Robert Greene: [Six Plays]

by Robert Greene

ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE I.—On the King's Preserves.

After a noise of horns and shoutings, enter certain Huntsmen (if you please, singing) one way; another way Ateukin and Jaques.

Ateu. Say, gentlemen, where may we find the king?
First Hunts. Even here at hand, on hunting;
And at this hour he taken hath a stand,
To kill a deer.
Ateu. A pleasant work in hand.
Follow your sport, and we will seek his grace.
First Hunts. When such him seek, it is a woful case.
[Exeunt Huntsmen one way, Ateukin and Jaques another.

SCENE II.—Near the Castle of the Countess of Arran.

Enter the Countess of Arran, Ida and Eustace.

Count. of A. Lord Eustace, as your youth and virtuous life
Deserve a far more fair and richer wife,
So, since I am a mother, and do wit
What wedlock is, and that which 'longs to it,
Before I mean my daughter to bestow,
'Twere meet that she and I your state did know.
Eust. Madam, if I consider Ida's worth,
I know my portions merit none so fair,
And yet I hold in farm and yearly rent
A thousand pound, which may her state content.
Count. of A. But what estate, my lord, shall she possess?
Eust. All that is mine, grave countess, and no less.—
But, Ida, will you love?
Ida. I cannot hate.
Eust. But will you wed?
Ida. 'Tis Greek to me, my lord:
I'll wish you well, and thereon take my word.
Eust. Shall I some sign of favour, then, receive?
Ida. Ay, if her ladyship will give me leave.
Count. of A. Do what thou wilt.
Ida. Then, noble English peer,
Accept this ring, wherein my heart is set;
A constant heart, with burning flames be-fret,
But under-written this, O morte dura:
Hereon whenso you look with eyes pura,
The maid you fancy most will favour you.
Eust. I'll try this heart, in hope to find it true.

Enter certain Huntsmen and Ladies.

First Hunts. Widow countess, well y-met;[278]
Ever may thy joys be many;—
Gentle Ida, fair beset,
Fair and wise, not fairer any;
Frolic huntsmen of the game
Will you well, and give you greeting.
Ida. Thanks, good woodman, for the same,
And our sport, and merry meeting.
First Hunts. Unto thee we do present
Silver hart with arrow wounded.
Eust. [aside]. This doth shadow my lament,
[With] both fear and love confounded.
Ladies. To the mother of the maid,
Fair as the lilies, red as roses,
Even so many goods are said,
As herself in heart supposes.
Count. of A. What are you, friends, that thus do wish us well?
First Hunts. Your neighbours nigh, that have on hunting been,
Who, understanding of your walking forth,
Prepar'd this train to entertain you with:
This Lady Douglas, this Sir Egmond is.
Count. of A. Welcome, ye ladies, and thousand thanks for this.
Come, enter you a homely widow's house,
And if mine entertainment please you, let us feast.
First Hunts. A lovely lady never wants a guest.
[Exeunt Countess of Arran, Huntsmen, and Ladies.
Eust. Stay, gentle Ida, tell me what you deem,
What doth this hart, this tender hart beseem?
Ida. Why not, my lord, since nature teacheth art
To senseless beasts to cure their grievous smart;
Dictamnum[279] serves to close the wound again.
Eust. What help for those that love?
Ida. Why, love again.
Eust. Were I the hart,—
Ida. Then I the herb would be:
You shall not die for help; come, follow me. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—A Public Place near the Palace.

Enter Andrew and Jaques.

Jaq. Mon dieu, what malheur be this! me come a the chamber, Signior Andrew, mon dieu; taka my poniard en ma main to give the estocade to the damoisella: par ma foi, there was no person; elle s'est en allée.

And. The worse luck, Jaques: but because I am thy friend, I will advise thee somewhat towards the attainment of the gallows.

Jaq. Gallows! what be that?

And. Marry, sir, a place of great promotion, where thou shalt by one turn above ground rid the world of a knave, and make a goodly ensample for all bloody villains of thy profession.

Jaq. Que dites vous, Monsieur Andrew?

And. I say, Jaques, thou must keep this path, and hie thee; for the queen, as I am certified, is departed with her dwarf, apparelled like a squire. Overtake her, Frenchman, stab her: I'll promise thee, this doublet shall be happy.

Jaq. Pourquoi?

And. It shall serve a jolly gentleman, Sir Dominus Monseigneur Hangman.

Jaq. C'est tout un; me will rama pour la monnoie. [Exit.

And. Go, and the rot consume thee!—O, what a trim world is this! My master lives by cozening the king, I by flattering him; Slipper, my fellow, by stealing, and I by lying: is not this a wily accord, gentlemen?[280] This last night, our jolly horsekeeper, being well steeped in liquor, confessed to me the stealing of my master's writings, and his great reward. Now dare I not bewray him, lest he discover my knavery; but this have I wrought: I understand he will pass this way, to provide him necessaries; but, if I and my fellows fail not, we will teach him such a lesson as shall cost him a chief place on Pennyless Bench[281] for his labour. But yond he comes. [Stands aside.

Enter Slipper, with a Tailor, a Shoemaker, and a Cutler.

Slip. Tailor.

Tai. Sir?

Slip. Let my doublet be white northern, five groats the yard: I tell thee, I will be brave.

Tai. It shall, sir.

Slip. Now, sir, cut it me like the battlements of a custard, full of round holes; edge me the sleeves with Coventry blue, and let the linings be of tenpenny lockram.

Tai. Very good, sir.

Slip. Make it the amorous cut, a flap before.

Tai. And why so? that fashion is stale.

Slip. O, friend, thou art a simple fellow. I tell thee, a flap is a great friend to a storrie; it stands him instead of clean napery; and, if a man's shirt be torn, it is a present penthouse to defend him from a clean huswife's scoff.

Tai. You say sooth, sir.

Slip. [giving money]. Hold, take thy money; there is seven shillings for the doublet, and eight for the breeches: seven and eight; by'rlady, thirty-six is a fair deal of money.

Tai. Farewell, sir.

Slip. Nay, but stay, tailor.

Tai. Why, sir?

Slip. Forget not this special make: let my back-parts be well lined, for there come many winter-storms from a windy belly, I tell thee. [Exit Tailor]. Shoemaker.

Shoe. Gentleman, what shoe will it please you to have?

Slip. A fine, neat calves'-leather, my friend.

Shoe. O, sir, that is too thin, it will not last you.

Slip. I tell thee, it is my near kinsman, for I am Slipper, which hath his best grace in summer to be suited in calves'[282] skins. Goodwife Calf was my grandmother, and Goodman Netherleather mine uncle; but my mother, good woman, alas, she was a Spaniard, and being well tanned and dressed by a good fellow, an Englishman, is grown to some wealth: as, when I have but my upper-parts clad in her husband's costly Spanish leather, I may be bold to kiss the fairest lady's foot in this country.

Shoe. You are of high birth, sir: but have you all your mother's marks on you?

Slip. Why, knave?

Shoe. Because, if thou come of the blood of the Slippers, you should have a shoemaker's awl thrust through your ear.

Slip. [giving money]. Take your earnest, friend, and be packing, and meddle not with my progenitors. [Exit Shoemaker]. Cutler.

Cut. Here, sir.

Slip. I must have a reaper and digger.[283]

Cut. A rapier and dagger, you mean, sir?

Slip. Thou sayest true; but it must have a very fair edge.

Cut. Why so, sir?

Slip. Because it may cut by himself, for truly, my friend, I am a man of peace, and wear weapons but for fashion.

Cut. Well, sir, give me earnest, I will fit you.

Slip. [giving money]. Hold, take it: I betrust thee, friend; let me be well armed.

Cut. You shall. [Exit.

Slip. Now what remains? there's twenty crowns for house, three crowns for household-stuff, sixpence to buy a constable's staff; nay, I will be the chief of my parish. There wants nothing but a wench, a cat, a dog, a wife, and a servant, to make an whole family. Shall I marry with Alice, Goodman Grimshawe's daughter? she is fair, but indeed her tongue is like clocks on Shrove Tuesday, always out of temper. Shall I wed Sisley of the Whighton? O, no! she is like a frog in a parsley bed; as skittish as an eel: if I seek to hamper her, she will horn me. But a wench must be had, Master Slipper; yea, and shall be, dear friend.

And. [aside]. I now will drive him from his contemplations.—O, my mates, come forward: the lamb is unpent, the fox shall prevail.

Enter three Antics, who dance round, and take Slipper with them.

Slip. I will, my friend, and I thank you heartily: pray, keep your courtesy: I am yours in the way of an hornpipe.—[Aside]. They are strangers; I see they understand not my language: wee, wee.—[284]

[Whilst they are dancing, Andrew takes away Slipper's money, and the other Antics depart.

Nay, but, my friends, one hornpipe further! a refluence back, and two doubles forward! What, not one cross-point against Sundays? What, ho, sirrah, you gone? you with the nose like an eagle, an you be a right Greek, one turn more.—Thieves, thieves! I am robbed! thieves! Is this the knavery of fiddlers? Well, I will then bind the whole credit of their occupation on a bag-piper, and he for my money. But I will after, and teach them to caper in a halter, that have cozened me of my money. [Exit.

SCENE IV.—The Forest near Edinburgh.

Enter Queen Dorothea in man's apparel, and Nano.

Q. Dor. Ah, Nano, I am weary of these weeds,
Weary to wield this weapon that I bear,
Weary of love from whom my woe proceeds,
Weary of toil, since I have lost my dear.
O weary life, where wanteth no distress,
But every thought is paid with heaviness!
Nano. Too much of weary, madam: if you please,
Sit down, let weary die, and take your ease.
Q. Dor. How look I, Nano? like a man or no?
Nano. If not a man, yet like a manly shrow.[285]
Q. Dor. If any come and meet us on the way,
What should we do, if they enforce us stay?
Nano. Set cap a-huff, and challenge him the field:
Suppose the worst, the weak may fight to yield.
Q. Dor. The battle, Nano, in this troubled mind
Is far more fierce than ever we may find.
The body's wounds by medicines may be eas'd,
But griefs of mind, by salves are no appeas'd.
Nano. Say, madam, will you hear your Nano sing?
Q. Dor. Of woe, good boy, but of no other thing.
Nano. What if I sing of fancy?[286] will it please?
Q. Dor. To such as hope success such notes breed ease.
Nano. What if I sing, like Damon, to my sheep?
Q. Dor. Like Phillis, I will sit me down to weep.
Nano. Nay, since my songs afford such pleasure small,
I'll sit me down, and sing you none at all.
Q. Dor. O, be not angry, Nano!
Nano. Nay, you loathe
To think on that which doth content us both.
Q. Dor. And how?
Nano. You scorn disport when you are weary,
And loathe my mirth, who live to make you merry.
Q. Dor. Danger and fear withdraw me from delight.
Nano. 'Tis virtue to contemn false fortune's spite.
Q. Dor. What should I do to please thee, friendly squire?
Nano. A smile a-day is all I will require;
And, if you pay me well the smiles you owe me,
I'll kill this cursèd care, or else beshrow me.
Q. Dor. We are descried; O, Nano, we are dead!

Enter Jaques, his sword drawn.

Nano. Tut, yet you walk, you are not dead indeed.
Draw me your sword, if he your way withstand,
And I will seek for rescue out of hand.
Q. Dor. Run, Nano, run, prevent thy princess' death.
Nano. Fear not, I'll run all danger out of breath.
[Exit.

Jaq. Ah, you calletta! you strumpetta! Maitressa Doretie, êtes vous surprise? Come, say your paternoster, car vous êtes morte, par ma foi.

Q. Dor. Callet! me strumpet! Caitiff as thou art!
But even a princess born, who scorns thy threats:
Shall never Frenchman say an England maid
Of threats of foreign force will be afraid.

Jaq. You no dire votres prières? morbleu, mechante femme, guarda your breasta there: me make you die on my Morglay.[287]

Q. Dor. God shield me, helpless princess and a wife,
And save my soul, although I lose my life!
[They fight, and she is sore wounded.
Ah, I am slain! some piteous power repay
This murderer's cursèd deed, that doth me slay!

Jaq. Elle est tout morte. Me will run pour a wager, for fear me be surpris and pendu for my labour. Bien, je m'en allerai au roi lui dire mes affaires. Je serai un chevalier for this day's travail. [Exit.

[Re-enter Nano, with Sir Cuthbert Anderson, his sword drawn, and Servants.

Sir Cuth. Where is this poor distressèd gentleman?
Nano. Here laid on ground, and wounded to the death.
Ah, gentle heart, how are these beauteous looks
Dimm'd by the tyrant cruelties of death!
O weary soul, break thou from forth my breast,
And join thee with the soul I honour'd most!
Sir Cuth. Leave mourning, friend, the man is yet alive.
Some help me to convey him to my house:
There will I see him carefully recur'd,
And send privy search to catch the murderer.
Nano. The God of heaven reward thee, courteous knight!
[Exeunt, bearing out Queen Dorothea.

SCENE V.—Another part of the Forest.

Enter the King of Scots, Jaques, Ateukin, Andrew; Jaques running with his sword one way, the King with his train another way.

K. of Scots. Stay, Jaques, fear not, sheath thy murdering blade:
Lo, here thy king and friends are come abroad
To save thee from the terrors of pursuit.
What, is she dead?

Jaq. Oui, Monsieur, elle is blessée par la tête over les épaules: I warrant, she no trouble you.

Ateu. O, then, my liege, how happy art thou grown,
How favour'd of the heavens, and blest by love!
Methinks I see fair Ida in thine arms,
Craving remission for her late contempt;
Methinks I see her blushing steal a kiss,
Uniting both your souls by such a sweet;
And you, my king, suck nectar from her lips.
Why, then, delays your grace to gain the rest
You long desir'd? why lose we forward time?
Write, make me spokesman now, vow marriage:
If she deny you favour, let me die.

And. Mighty and magnificent potentate, give credence to mine honourable good lord, for I heard the midwife swear at his nativity that the fairies gave him the property of the Thracian stone; for who toucheth it is exempted from grief, and he that heareth my master's counsel is already possessed of happiness; nay, which is more miraculous, as the nobleman in his infancy lay in his cradle, a swarm of bees laid honey on his lips in token of his eloquence, for melle dulcior fluit oratio.

Ateu. Your grace must bear with imperfections:
This is exceeding love that makes him speak.
K. of Scots. Ateukin, I am ravish'd in conceit,
And yet depress'd again with earnest thoughts.
Methinks, this murder soundeth in mine ear
A threatening noise of dire and sharp revenge:
I am incens'd with grief, yet fain would joy.
What may I do to end me of these doubts?
Ateu. Why, prince, it is no murder in a king
To end another's life to save his own:
For you are not as common people be,
Who die and perish with a few men's tears;
But if you fail, the state doth whole default,
The realm is rent in twain in such a loss.
And Aristotle holdeth this for true,
Of evils needs we must choose the least:
Then better were it, that a woman died
Than all the help of Scotland should be blent.
'Tis policy, my liege, in every state,
To cut off members that disturb the head:
And by corruption generation grows,
And contraries maintain the world and state.
K. of Scots. Enough, I am confirm'd. Ateukin, come,
Rid me of love, and rid me of my grief;
Drive thou the tyrant from this tainted breast,
Then may I triumph in the height of joy.
Go to mine Ida, tell her that I vow
To raise her head, and make her honours great:
Go to mine Ida, tell her that her hairs
Shall be embellishèd with orient pearls,
And crowns of sapphires compassing her brows,
Shall war with those sweet beauties of her eyes:
Go to mine Ida, tell her that my soul
Shall keep her semblance closèd in my breast;
And I, in touching of her milk-white mould,
Will think me deified in such a grace.
I like no stay: go write, and I will sign:
Reward me Jaques; give him store of crowns.
And, Sirrah Andrew, scout thou here in court,
And bring me tidings, if thou canst perceive
The least intent of muttering in my train;
For either those that wrong thy lord or thee
Shall suffer death.
Ateu. How much, O mighty king,
Is thy Ateukin bound to honour thee!—
Bow thee, Andrew, bend thine sturdy knees;
Seest thou not here thine only God on earth?
[Exit the King.
Jaq. Mais où est mon argent, seigneur?
Ateu. Come, follow me. His grace, I see, is mad,[288]
That thus on sudden he hath left us here.—
Come, Jaques: we will have our packet soon despatch'd,
And you shall be my mate upon the way.
Jaq. Comme vous plaira, monsieur.
[Exeunt Ateukin and Jaques.
And. Was never such a world, I think, before,
When sinners seem to dance within a net;
The flatterer and the murderer, they grow big;
By hook or crook promotion now is sought.
In such a world, where men are so misled,
What should I do, but, as the proverb saith,
Run with the hare, and hunt with the hound?
To have two means beseems a witty man.
Now here in court I may aspire and climb
By subtlety, for my master's death:
And, if that fail, well fare another drift;
I will, in secret, certain letters send
Unto the English king, and let him know
The order of his daughter's overthrow,
That, if my master crack his credit here,
As I am sure long flattery cannot hold,
I may have means within the English court
To 'scape the scourge that waits on bad advice.
[Exit.

CHORUS

Enter Bohan and Oberon.

Ober. Believe me, bonny Scot, these strange events
Are passing pleasing; may they end as well.
Boh. Else say that Bohan hath a barren skull,
If better motions yet than any past
Do not, more glee to make, the fairy greet.
But my small son made pretty handsome shift
To save the queen his mistress, by his speed.
Ober. Yea, and yon laddie, for his sport he made,
Shall see, when least he hopes, I'll stand his friend,
Or else he capers in a halter's end.
Boh. What, hang my son! I trow not, Oberon:
I'll rather die than see him woebegone.

Enter a round, or some dance, at pleasure.

Ober. Bohan, be pleas'd, for, do they what they will,
Here is my hand, I'll save thy son from ill.
[Exeunt.

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