ACT THE FIRST
SCENE I.—The Palace of Marsilius.
Enter Marsilius and Angelica, the Soldan, Rodomont, Mandricard, Brandimart, Orlando and Sacripant, with Attendants.
Mars. Victorious princes, summon'd to appear
Within the continent of Africa;
From seven-fold Nilus to Taprobany,
Where fair Apollo darting forth his light
Plays on the seas;
From Gades' Islands, where stout Hercules
Emblaz'd his trophies on two posts of brass,
To Tanais, whose swift declining floods
Environ rich Europa to the north;
All fetch'd from out your courts by beauty to this coast,
To seek and sue for fair Angelica,
Sith none but one must have this happy prize,
At which you all have levell'd long your thoughts,
Set each man forth his passions how he can,
And let her censure[133] make the happiest man.
Sold. The fairest flower that glories Africa,
Whose beauty Phœbus dares not dash with showers,
Over whose climate never hung a cloud,
But smiling Titan lights the horizon,—
Egypt is mine, and there I hold my state,
Seated in Cairo and in Babylon.
From thence the matchless beauty of Angelica,
Whose hue (as bright as are those silver doves
That wanton Venus mann'th[134] upon her fist),
Forc'd me to cross and cut th' Atlantic seas,
To oversearch the fearful ocean,
Where I arriv'd to etérnize with my lance
The matchless beauty of fair Angelica;
Nor tilt, nor tourney, but my spear and shield
Resounding on their crests and sturdy helms,
Topt high with plumes, like Mars his burgonet,
Enchasing on their curats[135] with my blade,
That none so fair as fair Angelica.
But leaving these such glories as they be,
I love, my lord; let that suffice for me.
Rod. Cuba my seat, a region so enrich'd
With savours sparkling from the smiling heavens,
As those that seek for traffic to my coast
Account it like that wealthy Paradise
From whence floweth Gihon, and swift Euphrates:[136]
The earth within her bowels hath enwrapt,
As in the massy storehouse of the world,
Millions of gold, as bright as was the shower
That wanton Jove sent down to Danaë.
Marching from thence to manage arms abroad,
I pass'd the triple-parted regiment[137]
That froward Saturn gave unto his sons,
Erecting statues of my chivalry,
Such and so brave as never Hercules
Vow'd for the love of lovely Iole.
But leaving these such glories as they be,
I love, my lord; let that suffice for me.
Mand. And I, my lord, am Mandricard of Mexico,
Whose climate, fairer than Iberia's,
Seated beyond the sea of Tripoly,
And richer than the plot Hesperides,[138]
Or that same isle wherein Ulysses' love
Lull'd in her lap the young Telegonus;
That did but Venus tread a dainty step,
So would she like the land of Mexico,
As, Paphos and brave Cyprus set aside,
With me sweet lovely Venus would abide.
From thence, mounted upon a Spanish bark,
Such as transported Jason to the fleece,
Come from the south, I furrow'd Neptune's seas,
North-east as far as is the frozen Rhine;
Leaving fair Voya, cross'd up Danuby,
As high as Saba, whose enhancing streams
Cut 'twixt the Tartars and the Russians:[139]
There did I act as many brave attempts,
As did Pirothous for his Proserpine.
But leaving these such glories as they be,
I love, my lord; let that suffice for me.
Brand. The bordering islands, seated here in ken,
Whose shores are sprinkled with rich orient pearl,
More bright of hue than were the margarites[140]
That Cæsar found in wealthy Albion;
The sands of Tagus all of burnish'd gold
Made Thetis never prouder on the clifts[141]
That overpeer the bright and golden shore,
Than do the rubbish of my country seas:
And what I dare, let say the Portingale,
And Spaniard tell, who, mann'd with mighty fleets,
Came to subdue my islands to their king,
Filling our seas with stately argosies,
Carvels and magars, hulks of burden great,
Which Brandimart rebated[142] from his coast,
And sent them home ballas'd with little wealth.[143]
But leaving these such glories as they be,
I love, my lord; let that suffice for me.
Orl. Lords of the south, and princes of esteem,
Viceroys unto the state of Africa,
I am no king, yet am I princely born,
Descended from the royal house of France,
And nephew to the mighty Charlemagne,
Surnam'd Orlando, the County Palatine.
Swift fame hath sounded to our western seas
The matchless beauty of Angelica,
Fairer than was the nymph of Mercury,
Who, when bright Phœbus mounteth up his coach,
And tracts Aurora in her silver steps,
And sprinkles from the folding of her lap
White lilies, roses, and sweet violets.
Yet thus believe me, princes of the south,
Although my country's love, dearer than pearl
Or mines of gold, might well have kept me back;
The sweet conversing with my king and friends,
Left all for love, might well have kept me back;
The seas by Neptune hoisèd to the heavens,
Whose dangerous flaws[144] might well have kept me back;
The savage Moors and Anthropophagi,
Whose lands I pass'd, might well have kept me back;
The doubt of entertainment in the court
When I arriv'd, might well have kept me back;
But so the fame of fair Angelica
Stamp'd in my thoughts the figure of her love,
As neither country, king, or seas, or cannibals,
Could by despairing keep Orlando back.
I list not boast in acts of chivalry
(An humour never fitting with my mind),
But come there forth the proudest champion
That hath suspicion in the Palatine,
And with my trusty sword Durandell,
Single, I'll register upon his helm
What I dare do for fair Angelica.
But leaving these such glories as they be,
I love, my lord;
Angelica herself shall speak for me.
Mars. Daughter, thou hear'st what love hath here alleg'd,
How all these kings, by beauty summon'd here,
Put in their pleas, for hope of diadem,
Of noble deeds, of wealth, and chivalry,
All hoping to possess Angelica.
Sith father's will may hap to aim amiss
(For parents' thoughts in love oft step awry),
Choose thou the man who best contenteth thee,
And he shall wear the Afric crown next me.
For trust me, daughter, like of whom thou please.
Thou satisfied, my thoughts shall be at ease.
Ang. Kings of the South, viceroys of Africa,
Sith father's will hangs on his daughter's choice,
And I, as erst Princess Andromache
Seated amidst the crew of Priam's sons,
Have liberty to choose where best I love;
Must freely say, for fancy hath no fraud,
That far unworthy is Angelica
Of such as deign to grace her with their loves;
The Soldan with his seat in Babylon,
The Prince of Cuba, and of Mexico,
Whose wealthy crowns might win a woman's will,
Young Brandimart, master of all the isles
Where Neptune planted hath his treasury:
The worst of these men of so high import
As may command a greater dame than I.
But fortune, or some deep-inspiring fate,
Venus, or else the bastard brat of Mars,
Whose bow commands the motions of the mind,
Hath sent proud love to enter such a plea
As nonsuits all your princely evidence,
And flat commands that, maugre majesty,
I choose Orlando, County Palatine.
Rod. How likes Marsilius of his daughter's choice?
Mars. As fits Marsilius of his daughter's spouse.
Rod. Highly thou wrong'st us, King of Africa,
To brave thy neighbour princes with disgrace,
To tie thine honour to thy daughter's thoughts,
Whose choice is like that Greekish giglot's[145] love
That left her lord, Prince Menelaus,
And with a swain made 'scape away to Troy.
What is Orlando but a straggling mate,
Banish'd for some offence by Charlemagne,
Skipp'd from his country as Anchises' son,
And means, as he did to the Carthage Queen,
To pay her ruth and ruin for her love?
Orl. Injurious Cuba, ill it fits thy gree
To wrong a stranger with discourtesy.
Were't not the sacred presence of Angelica
Prevails with me, as Venus' smiles with Mars,
To set a supersedeas of my wrath,
Soon should I teach thee what it were to brave.
Mand. And, Frenchman, were't not 'gainst the law of arms,
In place of parley for to draw a sword,
Untaught companion, I would learn you know
What duty 'longs to such a prince as he.
Orl. Then as did Hector 'fore Achilles' tent,
Trotting his courser softly on the plains,
Proudly dar'd forth the stoutest youth of Greece;
So who stands highest in his own conceit,
And thinks his courage can perform the most,
Let him but throw his gauntlet on the ground,
And I will pawn my honour to his gage,
He shall ere night be met and combated.
Mars. Shame you not, princes, at this bad agree,
To wrong a stranger with discourtesy?
Believe me, lords, my daughter hath made choice,
And, maugre him that thinks him most aggriev'd,
She shall enjoy the County Palatine.
Brand. But would these princes follow my advice,
And enter arms as did the Greeks 'gainst Troy,
Nor he, nor thou should'st have Angelica.
Rod. Let him be thought a dastard to his death,
That will not sell the travails he hath past
Dearer than for a woman's fooleries:
What says the mighty Mandricard?
Mand. I vow to hie me home to Mexico,
To troop myself with such a crew of men
As shall so fill the downs of Africa
Like to the plains of watery Thessaly,
Whenas an eastern gale, whistling aloft,
Hath overspread the ground with grasshoppers.
Then see, Marsilius, if the Palatine
Can keep his love from falling to our lots,
Or thou canst keep thy country free from spoil.
Mars. Why, think you, lords, with haughty menaces
To dare me out within my palace-gates?
Or hope you to make conquest by constraint
Of that which never could be got by love?
Pass from my court, make haste out of my land,
Stay not within the bounds Marsilius holds;
Lest, little brooking these unfitting braves,
My choler overslip the law of arms,
And I inflict revenge on such abuse.
Rod. I'll beard and brave thee in thy proper town,
And here ensconce myself despite of thee,
And hold thee play till Mandricard return.—
What says the mighty Soldan of Egýpt?
Sold. That when Prince Menelaus with all his mates
Had ten years held their siege in Asia,
Folding their wraths in cinders of fair Troy,
Yet, for their arms grew by conceit of love,
Their trophies were but conquest of a girl:
Then trust me, lords, I'll never manage arms
For women's loves that are so quickly lost.
Brand. Tush, my lords, why stand you upon terms?
Let us to our sconce,—and you, my lord, to Mexico.
Orl. Ay, sirs, ensconce ye how you can,
See what we dare, and thereon set your rest.
[Exeunt all except Sacripant and his Man.
Sac. [aside]. Boast not too much, Marsilius, in thyself,
Nor of contentment in Angelica;
For Sacripant must have Angelica,
And with her Sacripant must have the crown:
By hook or crook I must and will have both.
Ah sweet Revenge, incense their angry minds,
Till, all these princes weltering in their bloods,
The crown do fall to County Sacripant!
Sweet are the thoughts that smother from conceit:
For when I come and set me down to rest,
My chair presents a throne of majesty;
And when I set my bonnet on my head,
Methinks I fit my forehead for a crown;
And when I take my truncheon in my fist,
A sceptre then comes tumbling in my thoughts;
My dreams are princely, all of diadems.
Honour,—methinks the title is too base:
Mighty, glorious, and excellent,—ay, these,
My glorious genius, sound within my mouth;
These please the ear, and with a sweet applause,
Make me in terms coequal with the gods.
Then these, Sacripant, and none but these;
And these, or else make hazard of thy life.
Let it suffice, I will conceal the rest.—
Sirrah!
Man. My lord?
Sac. [aside]. My lord! How basely was this slave brought up,
That knows no titles fit for dignity,
To grace his master with hyperboles!
My lord! Why, the basest baron of fair Africa
Deserves as much: yet County Sacripant
Must he a swain salute with name of lord.—
Sirrah, what thinks the Emperor of my colours,
Because in field I wear both blue and red at once?
Man. They deem, my lord, your honour lives at peace,
As one that's neuter in these mutinies,
And covets to rest equal friends to both;
Neither envious to Prince Mandricard,
Nor wishing ill unto Marsilius,
That you may safely pass where'er you please,
With friendly salutations from them both.
Sac. Ay, so they guess, but level far awry;
For if they knew the secrets of my thoughts,
Mine emblem sorteth to another sense.
I wear not these as one resolv'd to peace,
But blue and red as enemy to both;
Blue, as hating King Marsilius,
And red, as in revenge to Mandricard:
Foe unto both, friend only to myself,
And to the crown, for that's the golden mark
Which makes my thoughts dream on a diadem.
See'st not thou all men presage I shall be king?
Marsilius sends to me for peace;
Mandricard puts off his cap, ten mile off:
Two things more, and then I cannot miss the crown.
Man. O, what be those, my good lord?
Sac. First must I get the love of fair Angelica.
Now am I full of amorous conceits,
Not that I doubt to have what I desire,
But how I might best with mine honour woo:
Write, or entreat,—fie, that fitteth not;
Send by ambassadors,—no, that's too base;
Flatly command,—ay, that's for Sacripant:
Say thou art Sacripant, and art in love,
And who in Africa dare say the county nay?
O Angelica,
Fairer than Chloris when in all her pride
Bright Maia's son entrapp'd her in the net
Wherewith Vulcan entangled the god of war!
Man. Your honour is so far in contemplation of Angelica as you have forgot the second in attaining to the crown.
Sac. That's to be done by poison, prowess, or any means of treachery, to put to death the traitorous Orlando.—But who is this comes here? Stand close. [They retire.
Enter Orgalio.
Org. I am sent on embassage to the right mighty and magnificent, alias, the right proud and pontifical, the County Sacripant; for Marsilius and Orlando, knowing him to be as full of prowess as policy, and fearing lest in leaning to the other faction he might greatly prejudice them, they seek first to hold the candle before the devil, and knowing him to be a Thrasonical mad-cap, they have sent me a Gnathonical[146] companion, to give him lettuce fit for his lips. Now, sir, knowing his astronomical humours, as one that gazeth so high at the stars as he never looketh on the pavement in the streets,—but whist! lupus est in fabula.
Sac. [coming forward]. Sirrah, thou that ruminatest to thyself a catalogue of privy conspiracies, what art thou?
Org. God save your majesty!
Sac. [aside]. My majesty!—Come hither, my well-nutrimented knave; whom takest me to be?
Org. The mighty Mandricard of Mexico.
Sac. [aside]. I hold these salutations as ominous; for saluting me by that which I am not, he presageth what I shall be: for so did the Lacedæmonians by Agathocles, who of a base potter wore the kingly diadem.—But why deemest thou me to be the mighty Mandricard of Mexico?
Org. Marry, sir,—
Sac. Stay there: wert thou never in France?
Org. Yes, if it please your majesty.
Sac. So it seems, for there they salute their king by the name of Sir, Monsieur:—but forward.
Org. Such sparks of peerless majesty
From those looks flame, like lightning from the east,
As either Mandricard, or else some greater prince,—
Sac. [aside]. Methinks these salutations make my thoughts
To be heroical:—but say, to whom art thou sent?
Org. To the County Sacripant.
Sac. Why, I am he.
Org. It pleaseth your majesty to jest.
Sac. Whate'er I seem, I tell thee I am he.
Org. Then may it please your honour, the Emperor Marsilius, together with his daughter Angelica and Orlando, entreateth your excellency to dine with them.
Sac. Is Angelica there?
Org. There, my good lord.
Sac. Sirrah.
Man. My lord?
Sac. Villain, Angelica sends for me: see that thou entertain that happy messenger, and bring him in with thee. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Before the Walls of Rodomont's Castle.
Enter Orlando, the Duke of Aquitain, and the County Rossilion, with Soldiers.
Orl. Princes of France, the sparkling light of fame,
Whose glory's brighter than the burnish'd gates
From whence Latona's lordly son doth march,
When, mounted on his coach tinsell'd with flames,
He triumphs in the beauty of the heavens;
This is the place where Rodomont lies hid:
Here lies he, like the thief of Thessaly,
Which scuds abroad and searcheth for his prey,
And, being gotten, straight he gallops home,
As one that dares not break a spear in field.
But trust me, princes, I have girt his fort,
And I will sack it, or on this castle-wall
I'll write my resolution with my blood:—
Therefore, drum, sound a parle.
[A parle is sounded, and a Soldier comes upon the walls.
Sol. Who is't that troubleth our sleeps?
Orl. Why, sluggard, seest thou not Lycaon's son,
The hardy plough-swain unto mighty Jove,
Hath trac'd his silver furrows in the heavens,
And, turning home his over-watchèd team,
Gives leave unto Apollo's chariot?
I tell thee, sluggard, sleep is far unfit
For such as still have hammering in their heads,
But only hope of honour and revenge:
These call'd me forth to rouse thy master up.
Tell him from me, false coward as he is,
That Orlando, the County Palatine,
Is come this morning, with a band of French,
To play him hunt's-up with a point of war;
I'll be his minstrel with my drum and fife;
Bid him come forth, and dance it if he dare,
Let fortune throw her favours where she list.
Sol. Frenchman, between half-sleeping and awake,
Although the misty veil strain'd over Cynthia
Hinders my sight from noting all thy crew,
Yet, for I know thee and thy straggling grooms
Can in conceit build castles in the sky,
But in your actions like the stammering Greek
Which breathes his courage bootless in the air,
I wish thee well, Orlando, get thee gone,
Say that a sentinel did suffer thee;
For if the round or court-of-guard should hear
Thou or thy men were braying at the walls,
Charles' wealth, the wealth of all his western mines,
Found in the mountains of Transalpine France,
Might not pay ransom to the king for thee.
Orl. Brave sentinel, if nature hath enchas'd
A sympathy of courage to thy tale,
And, like the champion of Andromache,
Thou, or thy master, dare come out the gates,
Maugre the watch, the round, or court-of-guard,
I will attend to abide the coward here.
If not, but still the craven sleeps secure,
Pitching his guard within a trench of stones,
Tell him his walls shall serve him for no proof,
But as the son of Saturn in his wrath
Pash'd[147] all the mountains at Typhœus' head,
And topsy-turvy turn'd the bottom up,
So shall the castle of proud Rodomont.—
And so, brave lords of France, let's to the fight.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Battle-field.
Alarums: Rodomont and Brandimart fly. Enter Orlando with Rodomont's coat.
Orl. The fox is scap'd, but here's his case:
I miss'd him near; 'twas time for him to trudge.
[Enter the Duke of Aquitain.
How now, my lord of Aquitain!
Aq. My lord, the court-of-guard is put unto the sword
And all the watch that thought themselves so sure,
So that not one within the castle breathes.
Orl. Come then, let's post amain to find out Rodomont,
And then in triumph march unto Marsilius. [Exeunt.