ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I.—Porch to the Castle of the Countess of Arran.
The Countess of Arran and Ida discovered sitting at work.
A Song.[261]
Count. of A. Fair Ida, might you choose the greatest good,
'Midst all the world in blessings that abound,
Wherein, my daughter, should your liking be?
Ida. Not in delights, or pomp, or majesty.
Count. of A. And why?
Ida. Since these are means to draw the mind
From perfect good, and make true judgment blind.
Count. of A. Might you have wealth and fortune's richest store?
Ida. Yet would I, might I choose, be honest-poor;
For she that sits at fortune's feet a-low
Is sure she shall not taste a further woe;
But those that prank on top of fortune's ball
Still fear a change, and, fearing, catch a fall.
Count. of A. Tut, foolish maid, each one contemneth need.
Ida. Good reason why, they know not good indeed.
Count. of A. Many, marry, then, on whom distress doth lour.
Ida. Yes, they that virtue deem an honest dower.
Madam, by right this world I may compare
Unto my work, wherein with heedful care
The heavenly workman plants with curious hand—
As I with needle draw—each thing on land
Even as he list: some men like to the rose
Are fashion'd fresh; some in their stalks do close,
And, born, do sudden die; some are but weeds,
And yet from them a secret good proceeds:
I with my needle, if I please, may blot
The fairest rose within my cambric plot;
God with a beck can change each worldly thing,
The poor to earth, the beggar to the king.
What, then, hath man wherein he well may boast,
Since by a beck he lives, a lour[262] is lost?
Count. of A. Peace, Ida, here are strangers near at hand.
Enter Eustace with letters.
Eust. Madam, God speed!
Count. of A. I thank you, gentle squire.
Eust. The country Countess of Northumberland
Doth greet you well; and hath requested me
To bring these letters to your ladyship.
[Delivers the letters.
Count. of A. I thank her honour, and yourself, my friend.
[Peruses them.
I see she means you good, brave gentleman.—
Daughter, the Lady Elinor salutes
Yourself as well as me: then for her sake
'Twere good you entertain'd that courtier well.
Ida. As much salute as may become my sex,
And he in virtue can vouchsafe to think,
I yield him for the courteous countess' sake.—
Good sir, sit down: my mother here and I
Count time misspent an endless vanity.
Eust. [aside]. Beyond report, the wit, the fair, the shape!—
What work you here, fair mistress? may I see it?
Ida. Good sir, look on: how like you this compáct?
Eust. Methinks in this I see true love in act:
The woodbines with their leaves do sweetly spread,
The roses blushing prank them in their red;
No flower but boasts the beauties of the spring;
This bird hath life indeed, if it could sing.
What means, fair mistress, had you in this work?
Ida. My needle, sir.
Eust. In needles, then, there lurk
Some hidden grace, I deem, beyond my reach.
Ida. Not grace in them, good sir, but those that teach.
Eust. Say that your needle now were Cupid's sting,—
[Aside]. But, ah, her eye must be no less,
In which is heaven and heavenliness,
In which the food of God is shut,
Whose powers the purest minds do glut!
Ida. What if it were?
Eust. Then see a wondrous thing;
I fear me you would paint in Tereus' heart
Affection in his power and chiefest part.
Ida. Good Lord, sir, no! for hearts but prickèd soft
Are wounded sore, for so I hear it oft.
Eust. What recks the wound, where but your happy eye
May make him live whom Jove hath judg'd to die?
Ida. Should life and death within this needle lurk,
I'll prick no hearts, I'll prick upon my work.
Enter Ateukin and Slipper.
Count. of A. Peace, Ida, I perceive the fox at hand.
Eust. The fox! why, fetch your hounds, and chase him hence.
Count. of A. O, sir, these great men bark at small offence.
Come, will it please you enter, gentle sir?
[They offer to go out.
Ateu. Stay, courteous ladies; favour me so much
As to discourse a word or two apart.
Count. of A. Good sir, my daughter learns this rule of me,
To shun resort and strangers' company;
For some are shifting mates that carry letters;
Some, such as you, too good because our betters.
Slip. Now, I pray you, sir, what akin are you to a pickerel?
Ateu. Why, knave?
Slip. By my troth, sir, because I never knew a proper situation fellow of your pitch fitter to swallow a gudgeon.
Ateu. What meanest thou by this?
Slip. "Shifting fellow," sir,—these be thy words;[263] "shifting fellow": this gentlewoman, I fear me, knew your bringing up.
Ateu. How so?
Slip. Why, sir, your father was a miller, that could shift for a peck of grist in a bushel, and you a fair-spoken gentleman, that can get more land by a lie than an honest man by his ready money.
Ateu. Caitiff, what sayest thou?
Slip. I say, sir, that if she call you shifting knave, you shall not put her to the proof.
Ateu. And why?
Slip. Because, sir, living by your wit as you do, shifting is your letters-patents: it were a hard matter for me to get my dinner that day wherein my master had not sold a dozen of devices, a case of cogs, and a suit of shifts,[264] in the morning. I speak this in your commendation, sir, and, I pray you, so take it.
Ateu. If I live, knave, I will be revenged. What gentleman would entertain a rascal thus to derogate from his honour? [Beats him.
Ida. My lord, why are you thus impatient?
Ateu. Not angry, Ida; but I teach this knave
How to behave himself among his betters.—
Behold, fair countess, to assure your stay,
I here present the signet of the king,
Who now by me, fair Ida, doth salute you:
And since in secret I have certain things
In his behalf, good madam, to impart,
I crave your daughter to discourse apart.
Count. of A. She shall in humble duty be addrest[265]
To do his highness' will in what she may.
Ida. Now, gentle sir, what would his grace with me?
Ateu. Fair, comely nymph, the beauty of your face,
Sufficient to bewitch the heavenly powers,
Hath wrought so much in him, that now of late
He finds himself made captive unto love;
And though his power and majesty require
A straight command before an humble suit,
Yet he his mightiness doth so abase
As to entreat your favour, honest maid.
Ida. Is he not married, sir, unto our queen?
Ateu. He is.
Ida. And are not they by God accurs'd,
That sever them whom he hath knit in one?
Ateu. They be: what then? we seek not to displace
The princess from her seat; but, since by love
The king is made your own, he is resolv'd
In private to accept your dalliance,
In spite of war, watch, or worldly eye.
Ida. O, how he talks, as if he should not die!
As if that God in justice once could wink
Upon that fault I am asham'd to think!
Ateu. Tut, mistress, man at first was born to err;
Women are all not formèd to be saints:
'Tis impious for to kill our native king,
Whom by a little favour we may save.
Ida. Better, than live unchaste, to lie in grave.
Ateu. He shall erect your state, and wed you well.
Ida. But can his warrant keep my soul from hell?
Ateu. He will enforce, if you resist his suit.
Ida. What tho?[266] The world may shame to him account,
To be a king of men and worldly pelf,
Yet hath no power to rule and guide himself.
Ateu. I know you, gentle lady, and the care
Both of your honour and his grace's health
Makes me confusèd in this dangerous state.
Ida. So counsel him, but soothe thou not his sin:
'Tis vain allurement that doth make him love:
I shame to hear, be you asham'd to move.
Count. of A. [aside]. I see my daughter grows impatient:
I fear me, he pretends some bad intent.
Ateu. Will you despise the king and scorn him so?
Ida. In all allegiance I will serve his grace,
But not in lust: O, how I blush to name it!
Ateu. [aside]. An endless work is this: how should I frame it?
[They discourse privately.
Slip. O, mistress, may I turn a word upon you?
Count. of A. Friend, what wilt thou?
Slip. O, what a happy gentlewoman be you truly! the world reports this of you, mistress, that a man can no sooner come to your house but the butler comes with a black-jack and says, "Welcome, friend, here's a cup of the best for you": verily, mistress, you are said to have the best ale in all Scotland.
Count. of A. Sirrah, go fetch him drink. [Servant brings drink]. How likest thou this?
Slip. Like it, mistress! why, this is quincy quarie, pepper de watchet, single goby, of all that ever I tasted! I'll prove in this ale and toast the compass of the whole world. First, this is the earth,—it lies in the middle, a fair brown toast, a goodly country for hungry teeth to dwell upon; next, this is the sea, a fair pool for a dry tongue to fish in: now come I, and, seeing the world is naught, I divide it thus; and, because the sea cannot stand without the earth, as Aristotle saith, I put them both into their first chaos, which is my belly: and so, mistress, you may see your ale is become a miracle.
Eust. A merry mate, madam, I promise you.
Count. of A. Why sigh you, sirrah?
Slip. Truly, madam, to think upon the world, which, since I denounced it, keeps such a rumbling in my stomach, that, unless your cook give it a counterbuff with some of your roasted capons or beef, I fear me I shall become a loose body, so dainty, I think, I shall neither hold fast before nor behind.
Count. of A. Go take him in, and feast this merry swain.—
Sirrah, my cook is your physician;
He hath a purge for to digest the world.
[Exeunt Slipper and Servant.
Ateu. Will you not, Ida, grant his highness this?
Ida. As I have said, in duty I am his:
For other lawless lusts that ill beseem him,
I cannot like, and good I will not deem him.
Count. of A. Ida, come in:—and, sir, if so you please,
Come, take a homely widow's entertain.
Ida. If he have no great haste, he may come nigh;
If haste, though he be gone, I will not cry.
[Exeunt Countess of Arran, Ida, and Eustace.
Ateu. I see this labour lost, my hope in vain;
Yet will I try another drift again. [Exit.
SCENE II.—The Court at Edinburgh.
Enter, one by one, the Bishop of St Andrews, Douglas, Morton, and others, one way; Queen Dorothea with Nano, another way.
Bp. of St And. [aside]. O wrack of commonweal! O wretched state!
Doug. [aside]. O hapless flock, whereas the guide is blind!
Mort. [aside]. O heedless youth, where counsel is despis'd!
[They are all in a muse.
Q. Dor. Come, pretty knave, and prank it by my side;
Let's see your best attendance out of hand.
Nano. Madam, although my limbs are very small,
My heart is good; I'll serve you therewithal.
Q. Dor. How, if I were assail'd, what couldst thou do?
Nano. Madam, call help, and boldly fight it too:
Although a bee be but a little thing,
You know, fair queen, it hath a bitter sting.
Q. Dor. How couldst thou do me good, were I in grief?
Nano. Counsel, dear princess, is a choice relief:
Though Nestor wanted force, great was his wit;
And though I am but weak, my words are fit.
Bp. of St And. [aside]. Like to a ship upon the ocean-seas,
Tost in the doubtful stream, without a helm,
Such is a monarch without good advice.
I am o'erheard: cast rein upon thy tongue;
Andrews, beware; reproof will breed a scar.
Mort. Good-day, my lord.
Bp. of St And. Lord Morton, well y-met.—
Whereon deems Lord Douglas all this while?
Doug. Of that which yours and my poor heart doth break,
Although fear shuts our mouths, we dare not speak.
Q. Dor. [aside]. What mean these princes sadly to consult?
Somewhat, I fear, betideth them amiss,
They are so pale in looks, so vex'd in mind.—
In happy hour, the noble Scottish peers,
Have I encounter'd you: what makes you mourn?
Bp. of St And. If we with patience may attention gain,
Your grace shall know the cause of all our grief.
Q. Dor. Speak on, good father: come and sit by me:
I know thy care is for the common good.
Bp. of St And. As fortune, mighty princess, reareth some
To high estate and place in commonweal,
So by divine bequest to them is lent
A riper judgment and more searching eye,
Whereby they may discern the common harm;
For where our fortunes in the world are most,
Where all our profits rise and still increase,
There is our mind, thereon we meditate,—
And what we do partake of good advice,
That we employ for to concern the same.
To this intent, these nobles and myself,
That are, or should be, eyes of commonweal,
Seeing his highness' reckless course of youth,
His lawless and unbridled vein in love,
His too intentive trust to flatterers,
His abject care of counsel and his friends,
Cannot but grieve; and, since we cannot draw
His eye or judgment to discern his faults,
Since we have spoke and counsel is not heard,
I, for my part,—let others as they list,—
Will leave the court, and leave him to his will,
Lest with a ruthful eye I should behold
His overthrow, which, sore I fear, is nigh.
Q. Dor. Ah, father, are you so estrang'd from love,
From due allegiance to your prince and land,
To leave your king when most he needs your help?
The thrifty husbandmen are never wont,
That see their lands unfruitful, to forsake them;
But, when the mould is barren and unapt,
They toil, they plow, and make the fallow fat:
The pilot in the dangerous seas is known;
In calmer waves the silly sailor strives.
Are you not members, lords, of commonweal,
And can your head, your dear anointed king,
Default, ye lords, except yourselves do fail?
O, stay your steps, return and counsel him!
Doug. Men seek not moss upon a rolling stone,
Or water from the sieve, or fire from ice,
Or comfort from a reckless monarch's hands.
Madam, he sets us light, that serv'd in court,
In place of credit, in his father's days:
If we but enter presence of his grace,
Our payment is a frown, a scoff, a frump;
Whilst flattering Gnatho[267] pranks it by his side,
Soothing the careless king in his misdeeds:
And, if your grace consider your estate,
His life should urge you too, if all be true.
Q. Dor. Why, Douglas, why?
Doug. As if you have not heard
His lawless love to Ida grown of late,
His careless estimate of your estate.
Q. Dor. Ah, Douglas, thou misconster'st his intent!
He doth but tempt his wife, he tries my love;
This injury pertains to me, not to you.
The king is young; and, if he step awry,
He may amend, and I will love him still.
Should we disdain our vines because they sprout
Before their time? or young men, if they strain
Beyond their reach? No; vines that bloom and spread
Do promise fruits, and young men that are wild
In age grow wise. My friends and Scottish peers,
If that an English princess may prevail,
Stay, stay with him: lo, how my zealous prayer
Is plead with tears! fie, peers, will you hence?
Bp. of St And. Madam, 'tis virtue in your grace to plead;
But we, that see his vain untoward course,
Cannot but fly the fire before it burn,
And shun the court before we see his fall.
Q. Dor. Will you not stay? then, lordings, fare you well.
Though you forsake your king, the heavens, I hope,
Will favour him through mine incessant prayer.
Nano. Content you, madam; thus old Ovid sings,
'Tis foolish to bewail recureless things.
Q. Dor. Peace, dwarf; these words my patience move.
Nano. Although you charm my speech, charm not my love.
[Exeunt Queen Dorothea and Nano.
Enter the King of Scots; the Nobles, spying him as they are about to go off, return.
K. of Scots. Douglas, how now! why changest thou thy cheer?
Doug. My private troubles are so great, my liege,
As I must crave your license for awhile,
For to intend mine own affairs at home.
K. of Scots. You may depart. [Exit Douglas.] But why is Morton sad?
Mort. The like occasion doth import me too:
So I desire your grace to give me leave.
K. of Scots. Well, sir, you may betake you to your ease.
[Exit Morton.
[Aside]. When such grim sirs are gone, I see no let
To work my will.
Bp. of St And. What, like the eagle, then,
With often flight wilt thou thy feathers lose?
O king, canst thou endure to see thy court
Of finest wits and judgments dispossess'd,
Whilst cloaking craft with soothing climbs so high
As each bewails ambition is so bad?
Thy father left thee with estate and crown,
A learnèd council to direct thy course:
These carelessly, O king, thou castest off,
To entertain a train of sycophants.
Thou well may'st see, although thou wilt not see,
That every eye and ear both sees and hears
The certain signs of thine incontinence.
Thou art allied unto the English king
By marriage;—a happy friend indeed,
If usèd well; if not, a mighty foe.
Thinketh your grace, he can endure and brook
To have a partner in his daughter's love?
Thinketh your grace, the grudge of privy wrongs
Will not procure him change his smiles to threats?
O, be not blind to good! call home your lords,
Displace these flattering Gnathoes, drive them hence!
Love and with kindness take your wedlock wife;
Or else, which God forbid, I fear a change:
Sin cannot thrive in courts without a plague.
K. of Scots. Go pack thou too, unless thou mend thy talk!
On pain of death, proud bishop, get you gone,
Unless you headless mean to hop away!
Bp. of St And. Thou God of heaven, prevent my country's fall!
[Exit with other Nobles.
K. of Scots. These stays and lets to pleasure plague my thoughts,
Forcing my grievous wounds anew to bleed;
But care that hath transported me so far,
Fair Ida, is dispers'd in thought of thee,
Whose answer yields me life or breeds my death.
Yond comes the messenger of weal or woe.
Enter Ateukin.[268]
Ateukin, what news?
Ateu. The adamant, O king, will not be fil'd
But by itself, and beauty that exceeds
By some exceeding favour must be wrought:
Ida is coy as yet, and doth repine,
Objecting marriage, honour, fear and death:
She's holy-wise, and too precise for me.
K. of Scots. Are these thy fruits of wit, thy sight in art,
Thine eloquence, thy policy, thy drift,—
To mock thy prince? Then, caitiff, pack thee hence,
And let me die devourèd in my love!
Ateu. Good lord, how rage gainsayeth reason's power!
My dear, my gracious, and belovèd prince,
The essence of my soul, my god on earth,
Sit down and rest yourself: appease your wrath,
Lest with a frown ye wound me to the death.
O, that I were included in my grave,
That either now, to save my prince's life,
Must counsel cruelty, or lose my king!
K. of Scots. Why, sirrah, is there means to move her mind?
Ateu. O, should I not offend my royal liege,—
K. of Scots. Tell all, spare naught, so I may gain my love.
Ateu. Alas, my soul, why art thou torn in twain,
For fear thou talk a thing that should displease?
K. of Scots. Tut, speak whatso thou wilt, I pardon thee.
Ateu. How kind a word, how courteous is his grace!
Who would not die to succour such a king?
My liege, this lovely maid of modest mind
Could well incline to love, but that she fears
Fair Dorothea's power: your grace doth know,
Your wedlock is a mighty let to love.
Were Ida sure to be your wedded wife,
That then the twig would bow you might command:
Ladies love presents, pomp, and high estate.
K. of Scots. Ah, Ateukin, how should we displace this let?
Ateu. Tut, mighty prince,—O, that I might be whist![269]
K. of Scots. Why dalliest thou?
Ateu. I will not move my prince!
I will prefer his safety 'fore my life.
Hear me, O king! 'tis Dorothea's death
Must do you good.
K. of Scots. What, murder of my queen!
Yet, to enjoy my love, what is my queen?
O, but my vow and promise to my queen!
Ay, but my hope to gain a fairer queen:
With how contrarious thoughts am I withdrawn!
Why linger I 'twixt hope and doubtful fear?
If Dorothea die, will Ida love?
Ateu. She will, my lord.
K. of Scots. Then let her die: devise, advise the means;
All likes me well that lends me hope in love.
Ateu. What, will your grace consent? Then let me work.
There's here in court a Frenchman, Jaques call'd
A fit performer of our enterprise,
Whom I by gifts and promise will corrupt
To slay the queen, so that your grace will seal
A warrant for the man, to save his life.
K. of Scots. Naught shall he want; write thou, and I will sign:
And, gentle Gnatho, if my Ida yield,
Thou shalt have what thou wilt; I'll give thee straight
A barony, an earldom, for reward.
Ateu. Frolic, young king, the lass shall be your own:
I'll make her blithe and wanton by my wit.
[Exeunt.
CHORUS[270]
Enter Bohan and Oberon.
Boh. So, Oberon, now it begins to work in kind.
The ancient lords by leaving him alone,
Disliking of his humours and despite,
Let him run headlong, till his flatterers,
Soliciting his thoughts of lawless lust
With vile persuasions and alluring words,
Make him make way by murder to his will.
Judge, fairy king, hast heard a greater ill?
Ober. Nor seen more virtue in a country maid.
I tell thee, Bohan, it doth make me sorry,
To think the deeds the king means to perform.
Boh. To change that humour, stand and see the rest:
I trow my son Slipper will show's a jest.
Enter Slipper with a companion, boy or wench, dancing a hornpipe, and dance out again.
Now after this beguiling of our thoughts,
And changing them from sad to better glee,
Let's to our cell, and sit and see the rest,
For, I believe, this jig will prove no jest. [Exeunt.