ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I.—Near the Castle of Marsilius.
Enter Medor and Angelica.
Ang. I marvel, Medor, what my father means
To enter league with County Sacripant?
Med. Madam, the king your father's wise enough;
He knows the county, like to Cassius,
Sits sadly dumping, aiming Cæsar's death,
Yet crying "Ave" to his majesty.[148]
But, madam, mark awhile, and you shall see
Your father shake him off from secrecy.
Ang. So much I guess; for when he will'd I should
Give entertainment to the doting earl,
His speech was ended with a frowning smile.
Med. Madam, see where he comes; I will be gone.
[Exit.
Enter Sacripant and his Man.
Sac. How fares my fair Angelica?
Ang. Well, that my lord so friendly is in league,
As honour wills him, with Marsilius.
Sac. Angelica, shall I have a word or two with thee?
Ang. What pleaseth my lord for to command?
Sac. Then know, my love, I cannot paint my grief,
Nor tell a tale of Venus and her son,
Reporting such a catalogue of toys:
It fits not Sacripant to be effeminate.
Only give leave, my fair Angelica,
To say, the county is in love with thee.
Ang. Pardon, my lord; my loves are over-past:
So firmly is Orlando printed in my thoughts,
As love hath left no place for any else.
Sac. Why, overweening damsel, see'st thou not
Thy lawless love unto this straggling mate
Hath fill'd our Afric regions full of blood?
And wilt thou still perséver in thy love?
Tush, leave the Palatine, and go with me.
Ang. Brave county, know, where sacred love unites,
The knot of gordian at the shrine of Jove
Was never half so hard or intricate
As be the bands which lovely Venus ties.
Sweet is my love; and, for I love, my lord,
Seek not, unless as Alexander did,
To cut the plough-swain's traces with thy sword,
Or slice the slender fillets of my life:
For else, my lord, Orlando must be mine.
Sac. Stand I on love? Stoop I to Venus' lure,
That never yet did fear the god of war?
Shall men report that County Sacripant
Held lovers' pains for pining passions?
Shall such a siren offer me more wrong
Than they did to the prince of Ithaca?
No; as he his ears, so, county, stop thine eye.
Go to your needle, lady, and your clouts;
Go to such milksops as are fit for love:
I will employ my busy brains for war.
Ang. Let not, my lord, denial breed offence:
Love doth allow her favours but to one,
Nor can there sit within the sacred shrine
Of Venus more than one installèd heart.
Orlando is the gentleman I love,
And more than he may not enjoy my love.
Sac. Damsel, begone: fancy[149] hath taken leave;
Where I took hurt, there have I heal'd myself,
As those that with Achilles' lance were wounded,
Fetch'd help at self-same pointed spear.
Beauty can brave, and beauty hath repulse;
And, beauty, get ye gone to your Orlando.
[Exit Angelica.
Man. My lord, hath love amated[150] him whose thoughts
Have ever been heroical and brave?
Stand you in dumps, like to the Myrmidon
Trapt in the tresses of Polyxena,
Who, amid the glory of his chivalry,
Sat daunted with a maid of Asia?
Sac. Thinkst thou my thoughts are lunacies of love?
No, they are brands firèd in Pluto's forge,
Where sits Tisiphone tempering in flames
Those torches that do set on fire revenge.
I lov'd the dame; but brav'd by her repulse,
Hate calls me on to quittance all my ills;
Which first must come by offering prejudice
Unto Orlando her belovèd love.
Man. O, how may that be brought to pass, my lord?
Sac. Thus. Thou see'st that Medor and Angelica
Are still so secret in their private walks,
As that they trace the shady lawnds,
And thickest-shadow'd groves,
Which well may breed suspicion of some love.
Now, than the French no nation under heaven
Is sooner touch'd with sting of jealousy.
Man. And what of that, my lord?
Sac. Hard by, for solace, in a secret grove,
The county once a-day fails not to walk:
There solemnly he ruminates his love.
Upon those shrubs that compass-in the spring,
And on those trees that border-in those walks,
I'll slily have engrav'n on every bark
The names of Medor and Angelica.
Hard by, I'll have some roundelays hung up,
Wherein shall be some posies of their loves,
Fraughted so full of fiery passions
As that the county shall perceive by proof
Medor hath won his fair Angelica.
Man. Is this all, my lord?
Sac. No; for thou like to a shepherd shalt be cloth'd,
With staff and bottle, like some country-swain
That tends his flocks feeding upon these downs.
Here see thou buzz into the county's ears
That thou hast often seen within these woods
Base Medor sporting with Angelica;
And when he hears a shepherd's simple tale,
He will not think 'tis feign'd.
Then either a madding mood will end his love,
Or worse betide him through fond jealousy.
Man. Excellent, my lord; see how I will play the shepherd.
Sac. And mark thou how I play the carver:
Therefore be gone, and make thee ready straight.
[Exit his Man.
[Sacripant carves the names and hangs up the roundelays on the trees, and then goes out.
Re-enter his Man attired like a shepherd.
Shep. Thus all alone, and like a shepherd's swain,
As Paris, when Œnone lov'd him well,
Forgat he was the son of Priamus,
All clad in grey, sat piping on a reed;
So I transformèd to this country shape,
Haunting these groves do work my master's will,
To plague the Palatine with jealousy,
And to conceit him with some deep extreme.—
Here comes the man unto his wonted walk.
Enter Orlando and Orgalio.
Orl. Orgalio, go see a sentinel be plac'd,
And bid the soldiers keep a court-of-guard,
So to hold watch till secret here alone
I meditate upon the thoughts of love.
Org. I will, my lord. [Exit.
Orl. Fair queen of love, thou mistress of delight,
Thou gladsome lamp that wait'st on Phœbe's train,
Spreading thy kindness through the jarring orbs,
That in their union praise thy lasting powers;
Thou that hast stay'd the fiery Phlegon's course,
And mad'st the coachman of the glorious wain
To droop, in view of Daphne's excellence;
Fair pride of morn, sweet beauty of the even,[151]
Look on Orlando languishing in love.
Sweet solitary groves, whereas the nymphs
With pleasance laugh to see the satyrs play,
Witness Orlando's faith unto his love.
Tread she these lawnds, kind Flora, boast thy pride.
Seek she for shade, spread, cedars, for her sake.
Fair Flora, make her couch amidst thy flowers.
Sweet crystal springs,
Wash ye with roses when she longs to drink.
Ah, thought, my heaven! ah, heaven, that knows my thought!
Smile, joy in her that my content hath wrought.
Shep. [aside]. The heaven of love is but a pleasant hell,
Where none but foolish-wise imprison'd dwell.
Orl. Orlando, what contrarious thoughts be these,
That flock with doubtful motions in thy mind?
Heaven smiles, and trees do boast their summer pride.
What! Venus writes her triumphs here beside.
Shep. [aside]. Yet when thine eye hath seen, thy heart shall rue
The tragic chance that shortly shall ensue.
Orl. [reads]. "Angelica":—ah, sweet and heavenly name,
Life to my life, and essence to my joy!
But, soft! this gordian knot together co-unites
A Medor partner in her peerless love.
Unkind, and will she bend her thoughts to change?
Her name, her writing! Ah foolish and unkind!
No name of hers, unless the brooks relent
To hear her name, and Rhodanus vouchsafe
To raise his moisten'd locks from out the reeds,
And flow with calm alongst his turning bounds:
No name of hers, unless the Zephyr blow
Her dignities alongst Ardenia woods,
Where all the world for wonders do await.
And yet her name! for why Angelica;
But, mix'd with Medor, not Angelica.
Only by me was lov'd Angelica,
Only for me must live Angelica.
I find her drift: perhaps the modest pledge
Of my content hath with a secret smile
And sweet disguise restrain'd her fancy thus,
Figuring Orlando under Medor's name;
Fine drift, fair nymph! Orlando hopes no less.
[Spies the roundelays.
Yet more! are Muses masking in these trees,
Framing their ditties in conceited lines,
Making a goddess, in despite of me,
That have no other but Angelica?
Shep. [aside]. Poor hapless man, these thoughts contain thy hell!
Orl. [reads].
"Angelica is lady of his heart,
Angelica is substance of his joy,
Angelica is medicine of his smart,
Angelica hath healèd his annoy."
Ah, false Angelica!—what, have we more?
[Reads.
"Let groves, let rocks, let woods, let watery springs,
The cedar, cypress, laurel, and the pine,
Joy in the notes of love that Medor sings
Of those sweet looks, Angelica, of thine.
Then, Medor, in Angelica take delight,
Early, at morn, at noon, at even and night."
What, dares Medor court my Venus?
What may Orlando deem?
Ætna, forsake the bounds of Sicily,
For now in me thy restless flames appear.
Refus'd, contemn'd, disdain'd! what worse than these?—Orgalio!
Re-enter Orgalio.
Org. My lord?
Orl. Boy, view these trees carvèd with true love-knots,
The inscription "Medor and Angelica?";
And read these verses hung up of their loves:
Now tell me, boy, what dost thou think?
Org. By my troth, my lord, I think Angelica is a woman.
Orl. And what of that?
Org. Therefore unconstant, mutable, having their loves hanging in their eyelids; that as they are got with a look, so they are lost again with a wink. But here's a shepherd; it may be he can tell us news.
Orl. What messenger hath Ate sent abroad
With idle looks to listen my laments?—
Sirrah, who wrongèd happy nature so,
To spoil these trees with this "Angelica?"—
Yet in her name, Orlando, they are blest.
Shep. I am a shepherd-swain, thou wandering knight,
That watch my flocks, not one that follow love.
Orl. As follow love! why darest thou dispraise my heaven,
Or once disgrace or prejudice her name?
Is not Angelica the queen of love,
Deck'd with the compound wreath of Adon's flowers?
She is. Then speak, thou peasant, what is he
That dares attempt to court my queen of love,
Or I shall send thy soul to Charon's charge.
Shep. Brave knight, since fear of death enforceth still
To greater minds submission and relent,
Know that this Medor, whose unhappy name
Is mixèd with the fair Angelica's,
Is even that Medor that enjoys her love.
Yon cave bears witness of their kind content;
Yon meadows talk the actions of their joy;
Our shepherds in their songs of solace sing,
"Angelica doth none but Medor love."
Orl. Angelica doth none but Medor love!
Shall Medor, then, possess Orlando's love?
Dainty and gladsome beams of my delight;
Delicious brows, why smile your heavens for those
That, wounding you, prove poor Orlando's foes?
Lend me your plaints, you sweet Arcadian nymphs,
That wont to sing your new-departed loves;
Thou weeping flood, leavé Orpheus' wail for me;
And, Titan's nieces, gather all in one
Those fluent springs of your lamenting tears,
And let them stream along my faintful looks.
Shep. [aside]. Now is the fire, late smother'd in suspect,
Kindled, and burns within his angry breast:
Now have I done the will of Sacripant.
Orl. Fœmineum servile genus, crudele, superbum:
Discourteous women, nature's fairest ill,
The woe of man, that first-created curse,
Base female sex, sprung from black Ate's loins,
Proud, disdainful, cruel, and unjust,
Whose words are shaded with enchanting wiles,
Worse than Medusa mateth all our minds;
And in their hearts sits shameless treachery,
Turning a truthless vile circumference.
O, could my fury paint their furies forth!
For hell's no hell, comparèd to their hearts,
Too simple devils to conceal their arts;
Born to be plagues unto the thoughts of men,
Brought for eternal pestilence to the world.
O femminile ingegno, dituttimali sede,
Come ti volgi e muti facilmente,
Contrario oggetto proprio de la fede!
O infelice, O miser chi ti crede!
Importune, superbe, dispettose,
Prive d'amor, di fede e di consiglio,
Timerarie, crudeli, inique, ingrate,
Per pestilenzia eterna al mondo nate.[152]
Villain, what art thou that followest me?
Org. Alas, my lord, I am your servant, Orgalio.
Orl. No, villain, thou art Medor; that rann'st away with Angelica.
Org. No, by my troth, my lord, I am Orgalio; ask all these people else.
Orl. Art thou Orgalio? tell me where Medor is.
Org. My lord, look where he sits.
Orl. What, sits he here, and braves me too?
Shep. No, truly, sir, I am not he.
Orl. Yes, villain. [Draws him in by the leg.
Org. Help, help, my lord of Aquitain!
Enter the Duke of Aquitain and Soldiers.
O, my lord of Aquitain, the Count Orlando is run mad, and taking of a shepherd by the heels, rends him as one would tear a lark! See where he comes, with a leg on his neck.
Re-enter Orlando with a leg.
Orl. Villain, provide me straight a lion's skin,
Thou see'st I now am mighty Hercules;
Look where's my massy club upon my neck.
I must to hell to fight with Cerberus,
And find out Medor there or else I die.[153]
You that are the rest, get you quickly away;
Provide ye horses all of burnish'd gold,
Saddles of cork, because I'll have them light;
For Charlemagne the great is up in arms,
And Arthur with a crew of Britons comes
To seek for Medor and Angelica.
[So he beateth them all in before him, except Orgalio.
Enter Marsilius.
Org. Ah, my lord, Orlando—
Mars. Orlando! what of Orlando?
Org. He, my lord, runs madding through the woods,
Like mad Orestes in his greatest rage.
Step but aside into the bordering grove,
There shall you see engraven on every tree
The lawless love of Medor and Angelica.
O, see, my lord, not any shrub but bears
The cursèd stamp that wrought the county's rage.
If thou be'st mighty King Marsilius,
For whom the county would adventure life,
Revenge it on the false Angelica.
Mars. Trust me, Orgalio, Theseus in his rage
Did never more revenge his wrong'd Hippolytus
Than I will on the false Angelica.
Go to my court, and drag me Medor forth;
Tear from his breast the daring villain's heart.
Next take that base and damn'd adulteress,—
I scorn to title her with daughter's name,—
Put her in rags, and, like some shepherdess,
Exile her from my kingdom presently.
Delay not, good Orgalio, see it done.
[Exit Orgalio.
Enter a Soldier, with Mandricard disguised.
How now, my friend! what fellow hast thou there?
Sol. He says, my lord, that he is servant unto Mandricard.
Mars. To Mandricard!
It fits me not who sway the diadem,
And rule the wealthy realms of Barbary,
To stain my thoughts with any cowardice.—
Thy master brav'd me to my teeth,
He back'd the Prince of Cuba for my foe;
For which nor he nor his shall 'scape my hands.
No, soldier, think me resolute as he.
Mand. It grieves me much that princes disagree,
Sith black repentance followeth afterward:
But leaving that, pardon me, gracious lord.
Mars. For thou entreat'st, and newly art arriv'd,
And yet thy sword is not imbru'd in blood;
Upon conditions, I will pardon thee,—
That thou shalt never tell thy master, Mandricard,
Nor any fellow-soldier of the camp,
That King Marsilius licens'd thee depart:
He shall not think I am so much his friend,
That he or one of his shall 'scape my hand.
Mand I swear, my lord, and vow to keep my word.
Mars. Then take my banderol[154] of red;
Mine, and none but mine, shall honour thee,
And safe conduct thee to Port Carthagene.
Mand. But say, my lord, if Mandricard were here,
What favour should he find, or life or death?
Mars. I tell thee, friend, it fits not for a king
To prize his wrath before his courtesy.
Were Mandricard, the King of Mexico,
In prison here, and crav'd but liberty,
So little hate hangs in Marsilius' breast,
As one entreaty should quite raze it out.
But this concerns not thee, therefore, farewell.
Mand. Thanks, and good fortune fall to such a king,
As covets to be counted courteous.
[Exit Marsilius.
Blush, Mandricard; the honour of thy foe disgraceth thee;
Thou wrongest him that wisheth thee but well;
Thou bringest store of men from Mexico
To battle him that scorns to injure thee,
Pawning his colours for thy warrantise.
Back to thy ships, and hie thee to thy home;
Budge not a foot to aid Prince Rodomont;
But friendly gratulate these favours found,
And meditate on naught but to be friends.
[Exeunt.