And get thee gone. Go, leave me to myself.
[Exit Herald.—Lords retire.
'Twixt love and fear, continual is the war;
The one assures me of my Ida's love,
The other moves me for my murder'd queen:
Thus find I grief of that whereon I joy,
And doubt in greatest hope, and death in weal.
Alas, what hell may be compar'd with mine,
Since in extremes my comforts do consist!
War then will cease, when dead ones are reviv'd;
Some then will yield when I am dead for hope.—
Who doth disturb me?
Enter Andrew and Slipper.
Andrew?
And. Ay, my liege.
K. of Scots. What news?
And. I think my mouth was made at first
To tell these tragic tales, my liefest lord.
K. of Scots. What, is Ateukin dead? tell me the worst.
And. No, but your Ida—shall I tell him all?—
Is married late—ah, shall I say to whom?—
My master sad—for why he shames the court—
Is fled away; ah, most unhappy flight!
Only myself—ah, who can love you more!—
To show my duty,—duty past belief,—
Am come unto your grace, O gracious liege,
To let you know—O, would it were not thus!—
That love is vain and maids soon lost and won.
K. of Scots. How have the partial heavens, then, dealt with me,
Boding my weal, for to abase my power!
Alas, what thronging thoughts do me oppress!
Injurious love is partial in my right,
And flattering tongues, by whom I was misled,
Have laid a snare, to spoil my state and me.
Methinks I hear my Dorothea's ghost
Howling revenge for my accursèd hate:
The ghosts of those my subjects that are slain
Pursue me, crying out, "Woe, woe to lust!"
The foe pursues me at my palace-door,
He breaks my rest, and spoils me in my camp.
Ah, flattering brood of sycophants, my foes!
First shall my dire revenge begin on you.—
I will reward thee, Andrew.
Slip. Nay, sir, if you be in your deeds of charity, remember me. I rubbed Master Ateukin's horse-heels when he rid to the meadows.
K. of Scots. And thou shalt have thy recompense for that.—
Lords, bear them to the prison, chain them fast,
Until we take some order for their deaths.
[Lords seize them.
And. If so your grace in such sort give rewards,
Let me have naught; I am content to want.
Slip. Then, I pray, sir, give me all; I am as ready for a reward as an oyster for a fresh tide; spare not me, sir.
K. of Scots. Then hang them both as traitors to the king.
Slip. The case is altered, sir: I'll none of your gifts. What, I take a reward at your hands, master! faith, sir, no; I am a man of a better conscience.
K. of Scots. Why dally you? Go draw them hence away.
Slip. Why, alas, sir, I will go away.—I thank you, gentle friends; I pray you spare your pains: I will not trouble his honour's mastership; I'll run away.
K. of Scots. Why stay you? move me not. Let search be made
For vile Ateukin: whoso finds him out
Shall have five hundred marks for his reward.
Away with them, lords!
Enter Oberon and Antics, and carry away Slipper; he makes pots[296] and sports, and scorns. Andrew is removed.
Troops, about my tent!
Let all our soldiers stand in battle 'ray;
For, lo, the English to their parley come.
March over bravely, first the English host, the sword carried before the King by Percy; the Scottish on the other side, with all their pomp, bravely.
What seeks the King of England in this land?
K. of Eng. False, traitorous Scot, I come for to revenge
My daughter's death; I come to spoil thy wealth,
Since thou hast spoil'd me of my marriage joy;
I come to heap thy land with carcases,
That this thy thirsty soil, chok'd up with blood,
May thunder forth revenge upon thy head;
I come to quit thy loveless love with death:
In brief, no means of peace shall e'er be found,
Except I have my daughter or thy head.
K. of Scots. My head, proud king! abase thy pranking plumes:
So striving fondly, mayst thou catch thy grave.
But, if true judgment do direct thy course,
This lawful reason should divert the war:
Faith, not by my consent thy daughter died.
K. of Eng. Thou liest, false Scot! thy agents have confess'd it.
These are but fond delays: thou canst not think
A means to reconcile me for thy friend.
I have thy parasite's confession penn'd;
What, then, canst thou allege in thy excuse?
K. of Scots. I will repay the ransom for her blood.
K. of Eng. What, think'st thou, caitiff, I will sell my child?
No; if thou be a prince and man-at-arms,
In single combat come and try thy right,
Else will I prove thee recreant to thy face.
K. of Scots. I seek no combat, false injurious king.
But, since thou needless art inclin'd to war,
Do what thou dar'st; we are in open field:
Arming my battle, I will fight with thee.
K. of Eng. Agreed.—Now trumpets, sound a dreadful charge.
Fight for your princess, brave Englishmen!
K. of Scots. Now for your lands, your children, and your wives,
My Scottish peers, and lastly for your king!
Alarum sounded; both the battles offer to meet, and just as the kings are joining battle, enter Sir Cuthbert Anderson and Lady Anderson; with them enters Queen Dorothea, richly attired, who stands concealed, and Nano.
Sir Cuth. Stay, princes, wage not war: a privy grudge
'Twixt such as you, most high in majesty,
Afflicts both nocent and the innocent
How many swords, dear princes, see I drawn!
The friend against his friend, a deadly feud;
A desperate division in those lands
Which, if they join in one, command the world.
O, stay! with reason mitigate your rage;
And let an old man, humbled on his knees,
Entreat a boon, good princes, of you both.
K. of Eng. I condescend, for why thy reverend years
Import some news of truth and consequence.
K. of Scots. I am content, for, Anderson, I know
Thou art my subject and dost mean me good.
Sir Cuth. But by your gracious favours grant me this,
To swear upon your swords to do me right.
K. of Eng. See, by my sword, and by a prince's faith,
In every lawful sort I am thine own.
K. of Scots. And, by my sceptre and the Scottish crown,
I am resolv'd to grant thee thy request.
Sir Cuth. I see you trust me, princes, who repose
The weight of such a war upon my will.
Now mark my suit. A tender lion's whelp,
This other day, came straggling in the woods,
Attended by a young and tender hind,
In courage haught, yet 'tirèd like a lamb.
The prince of beasts had left this young in keep,
To foster up as love-mate and compeer,
Unto the lion's mate, a neighbour-friend:
This stately guide, seducèd by the fox,
Sent forth an eager wolf, bred up in France,
That gripp'd the tender whelp and wounded it.
By chance, as I was hunting in the woods,
I heard the moan the hind made for the whelp:
I took them both, and brought them to my house.
With chary care I have recur'd the one;
And since I know the lions are at strife
About the loss and damage of the young,
I bring her home; make claim to her who list.
[Discovers Queen Dorothea.
Q. Dor. I am the whelp, bred by this lion up,
This royal English king, my happy sire:
Poor Nano is the hind that tended me.
My father, Scottish king, gave me to thee,
A hapless wife: thou, quite misled by youth,
Hast sought sinister loves and foreign joys.
The fox Ateukin, cursèd parasite,
Incens'd your grace to send the wolf abroad,
The French-born Jaques, for to end my days:
He, traitorous man, pursu'd me in the woods,
And left me wounded; where this noble knight
Both rescu'd me and mine, and sav'd my life.
Now keep thy promise: Dorothea lives;
Give Anderson his due and just reward:
And since, you kings, your wars began by me,
Since I am safe, return, surcease your fight.
K. of Scots. Durst I presume to look upon those eyes
Which I have tirèd with a world of woes?
Or did I think submission were enough,
Or sighs might make an entrance to thy soul,
You heavens, you know how willing I would weep;
You heavens can tell how glad I would submit;
You heavens can say how firmly I would sigh.
Q. Dor. Shame me not, prince, companion in thy bed:
Youth hath misled,—tut, but a little fault:
'Tis kingly to amend what is amiss.
Might I with twice as many pains as these
Unite our hearts, then should my wedded lord
See how incessant labours I would take.—
My gracious father, govern your affects:
Give me that hand, that oft hath blest this head,
And clasp thine arms, that have embrac'd this [neck],
About the shoulders of my wedded spouse.
Ah, mighty prince, this king and I am one!
Spoil thou his subjects, thou despoilest me;
Touch thou his breast, thou dost attaint this heart:
O, be my father, then, in loving him!
K. of Eng. Thou provident kind mother of increase,
Thou must prevail; ah, Nature, thou must rule!
Hold, daughter, join my hand and his in one;
I will embrace him for to favour thee:
I call him friend, and take him for my son.
Q. Dor. Ah, royal husband, see what God hath wrought!
Thy foe is now thy friend.—Good men-at-arms,
Do you the like.—These nations if they join,
What monarch, with his liege-men, in this world,
Dare but encounter you in open field?
K. of Scots. All wisdom, join'd with godly piety!—
Thou English king, pardon my former youth;
And pardon, courteous queen, my great misdeed;
And, for assurance of mine after-life,
I take religious vows before my God,
To honour thee for father, her for wife.
Sir Cuth. But yet my boons, good princes, are not pass'd.
First, English king, I humbly do request,
That by your means our princess may unite
Her love unto mine aldertruest love,[297]
Now you will love, maintain, and help them both.
K. of Eng. Good Anderson, I grant thee thy request.
Sir Cuth. But you, my prince, must yield me mickle more.
You know your nobles are your chiefest stays,
And long time have been banish'd from your court:
Embrace and reconcile them to yourself;
They are your hands, whereby you ought to work.
As for Ateukin and his lewd compeers,
That sooth'd you in your sins and youthly pomp,
Exile, torment, and punish such as they;
For greater vipers never may be found
Within a state than such aspiring heads,
That reck not how they climb, so that they climb.
K. of Scots. Guid knight, I grant thy suit.—First I submit,
And humbly crave a pardon of your grace:—
Next, courteous queen, I pray thee by thy loves
Forgive mine errors past, and pardon me.—
My lords and princes, if I have misdone
(As I have wrong'd indeed both you and yours),
Hereafter, trust me, you are dear to me.
As for Ateukin, whoso finds the man,
Let him have martial law, and straight be hang'd,
As all his vain abettors now are dead.
And Anderson our treasurer shall pay
Three thousand marks for friendly recompense.
Nano. But, princes, whilst you friend it thus in one,
Methinks of friendship Nano shall have none.
Q. Dor. What would my dwarf, that I will not bestow?
Nano. My boon, fair queen, is this,—that you would go:
Although my body is but small and neat,
My stomach, after toil, requireth meat:
An easy suit, dread princess; will you wend?
K. of Scots. Art thou a pigmy-born, my pretty friend?
Nano. Not so, great king, but Nature, when she fram'd me,
Was scant of earth, and Nano therefore nam'd me;
And, when she saw my body was so small,
She gave me wit to make it big withal.
K. of Scots. Till time when—
Q. Dor. Eat, then.
K. of Scots. My friend, it stands with wit
To take repast when stomach serveth it.
Q. Dor.[298] Thy policy, my Nano, shall prevail.—
Come, royal father, enter we my tent:—
And, soldiers, feast it, frolic it, like friends:—
My princes, bid this kind and courteous train
Partake some favours of our late accord.
Thus wars have end, and, after dreadful hate,
Men learn at last to know their good estate.
[Exeunt omnes.
[GEORGE-A-GREENE, THE PINNER OF WAKEFIELD]
The first Quarto of George-a-Greene was printed in 1599 by Simon Stafford for Cuthbert Burby. It had been entered by Burby on the Stationers' Registers four years earlier, 1st April 1595, as an interlude. Henslowe's first notice of the play occurs for 29th December 1593, at which date it was performed by Sussex' men at the Rose, these players possibly having secured the play from the Queen's players. Henslowe records five performances between 29th December 1593 and 22nd January 1594, sometimes under the major title, and sometimes under the title The Pinner of Wakefield. The play was reprinted in Dodsley's Old Plays in 1744. Neither on the title-page, nor on the Stationers' Registers, nor by Henslowe, is the name of the author mentioned. For long it was supposed that the play was by John Heywood. It was finally assigned to Greene through the discovery by Collier of a copy of the Quarto of 1599 with the following notes on the title-page:—
"Written by ... a minister who act[ed] th[e] pinners pt in it himselfe. Teste W. Shakespea[re].
Ed. Juby saith that ye play was made by Ro. Gree[ne]."
These notes are in different hands, and as against the adverse testimony of internal structure, their evidence in favour of Greene's authorship is of slight weight. With the exception of the episode of the King of Scotland and Jane a' Barley the play is founded on a romance, The Famous History of George-a-Greene, etc., first printed in 1706 by an editor, N. W., from a MS. now in Sion College. Whether there was a printed Elizabethan version, or the author of the play used the MS., it is now impossible to say. The romance is now reprinted in Thoms' Early English Prose Romances, Vol. II. In the Bodleian Library there is a black-letter romance of 1632, treating the same subject, but its story is evidently not the basis of the play. The Quarto of the play, which is owned by the Duke of Devonshire, is very poorly printed, and many scenes have been curtailed.