THE DISTRACTED EMPEROR.
A TRAGI-COMEDY.
Printed for the first time from Egerton MS. 1994.
The Distracted Emperor.
Actus Primus.
Enter La Busse and Didier.
Bus. Thou looke for dygnitie! yes, thou mayst looke, But pray thee, fellowe, see thyne eies be good Or thou mayst looke and never fynde the way.
Did. Howe can myne eies fayle when so fayre a marke As honor lyes before me?
Bus. Thou sayst well;
The thought of honor is a perfect greene,
And greene is good for th'eie syghte. Syllie man,
Arte growne fantastycke in thy latter days?
Trust me, I thought thou rather couldst have wisht
To feele thyne eies bournt out into their socketts
Then thus to live and see the blacke disgrace
That will approatche, and soone, if thou darest live.
And yet you looke for dygnitie! oh madnes!
What, haveinge fyrst beene cheated of thy wealthe,
Darest thou againe be cheated of thy witt,—
And thynke so poor a lord as is my father,
The most dyspysd forsaken Ganelon,
Can propp thy mynde,[82] fortune's shame upon thee!
Wayte with a trencher, goe learne policye;
A servingman at dynner tyme will teach thee
To give attendance on the full-fedd gueste,
Not on the hungry sharke; and yet you thynke
To feede on larke by serving my poore father!
Did. Nothing but larke, La Busse? Yes, mightie surloyns.
Bus. Your lorde and master would be gladd of halfe.
Pyttied companion, spare thy feeble eies,
Looke not for honor least thou loose thy syghte.
Such followers as thou, that would repayre
A broken state by service, may be lyckned
To shypwrackt marchants that will rather seeke
To catche a rotten board or to be cast
Uppon some frozen Ile then perish quycklie.
But thou perhapps seekst voluntary pennance,
Meaninge to perishe in a frozen clyme
Because thou hast abused thy former blessings;
Thy gameinge humor hath beene like a fyer.
Did. Why? because my money burnte in my pursse tyll I left it?
Bus. No, but because it taught the furyous way
To blasphemye and curses which have kyndled
A desperatt fyer in thee to play and loose,
So that although thou purchase letteres patente
To begge in all the provynces of Fraunce,
Pretendinge that thy state was lost by fyer,
Yet thou wouldst dye a beggar.
Did. If I dye
Before my letters pattente be expyred,
Howe can I chuse (though I repayre my state)?
But leaveing thys and you to the pore hope
Of other mens and perhaps my cast cloathes,
I tell thee, syllie creature, I am nowe
Spreadinge my wings and mountinge to a heyghte
From whence I will with scorne beholde such thyngs
As all th'ambityon thou art master of
Can never make thee hope or wish to be.
And for my fortunes past, which you so much
Esteeme and present [sic] wouldst doe reverence toe,
I vallewe theym at thys! and for the like
Would not bestowe the labor of amen
To any good man's wishes. The laboringe clouds
Insteade of vapours have exhald from earthe
A blessing for me, and about this tyme
(By the full revolution of my starres)
Should rayne it down uppon me.
Bus. Tushe.
Did. Observe,
First heare me, know the meanes and when y'ave doone
Fall downe and worshypp. Thys same verye day,
Nay thys most fortunate mynute, the emperoure,
The great, th'unconquered mightie Charlimayne,
Is marryed to the syster of my lorde
To your most fayre-eied aunte, rare Theodora.
[Florish. A crye within "God save Theodora the Empresse!"
You heare thys?
Buss. I wishe myne eares had to the pillorye
Payd tribute rather then let in this sounde.
Unfortunate Orlando! thy fayrest hopes,
Like to a blaze of artifyciall fire,
No sooner have a beinge but expyre.
Did. What! passyonate in rhyme? I must be taught To give attendance on the full-fedd guest![83] … … … … …
Bus. You may be dambd
For useing sorcerye upon the kynge.
That naturell heate, which is the cause and nurse
Of younge desyers, his pallsye hath shooke of,
And all the able facultyes of man
Are fled his frost of age to that extreame
Theres not enough to cherrish a desyer
Left in his saplesse nerves.
Did. In this your worshypp
Gives my hopes illustratyon. Age must doate
To a Judgments dearth that may be cheated on
Yet that cheate rest unquestyond. Doe you heare?
The kynge is beinge maryed to your aunte
Hathe bounde hys fortunes to my lord, and he
Will, like a ryver that so long retaynes
The oceans bounty that at last it seemes
To be it selfe a sea, receyve and keepe
The comon treasure; and in such a floode,
Whose thycknes would keepe up what naturullye
Covetts the center, can you hope Ile synke?
Bus. Hell take thy hopes and thee!
Did. But I would have
You understand that I may rise agayne
Without the catchinge of a rotten boarde
To keepe bare life and mysserye together
To fyght eche other.
Bus. Furyes fryght thy soule!
Is a good mans ill fate thy nourishment?
Noble Orlando, what omynous fatell starre
Ruld thy nativitie that fire must be
Strooke out of Ice to ruyne all thy hopes:
This marriage is their grave.
Did. Sir, I may rayse A broken state by service.
Bus. Yes, of the devyll
To whom thou art a factor. Slave, 'tis thou
That hast undoone my father and increast
His evyll inclinatyons. I have seene
Your conference with witches, night-spell knaves,
Connivynge mountebanks and the damned frye
Of cheating mathematicks. And is this
The issue of your closse contryvances[84]?
If in thys p[ro]myst throng of future ill
There may be found a way to anye good
Of brave Orlando the great palladyne,
My constant industry shall tyer the day
And outwatche night but I will fynde it for hym;
And yf to doe hym good—
Enter La Fue.
Fue. Where's Didier?
Did. Here, thou contemptyble thynge that never werte
So free as to put on thyne owne ill hatt;
Thou that hast worne thy selfe and a blewe coate
To equall thryddbareness and never hadst
Vertue inough to make thee [be] preferrd
Before aught but a cloak bagge,—what to me?
Fue. The wishe of poxe enough to make thee all One entire scabb. Dost thou abuse thy elders?
Did. I cry your reverence mercye, I confes You are more antique.
Fue. Antycke in thy face! My lord shall knowe.
Did. But pray thee let me fyrst Knowe what my lorde would have me knowe by thee.
Fue. I scorne to tell thee or to talke with thee;
And yet a woulde speake with thee,—and yet I will not tell thee;
Thou shalt shortlye knowe thou hadst bene better—
I say no more; though my deserts be hydd
My adge is not, for I neare weare a hatt;
And that shalbe ballast to my complaynte
To make it goe more steadye to thy ruyne.
It shall, dost heare, it shall. [Exit Fue.
Did. Hence, chollerycke foole, Thy threats to me are like the kyngs desyer, As uneffectuall[85] as the gloawormes fyer.
Loude musique. Enter Charlimayne, Bishop Turpin,
Ganelon, Richard, Theodora, Gabriella, and attendants.
Charl. This musyque is to[o] dull to mix it selfe
With the full Joy I tast. O Ganelon,
Teache me a meanes t'expresse the gratytude
I owe thy vertues for thys royall matche,
Whereby me thynks my ice is tournd to fyer,
My earthe to ayre; those twoe base elements
Can challendge nothinge in my composition,
As thou and Theodora now have made me:
For whiche be thou our lorde greate Cunstable.
Did.—Observe.
Bus.—Matters to make me mourne eternallye.
Gan. Your bountye speaks you, sir, a god on earthe, For you rewarde a service that's so meane It scarce speaks dutye (for you are my emperoure)—
Charl. Tys thou hast made me greater then my name
… … … … …
How mysserablye so ere our nature maks
Us thynke a happynes, was a greate burthen,
But nowe tys all the heaven I wishe to knowe;
For Tyme (whose ende like hys originall
Is most inscrutable) hathe nowe payde backe
The sapp of fortie winters to theise veanes,
Which he had borrowed to mayntayne hys course
From these late dead now manlye facultyes.
Kysse me, Theodora. Gods, carouse your fyll,
I envye not your nectar; from thys lypp
Puerer Nepenthe flowes. Some tryumphes, lords!
I challendge all of you at Barryers.
Bus. Alas, good man! A gawntletts wayght will presse him into cynders.
Char. I am so rapt with pleasure and delighte
I scarce thynke I am mortall; all the Joys,
Wherewith heavens goodnes can inryche a man,
Not onlye greete but dwell upon my sence,
And whyles I see thee cannot stray from thence,
Most excellent Theodora.
The. Tys onlye your acceptance maks me so;
For Butye's like a stone of unknowne worthe,
The estymatyon maks it pretyous;
For which the Jemes beholden to the owner.
Char. Did you ere heare a voyce more musycall?
The Thracian Orpheus, whose admyred skyll
Is sayd to have had power ore ravenous beasts
To make theym lay their naturall feircenes by
When he but toucht his harpe; that on the floods
Had power above theire regent (the pale Moone)
To make them tourne or stay their violent course
When he was pleasd to ravishe theym with sounds,
Neare had abyllitie with all his arte
To matche the naturall musyque of thy voyce.
And were I on the axeltree of heaven
To note the Zodiaks anuall chaunge and course,
The Sunns bryghte progresse and the planetts motyons,
To play with Luna or newe lampe the starres,
To note Orion or the Pleiades,
Or with the sunne guyld the Antipodes,—
Yet all the glorye, in exchaunge for thee,
Would be my torment and heavens crueltye.
Bus. Was ere man thus orejoyd with mans own curse!
Enter Reinaldo.
Char. Thou only arte happynes.
Rei. Not, greate Lord, for I Bringe newes that doth include—
Char. Cossan, your blame, And tys a dylligence of too muche pryde That interrupts myne admyratyon.
Rei. My newse when knowne will raze out that beleife
And be as wellcome as a gentyll callme
To a longe daungerd seaman in a storme,
Suche as up on Aeneas straglinge fleete
At Juno's will by Aeolus was raysd
When in his flyght from horror he sawe more
Then Troy affoarded; for the newese I brynge
Is vyctorie, which crownes the crownes of kynges.
Char. Cossen Reinaldo, if youle sytt and prayse The fayre eies of my fayre love, I will heare Tyll you be tyerd with talkinge.
Rei. What is this?
Is this the voyce of mightie Charlimayne?
Sir, from your worthye nephewe I am come,
The ever feard Orlando, who in Spayne
Hath with hys owne fame mixt your happynes
By a blest vyctorye.
Char. We have no leasure
To heare, nor are we able to contayne
Another happynes, nor is theire other.
Successe in warre is but a pleasynge dreame
From whence a drume may fryght us. Here doth rest
My happynes which cannot be exprest.
[Ex. Cha., The., Gab., and attendants.
Tur. Pryncely Reinaldo, doe not let amaze Strugle within you; you but yet survay The out syde of our wonder.
Rich. Brother, 'tis more Then can be wrytten in a cronyckle.
Rei. But must not be without my reprehensyon. Come, I will followe hym: when Charles dothe flye From honor, where shall goodnes hope to lye?
[Exe. all but Gan. and Rich.
Gan. Stay, worthye frende, and let me playnlye knowe How you affect t[hys] humor in the kynge.
Rich. Faythe, generally as a good subject should,—
Delighted with the joy hys kynge receyves
(And which I hope and wish may styll contynewe),
But in partycular—because the cause
Of hys joy cannot chuse but worke to you
Effecte worthye your vertues. For my old love,
Tys nowe lodg'd in a desperatt memorye.
Gan. But dost not seeme a most grosse dott[age]?
[Rich] … … … … …
Though certaynlie desyer's the onlye thynge
Of strengthe about hym, and that strength is hys
With a conceyt that putts desyers in act.
Gan. And is not that a dottage at the least?
Rich. I dare not taxe the actyon of a kynge By giveinge it an ill name in my thoughts.
Gan. Y'are modest, sir, nor I; but yet if I
Felte not a straunger love within my selfe
In this my strength of memorye and yeares,
Abyllities of bodye and of brayne,
More doatinge on a man than he on her,
A would not scape my censure.
Rich. I beleive
(To which beleife a long experyence
Of youre knowne worthe most steddylie directs)
That if suche an affectyon manadge you,
Tys not the man or sexe that causes it
But the styll groweinge vertues that inhabytt
The object of your love.
Gan. Tys orrackle, most happye pryncelye Richard,
Thou youngest and thou fayrest braunch of Aimon;
And thy still growing vertues have made thee
The object of that love. When first I sawe thee
(Though but with a meare cursorye aspecte)
My soule did prompt me that so fayre a forme
Could not but be the myne of manye vertues.
Then mysser-like I sought to ope the myne
And fynde the treasure, whereuppon I wanne
Your inmost frendshipp, which with joy attaynd
In seekinge for a sparke I found a flame,
Whose rychnes made me admyratyons slave
And staggerd me with wonder.
Rich. Good sweete lorde,
Forbeare thy courtshypp, our acquayntance is
Too oulde, & as I hope frendshypp too fyrme
To be nowe semented.
Gan. True, my best freinde;
And thoughe I wante arythmatycke to counte
My treasure in thee, pray thee give me leave
To joy in my posession of suche blysse
To which all honours in our Fraunce compaird
Were as a rushe mongst manye myllions shared.
Rich. Sir, thoughe I knowe there is nothynge in me
Able to give a flattery hope to thryve
In the most abject slave to it that courts,
And therefore cannot doute it in your selfe,
Yet I beseeche you talke of somethynge elles
Or I shall growe unmannerlye & leave you:
Myne owne prayse is my torture.
Gan. Heaven forbydd
Yf I shoulde torture hym I love so muche,
Beyond expression! And synce this offends thee
Ile speake of that shall please my noblest Rycharde.
Rich. Your pleasure & your honorable ends Are bounds beyond which I have no delighte.
Gan. If from thys marydge there myght sprynge a sonne,
Which is myne ende, my honors would knowe none,
But like a ryver that receyves his name
Or fyrst oryginall from some mountayns foote,
Begyns a syngle streame, but at last growes
To have no bounds but what it could oreflow—
But tys impossyble.
Rich. Improbable; For snowe and fyer can hardlye generate.
Gan. But whyle the snowe lyes on a mountayns topp,
Consumeinge with the heat which comfortts all
Excepte it selfe, the fyer may be blowne
Into a second flame.
Rich. I graunte you that—
Gan. Posytion and request; or elles I perishe.
Rich. What meanes my Ganelon?
Gan. Faythe to be playne
And not to wrong the love, which I have founde
Ever in thee, with any further doute,
My love would have thee call a kynge thy sonne
And gett him of my sister. Startst thou backe?
Come, I doe knowe thou lovest her with thy soule
And has syght for her often. Now enjoy,
And doe not stande amazd: if thou refuse,
Then my hopes like the flower of flaxe receyve
Their byrthe and grave together; for by heaven
To be made monarke of the unyverse
And lorde of all claspt in the seagods armes,
I would not have her toucht unlesse by thee:
And if the thoughts of men were scrutable
To man and mongst men might be knowne to me,
The foole that should attempt her but in thoughte
[Could]e better hand-bounde wrastell with the sea.
… … … … …
But yet my love doth offer her to thee,
And tys rejected.
Rich. You mistake me, sweete:
I am all yours and what you shall thynke fytt
Ile cease to questyon, yet my contyence calls
It a disloyall and a monstrous fact.
Gan. Tutt, a prosperous synne is nowe a vertuous acte; Let not that starte you.
Rich. I am confyrm'd, but yet the Emp[e]resse—
Gan. Why, knowe not I howe deare she valewes you,
And but for thys hope would not live an hower.
Come, her consent shall flye to meet your wishes
And locke you in saftie. In the nexte roome
Stay me a littill.—Now my projects goe [Exit Richard.
Uprighte and steddye. Let me style my selfe
(And proudlye too) the mynion of the fates.
The emperoure knytts newe honors to my house,
Whylst to my bloode I seeke to bynde hys crowne
And cheate hys lawfull heyre; and synce the lawe
Makes all legitimate in wedlocke borne,
By whom so ere begott, the way is even
Unto my future blysse and earthlye heaven.—
And see howe luckily this fellow comes!
Happynes courtts me.
Enter Didier.
Did. My most honoured lord.
Gan. O Didier, the famous nephewe unto Charles, The onlye heyre and hope of fruytfull Fraunce, Famous Orlando, is returninge home.
Did. So tys given out.
Gan. But might there not be somethynge given the prynce
To stay hys journey? Ile be playne with thee,
For thy knowne love is worthye all my trust:
He is an envyous torrent interposd
Twixte me and many honors, Didier,
And since unpassable must be choakt with earthe.
Thou understandst me?
Did. Yes, sir, a must dye.
Gan. And in his journey homewarde. A smale drame
Will purdge hys soule away, & twilbe thoughte
Some of the rebells in these frontyre townes,
By him reducst to false obedyence,
Have, in revendge o'the servytude wherein
Hys sworde hathe fyxte them, doone't; so not so much
As bare suspytion ever will attache thee.
Did. I'm glad y'ave named me in't; I was afrayde
I should have beene lefte out in that brave acte,
Whereto my proper hate unto Orlando
And love to you entyce me equallye.
Gan. O by no meanes, whom should I trust but thee;
Tys thou & I must make eche other happye.
Repayre the with thys golde, & for thy paynes
Be equall sharer in my present meanes
And future blessyngs.
Did. No more, Sir; Ile dooe't. I speake it with a confydence whereby Ide have you say unto your selfe 'tys doone.'
Gan. Thanks, my most honest Didier.
Other affayres of seryous consequence
Call me; the Empresse must be solicyted
Unto an acte for which I'de loathe her but
My ends have gloryous aymes.
Did. Aboute them, Syr, and doute not thys. [Exit Ganelon.
Yet methynks it were not fytt in polycie
To venture all in one pore shallowe boate,
The sea of state goeinge so rough and hye.
Factyons in courte are like to suyts in lawe
Where goulde and grace keepe equytie in awe;
And but thys maryadge rules the emperoure,
Who shall protect me in so many ways
Leading to severall and confused ends?
I will keepe no dyrecte one but even wander
As myne owne proper saftie shall direct me.
And though I wishe my lorde may rayse his bloode,
Yet that wishe should give way to myne owne good.
Enter La Busse, Gabriella and Bertha.
Bus. Save Mounseire Didier!
Did. Mounseir La Busse, my lords most loved sonne, Your companye is fayre. [Exit Didier.
Gab. The fellowe mocks us.
Bus. Had a sayd good too, then you might have douted, But fayr's an epethyte you bothe may challenge.
Ber. And why not good?
Bus. A courtier might have spared it
And as he is a courtier beene excusd
Thoughe it were false; for he whose tonge and harte
Runne one selfe course shall seldome find the way
To a preferment. Nowe the courte is growne
As strange a beast as the thronged multytude,
Dyffers not from the rabble, onlye tys
The upper house.
Ber. Why will you be a lymbe Of such a beast?
Bus. Faythe, onlye for sporte sake.
Gab. I rather thynke to make it more deformd.
Buss. Be not so bytter, ladye. Howe can I,
Though I shoulde onlye studye vanytie,
Be seene amongst so manye that out-glosse me
In everye severall follye.
Ber. Yet littill Richard, Aimons youngest sonne, Is suche a man your envye cannot taxe hym.
Gab. Mallyce with all her poysons cannot wounde Hys faire deserved reputatyon.
Bus. Sytts the wynde there?
Gab. Yes, syr, and blowes me hence In quest of hym I doe so much affecte. [Ex. Gabriella.
Ber. Stay, Ile goe with you.
Bus. Oh, by no meanes, madam; Methynkes your longe attendance at the courte Should make you not so apt to spoyle good sporte.
Ber. Sdeath! sporte! pray let me goe.
Bus. Not yet, by Venus. You fyrst shall knowe my soule hath deeplye vowed My love and servyce to your excellent selfe.
Ber. Verye good sir,
I knowe y'are sonne unto the Mynion.
But yet I knowe your father loves you not,
And thats good too.
Bus. If truthe at courte be good For any thynge, then, madam, you say true. For tys most true that I—
Ber. Pray let me goe.
Bus. Shunne not hys syghte that dothe adore your syghte.
How fares the Empresse? Like to a bloweinge rose
Nypt with a colde frost, will she styll keepe in
Cyrckled with ice?
Ber. I knowe not nor I care not.
Bus. But you can guesse.—Or in the frosts Dyspighte Will she blowe out?
Ber. Sir, y'are unmannerlie To stay and question me: I must be gone.
Bus. Take my harte with you.
Ber. He whose harte and tonge Runne one selfe course shall seldome fynde the way To a preferrment.
Bus. Sfoote, doe you thynke your love Such a preferrment? nay then, fare you well.
Ber. Vyllanous man! [Ex. Bertha.
Bus. Well, now unto my father whom I knowe
Hates me but for my goodnes; and althoughe
I cannot blame the Empresse, yet on hym
Ile vent myne honest spleene, and he shall knowe
Vertue at porest hath yet one advocate,
Though muche too meane to helpe her.—See, a comes.
Enter Ganelon.
Gan. The Empresse and younge Richard are in league,
Arme knytt and harte knytt with the fervencye
That no joy can exceede. Heaven blesse the mixture!
—But stay; whose thys? O my curyous sonne,
What newse with you, Sir?
Bus. Sir, though your emynence may guyld your vyce
And greatnes make your ills seeme gloryous
To some too farre beneathe you, that neare looke
Into the chynckes and crannyes of the state,
Yet, Sir, with reverence, knowe you have doone ill
To crosse Orlandos fayre successyon
By thys unequall maryadge.
Gan. Arte growne madd?
Thoughe I neare knew thee muche opprest with witt,
I did not thynke thee such a foe to sence
To speake with suche a daringe impudence.
Bus. Howe's that?
Gan. Thus and observe me. As you love the cubboarde
Wherein your calves brayns are lockt up for breakfast,
Whenere agayne thou shalt but dare to play
The dogge and open thus when I am present
Without my spetyall lycence and comand,
Ile vexe thee so with punishment and shame
That life shalbe thy torment. Hence, thou slave,
Of no more shyrtts, than soules, and they consistinge
Of equall foulness! hence, I say! Ignorance
Shall not excuse thee thus agayne offendinge.
Bus. Preposterous! I walke for want of spyrrytt.
[Exit La Busse.
Gan. Pyttie of follye! wherefore shoulde thys boy,
Thys thynge of too nyce contyence, nay my sonne,
Troble hym selfe with any acte of myne
As if they helde proportion with hys state,
Wytt or condytion? Such thyngs are swayd by chaunce:
And naughts more arrogant than Ignorance.—
But here comes he that hathe brayne to plott
And spyrrytt to acte.
Enter Didier.
Howe is it Didier?
Did. As you comanded, Sir.
Gan. Hast doone it then?
Did. And without all suspytion?
Gan. Halfe my soule,
Let me imbrace thee. All my cares and feares
Thou hast dyspeyrct for ever; from hys deathe
My future honors take a glorious byrthe.
Enter La Fue.
Fue. Hees never from hym; nay I must begone;
Past servyce is forgott. Doe you heare, my lorde?
Beggars must be no chusers. I am one,
The proverb proves it, an oulde serving man:
At your choyse therefore be it, whether I
Or that knave shall stay with you, for both must not;
Your house (though lardge) cannot contayne us bothe.
Gan. Why, whatts the matter, Fue?
Fue. Matter of wronge.
Full twoe and twentye severall liverye coatts,
Made & composed all for severall yeares,
Have I runne throughe in your most faythfull service.
Oth scullerye I was three yeares before:
So, blacke and blewe[86], I make account I've served
Your Lordshypp five and twentye.
Gan. What meanes thys?
Fue. My servyce notwithstandinge, thys proude Jacke
Abuses me in words I understand not;
And therefore in playne tearmes if you keepe hym
I am no longer for you.
Gan. Patyence, man:
If thys be all Ile see it remedyed.
He shalbe sorrye for the wronge thats past
And promyse thee to second it with other.
Fue. Shall he? why, let him then, and I wilbe content to dye in peace.
Did. I bothe repent and promyse no amends.
Fue. Well, that shall pacyfie, we will be frends And live in peace together.
Did. On condytion That hence you take no lycence to deprave My good indevours.
Fue. In my contyence He wrongs me now agayne.
Did. Nor on this growe Sawcie and insolent.
Fue. Hay da! can oughte
Proceeding from my gravitie to thee
Be esteemd sawcynes? you heare, my lorde;
Can fleshe and bloode induer thys? I doe knowe
My servyce is more pretyous then to be
Thus touzd and sullyed by hys envyous breathe;
And though in pollycie I will not leave
Your lordshypps servyce, yet if polycie
Or brayne of man may studdye a revendge,
Thys wytt of myne thats seldome showne in vayne
Shall fashyon out a rare one.
[Exit La Fue.
Gan. Syllye foole! Come, Didier; mynde not hys peeyvishe hate Ile make thee yet obscurd an envyed state.
[Exeunt.
Actus 2.
[SCENE I.]
Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Souldiers, Attendants.
Orl. O that my cursse had power to wounde the starres
That with a more then envyous aspect
Thus racke me & my fortunes! marryed?
I coulde allmost brable with destenye
For giveinge thys curst maryadge holye forme.
And suer it errd in't: tys no gordyon knott
That tyes suche a disparytie together.
But what will not soothd prynces? theire hye blood
A flatterye drawes toth lees, and more corrupte
Then a disease thats kyllinge. Nowe must I,
Like to an Argosie sent rychlye fourthe,
Furnisht with all that mighte oppose the winds
And byde the furye of the sea-gods rage,
Trusted with halfe the wealthe a kyngdome yeilds,
Havinge, insteade of addinge to her store,
Undoone her selfe and made a thousand pore;
Meanlye retourninge without mast or helme,
Cable or anchor, quyte unrygd, unmand,
Shott throughe and throughe with artefyciall thunder
And naturall terror of tempestuous stormes,
Must (that had beene the wonder of the worlde
And loved burthen of the wanton seas)
Be nowe a subject fytt for all mens pytties
And like to such, not cared for a jott,
… … … … … must lye by & rott:
And so must I.
Rei. His dottage maks hym thynke
Hym selfe so happye in thys cursed matche
That when the newse of your successe aryved
(Thoughe cladd in laurell and fayrest victorie)
He had no eare for't, all his powers beinge fylled
With a suppossed joy conceyvd in her.
Oli. He has not dealt like Charlimayne t'expose
You to the horror of a cyvill warre,
And, whylst your loyaltye made glorious way
To hys wisht ends of conquest, thus to crosse
Your fayre successyon.
Orl. Twas a speedinge plott
To sende me into Spayne, whylst Ganelon
Tooke the ryght course; yet, if I had beene here,
The envyous destenye that dothe attende
On all my undertakings, would have made
My best meanes uslesse to have hynderd it.
For not the cooninge of slye Ganelon,
Charlimayne's dottage, nor her wytchinge eie
(To whom I nowe must be obedyent)
Can challendge any share in my disgrace;
But myne owne fortune that did never smyle
But when it gave me a full cause to cursse.
And were the way to my successyon free
As when I lefte the courte, yet gaynst all sence
And possybyllitie somethynge suer woulde sprynge
From my meare fate to make another kynge:
So, torrent-like, my fortune ruynes all
My rights of byrthe and nature.
Rei. You have doone ill To soothe hys adge unto thys vyolence.
Oli. With penytence tys confest, consyderinge Preventyon hathe quyte fledd us, & no way's Lefte eyther for revendge or remedye.
Orl. I am the verye foote-ball of the starres,
Th'anottomye [sic] of fortune whom she dyssects
With all the poysons and sharpe corrosyves
Stylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie.
My starres, my starres!
O that my breath could plucke theym from their spheares
So with theire ruyns to conclude my feares.
Enter La Busse.
Rei. Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne—
A propertie oth court, that least his owne
Ill manners should be noted thynks it fytt
In pollycie to scoffe at other mens.
He will taxe all degrees and think that that
Keepes hym secure from all taxation.
Orl. Y'are deceyved; it is a noble gentylman And hated of his father for hys vertues.
Bus. Healthe and all blessings[87] wherewith heaven and earthe May comforte man, wayte on your excellence!
Orl. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrs
Can ere be heard to my desyred good,
I am not so voyde of humanitie
But I will thanke your love.
Rei. Pray, sir, what newse Hath the court lately been deliverd of?
Bus. Such as the gallimaufry that is found
In her large wombe may promise: he that has
The fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrte
And knows no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preists
Invay agaynst plurallytie of liveings
And they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are without
The remedye of sugar candye for't.
Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gott
Hurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes,
I & allmost disjested too as soone.
Oli. I, but in sober sadness whatts done there?
Bus. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes,
For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngs
To mere confussyon: nothing there hath forme
But that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorte
Vice only thrives and merryt starves in courte.
Rei. What of the maryadge of your noble aunte Our fayre eied royall empresse?
Bus. Trothe, I wonderd, Sir,
You spoke of that no sooner, yet I hope
None here are jealyous that I brought one sparke
To kyndell that ill flame.
Orl. No, of my trothe, I know thee much too honest; but how fares The Empresse now, my dear exequetresse?
Bus. Sir, as a woman in her case may doe; Shee's broughte [to] bedd.
Rei. What, has she a chylde, then?
Bus. I, my Lord.
Orl. A Sonne!
Bus. Mys-fortune hath inspyrd you, Sir; tys true.
Orl. Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt. O harte, will nothing breake the?
Rei. Tis most straunge.
Orl. Straunge? Why, if she had been spayd
And all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghte
My ill fate would have gotten her with chylde—
Of a son, too. Hencefourthe let no man
That hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryve
Ere let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in't
Would tourne the hope't successe to an event
That would fryghte nature & make patyence braule
With the most pleasinge objecte.
Bus. Sir, be at peace; Much may be found by observatyon.
Orl. Th'arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable.
Thys observation thou advysest to
Would ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fate
That I should be distrackt. I can observe
Naughte but varyetye of mysseries
Crossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours.
I neare did good for any but great Charles,
And the meare doing that hath still brought forth
To me some plague too heavye to be borne,
But that I am reservd onlye to teach
The studyed envye of mallignant starrs.
If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde,
It is with studyinge myne afflictions;
But, for her standing on a roullinge stone,
Theire learninge faylls them, for she fixed stands
And onlye against me.
Rei. Move hym no further;
But if your observatyon can fynde out
A coneinge in the carryadge of theise ills
That may be questioned, Ile thanke your love,
And be your servant: pray be inquisitive.
Orl. Inquiseytive? for what? my miseryes
Requyer no searche, they playnlye shewe themselves,
And in theire greatnes crowne what made them greate.
The power of Fortune, which by theym beinge crownd
Doth tyrannize uppon me.
Enter Didier.
Did. Healthe attend
Thys honord presence! may your wellcome home
Retayne proportion with those worthye deeds
Whereby y'ave yearn'd all wellcome.
Orl. What is he?
Did. Howe ere my dutye and best wishes shall Ever attend you, and those wishes be Putt into acte to doe you anye servyce.
Bus. Thart a grosse flatterer, and knowe there is More sympathye betwixte mere contraryes Then twixte thy words and wishes.
Did. Then your knowledge
Has no true ryghte doone to it, beinge so greate
To be so littill famed. I never hearde
That you ere did or durst knowe any thynge
But dynner tyme & coronatyon day,
The tylters collours & theire pages suytts,
But to theire Empresas[88] you styll gave up
An Ignoramus.
Bus. Th'art a parasytte;
Thou & thy fortunes wayte uppon my father
And like an evyll aungell make hym doe
Those fearful thyngs I tremble to delyver.
Therefore the love which thou protestest here
Can be at best but fayn'd & beares more shewe
Of treacherye then zeale.
Did. How say you by that?
Orl. Ganelon's servant! Will it not suffyce
The mallyce of my starres to presse me downe
With a most pondrous wayghte of injuryes
But they must keepe me wakinge with the syghte
O' th'authors on't, to myxe my sufferings
With heate and anger? Syrha, howe dare you
Upbrayd me with your presence? or doe you thynke
My wrongs and fortune have made me so tame
That I am a fytt subject for your spleene,
Your trencher envye & reverssyon rage?
Or arte so greate an Infydell to doute
My mischeifes snayle-pacst that thou spurst on newe
In full carryere uppon me?
Did. I disclayme Ganelons servyce other then to serve Your worthye ends, which is the onlye end Whertoe I ere seemd hys.
Bus. Monstrous deceytfull vyllayne!
Orl. Impossyble!
I cannot be so happye, & if thou
Beare but the least affectyon to my cause,
Thy fortunes like thy trenchers wilbe chaungd
To a sordyd foulenes that will loathe thy nature.
Did. For that no matter, I darre fortunes worst
In ryghte of vertue; & if you'le be pleased
Thys screane may be removed that keepes away
All comfortable heate from everye man
Which he stands neare, Ile tell you thyngs that shall
Confyrme you I am yours.
Orl. He shall not goe, Nor can I hope successe in any thynge (More then my sworde), & muche lesse be confyrmed.
Oli. Pray, sir, withdrawe.
Rei. Althoughe I thynke thys fellowe meanes no good We may dyscover & prevent hys ill: Pray leave us, sir.
Bus. I will; but yet beware That fellowe. [Exit La Busse.
Did. I fyrst desyre
To be beleived my love & utmost servyce
Are vowed unto your greatnes, to which beleife
The hazard of my life throughe all the daungers
That ever fryghted weake mortallytie,
Shalbe an instygation. Fyrst, Sir, knowe
The empresse is departed.
Orl. Whyther! to hunt worsse fortunes then I suffer?
Did. Sir, she is deade, a fever shooke her bloode After her chyld bedd sycknes, & of it She dyed last mornynge.
Rei. Wonderful!! what newse of her younge sonne?
Did. It lyves & is a pryncelye littill one, Lewis the gentyll calld, a hopefull infante.
Oli. But smale hope of the emperours righte to it.
Orl. Howe taks hys majestye the empresse deathe?
Did. Straunglye, beyond all presydents of greife.
Being dead it seemes he loves her ten tymes more
Then ere he loved her liveinge (yet that love
Outwentt all dottage in th'extreamytie):
He will not give her buryall, but in's armes
Carryes her up & downe, courts, kysses, toys,
Mournes when she maks no answere; often faynes
To understande her sylence; sweares that deathe
Cannot, nay darre not, hurte suche excellence.
Orl. Why, thys is absolute madnes! Where's byshopp Turpin? His reverence shoulde persuade hym.
Did. So he hathe, But tys in vayne: he heares naught but his passyon.
Orl. Why, styll thou heapest uppon me newe misfortunes.
Did. But will delyver comforte. For some prooffe Of myne integrytie, knowe I was hyerd By Ganelon to poyson you.
Rei. Whatts thys?
Did. To which performance I so soothd hys hopes That he beleives tys doone.
Orl. And so it had,
But that my Fortune knewe my deathe woulde be
Toe greate a blessinge for me & remove
The object of her envye past her spleene.
What wretchednes is thys! haveinge indeede
All the worlds mysseryes that have a name,
A new one out of pyttie must be founde
To adde to infynitts. My heavy cursse,
But that't would be a blessynge, shoulde rewarde thee;
And for thy disobedyence to thy lorde
Ile torture thee, for I will wish thee well.
Did. Did ever mans preservatyon plauge [sic] hym thus? Wonder confounds me.
Rei. My most worthye cossen, Will you not take advantage of thys plott?
Orl. No; what advauntage? the emperour's eares are glewed Gaynst althyngs but hys passyons.
Did. Great Sir, no;
The vyolence of hys passyon notwithstandinge,
Havinge hys deathe-slayne mistres in hys armes,
He heares all causes criminall as if
She did but slumber by hym.
Oli. Tys an offerd meanes To bringe your foe in hatred with the emperour Revyve your hopes.
Orl. As cordyalls doe call backe
A dyinge man from hys aproachynge peace
To make h[im suffer] still the mysseryes
Of hys allmost past sycknes. I reffuse it,
And by my suffrynge nowe will shewe my selfe
Too noble to complayne. I neare coulde fynde
Pleasure or ease in others punishment,
Or if I were so base to take delighte
In the afflyctions of another man
My fate would guard me from't, for tys decreed
That onlye I of all mankynde shall neare
Be master of a hope shall have successe:
So all the opposytion I can make
Would onlye make my greives rydiculous
And dyvorce pyttye from theym. Neare will I.
[Ex. Orlando.
Did. Heres a straunge humor!
Oli. I, but let it not Deterre you from hys accusatyon.
Did. Ile justefye what I have sayd.
Rei. Doe so, And bothe myne entertaynment and rewarde Shall pay thy love and faythe.
[Ex. all but Didier.
Did. I doe not like
Thys entertaynment at the second hande:
It looks like barbers physicke, muddylie.
Is thys a welcome worthye of the love
I have exprest? Had I tooke up hys hauke
Or matcht a coatch-horse for hym suche a servyce
Had deserved more respect then he gives me.
I like a wise man have lefte certayne meanes,
For hop't preferments: 'twas dyscreetlye doone
And ledd by vertue too. Thys vertue is
The scurvyest, harlottryest, undoeinge thynge
That ever mixte with rysinge courtyers thoughts.
But t'has a cursse. It is impossyble
Ere to gett into Ganelon agayne,
Havinge not onlye not performd hys will
But tould hys purpose. And howe slyghte so ere
The earle of Angeres houlds thys accusatyon,
T'will be examynd: therefore I must throughe—
But howe? thoughe it be true I cannot prove it
By other testymonie then myne owne;
And that hys owne denyall will bereave me
Of the beleife due to it. Yet will I stand too't styll:
To deter vyce heaven gives a power to will.
Enter Ganelon.
Gan. Y'are well mett.
Did. I thanke you.
Gan. Th'art a vyllayne.
Did. It may be so; your lordshypp can defyne me If you would shewe your readinge or your practyse.
Gan. Orlando is retournd.
Did. Tys well.
Gan. It is;
But it had beene better for your perjurd roaugshipp
Your harte had gordgd a hauke.
Did. Wa, ha ho, man!
Your buzarde is a kynde of byrde of prey,
Your lordship knowes too, that will feede on all
Unable to outflye or to resist,
But suche pursued her basenes and her sloathe
At once apeare. You understand me, sir?
Gan. Nowe a leane castrell[89] ceyze thee? Arte thou flesht? Must naught encounter you but byrds of rapyne?
Did. Good, good, you stretche a foule comparysson The best that I have hearde. But be assurd I am no scarabb for a castrells breakfast.
Gan. Why, you are growne a desperatt darringe rouge, A roaugue of noyse and clamor, are you not?
Did. And in dyspyghte of all your fearfull bells Of greatnes and aucthorytie, will tourne heade, Fly in thye bossome, and so stynge thee then That thou shalt curse thy beinge. [Exit Didier.
Gan. Thys is well,
Exceedinge well: upbrayded by my slave
Armed by my trust agaynst me! I coulde nowe
Wishe a stronge packthread had stytchd up my lips
When I made thys roague inmate of my breast.
My seryous counsaylls and's owne servyces
He sells like goods at outcryes—"Who gives most?"
Oh what dull devyll manadgd my weake braynes
When first I trusted hym; Harte, I have made
My counsaylls my foes weapons, wherewith he
May wound me deeplye. Suer he has reveald
My purposse and reward to poyson hym:
So I bestryde a myne which to my ruyne
Wants but a sparke,—and farewell, Ganelon!
Nowe the poxe take my harte for trustynge hym!
What a brave noble creature were a man
… … … … … see and so prevent
… … … … … nay of his slave.
Enter Richard.
Ric. Health attend you!
Gan. O my dearest sweete,
Thy presence makes thee master of thy wish;
For in it rests my health and happynes.
Howe does my best friend? faythe, you look most sadd,
And we have bothe full cause. My syster's deathe
Hath, like the moone in opposytion,
Put out the eie of heaven. But doth the emperour
Styll keep her in hys armes.
Ric. Yes, styll and styll;
Nay with such vyolence love seemes to growe
And flourishe most in deathe. Mesantius wrathe,
That tyed dead to the livinge, seemes in hym
The joy of all man's wishes. Soothe he is
Anything now but famous Charlymayne.
Gan. I cannot blame hym; tis a furye man
Can neither tame nor conquer. But, dear frende,
Is there no meanes to come to the dead queene
Out of the emperours presence?
Ric. Sir, theres none;
He hath her evermore within hys armes,
And when a sleepes your syster Gabriella
Or the oulde Bishopp Turpin doe attend her.
Gan. I, there you name a newe afflyctyon, That syster is an ulcer in my bloode: Howe doe you with her doatinge passyons?
Ric. Sleyght them beyond your wishes.
Gan. Thou dost amaze me with thy noble vertue,
And thence I honor thee. As for that mayd
Still let her frantique love receyve repulse
And crowne thy contynence; for though I was
Content the queene should stray, yet thys[90]
I would not have to fall for chrystendome.
Ric. You neede not feare me: if not contynence, Yet myne owne will is armour strong enoughe.
Gan. I know't; and here she comes.
Enter Gabriella.
Gab. Brother, God save you!—0 my noble Richarde, You make me oulde ithe mornynge of my yeares. Shall styll your winter nypp me?
Gan. What doe you meane?
Gab. T'express a love thats good and vertuous.
Gan. Fye, thys doth stayne your noble modestye.
Gab. To tell before you myne affectyon In publique I confes it would make me A subject for taxation.
Gan. Anywhere. Come, a must not love you.
Gab. Heavens forbydd!
And I must tell you, brother, that I darre
(And with no other then a syster's spleene)
Justifye myne affectyon.
Gan. So, And what wants thys of impudence?
Gab. As much As you of charytie if your tonge bee A faithfull servant to your mynde.
Gan. Tys well: You would be whored (mayd), would you not?
Ric. Pray, Forbeare.
Gab. Your reprehensyon is unmannerlye,
While Ile enduer no longer. Fayre Sir, knowe
I will not have my true love circomscrybd
Within the lymits of your pollycie,
Come, y'are wicked.
Gan. Repentance would doe well.
Gab. Tys a fytt matche for threescore and ten yeares
And at that sober age I meane to wedd it.
Yet knowe that my desyers are not so wild
But they stay here. Nor will I ever stray
Beyond this most loved object.
Ric. Say not so:
It never can retourne your recompence.
Vertue, my soules dower, which is now contrackt
And richlie to be marryed unto heaven
Shall ever keepe me from affectyon:
Beleve it, madam, I will never love.
Gab. Then have false hopes raysd me to th'topp of all Onlye to forme my ruyne in my fall.
Gan. Nay, no more fallinge. Come, my noble frende; And, ladye, cherishe not these whorishe longings.
[Exe. Gan. Rich.
Gab. Not cherrishe them? yes, blowe them into flames
Create as the full desyers that warme my bloode.
What, am I younge, fruytfull, and somewhat fayre,
And shall my pleasures beare the servyle yoake
Of hys strycte rules and so chayne up my blood
In manackles of ice? Fyrst Ile dare
All pangs make men thynke of mortallytie,
But I will love hym; yes, I will love hym styll
And so be servd both in my lust and will.
Enter Charlimayne with the queene in his armes,
Turpin, La Busse.
Turp … … Sir, let me perswade … … Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous, Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie.
Char. No more;
He that perswades me from thys loved embrace
Is my most mortall enemye, and here
I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon.
O, Gabriella, come; thy syster sleepes
A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade;
Goodnes can never perishe, and if so
Yet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I have
Not full so many mynuts to survyve
As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I
For that short space forgett her? No we'll stay
And close our loves both in one monument.
Turp. Was never seene suche an affectyon!
Char. Come, Gabriella, let us sett her downe;
And seate her easylie, doe not hurt my queene;
The downie breathe that sweepes alongst the meads,
Kissinge the gentyll flowers that sweeten hym,
Are stormes and tempests to her tenderness:
[They place the dead bodye in a chayre.
No ayre shall blow uppon her. Happye soule!
Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see
The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks
Fresher than ever. Deathes imortal sythe
Dare not offend thy branches: O, thou arte
A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon.
Buss.—What will a make of her?
Turp.—Even what his fancye pleases.
Char. If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe,
Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable!
And howe much follye is in fearfull man [Sitts by her.
To flye from that which is so amyable!
Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte
My soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fame
And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome,
The conquests I have made of Fraunce, of Spayne,
Of Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie,
Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee
Are toys of worthlesse valewe. Here's my crowne,
And but for thys I were not Charlymayne.
Turp. Alas, tys she maks hym not Charlymayne!
Char. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe,
[Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique.
But Turpin and my sister. Heavye sleepe
Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete,
Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest
Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee.
[Sleepes on her bosome.
Turp. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe?
Gab. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule Hath charmd hys sence with slumber.
Turp. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche And call you at hys wakynge.
Gab. Willinglye. [Ex. Gabriella.
Turp. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys,
It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde,
Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love,
Raynes in him above wonder, nay above
Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence.
I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes,
Spells and devysses to comand men's harts;
That charracters and imadges and scrolles
Can even bynd the soule to servytude.
It may be that's wrought on the emperoure.
I know the hate of Ganelon to be
A myne of all deceytfull polycie,
And thys affectyon thus unnaturall,
Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye,
If I can fynde the carryage. Pardon me, deathe,
That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye.
Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde
And emptye sylence, no companyon.
What, shall I then leave of? My harte says noe;
Ile yet breake ope another cabanett.
Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say,
Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons:
You cannot byte me, madam. Ha, whats thys?
A rynge!
A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe
Hydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate!
Somethynge depends uppon it: what it is
I will aprove and be the treasurer.
Enter Gabriella.
Gab. Howe nowe, my Lorde? awaks the emperour?
[Char. stirrs.
Turp. I sawe him move even now: agayne he styrrs. Good sweete, excuse me: when a dothe awake I will retourne imedyatlye. [Exit Turp.
Gab. I will.
Char. Hey ho!
Who waytts without? dothe nobodye attend?
… … pleasure … … … … …
Ha!
Woman's attendaunce? in the name of chaunge
When did Charles use such frayltie? Men at armes
Did ever guarde me: am I now forsooke?
Enter Richard, La Busse and attendants.
O you are wellcome. Ha! what creature's thys?
Deathe coopeld to my bossome, to my chayre?
What traytor shewd thys embleme? Why my age
Did neare forgett mortallytie, nor hathe
The wantonst thought in prynces made me looke
Beyond the hower of deathe. Let me viewe her.
Rich.—Here's a chaunge; he wilbe Charles agayne.
Bus.—Why, thys maks althyngs more myraculous.
Char. Tys the dead Empresse! In the name of healthe Who plact her bodye here?
Rich. Onlye your maiestye, From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tonge Had power to drawe her.
Char. Gentyll coosse,
Doe not take judgment from me: in my mynde
Was never fyxte a frantycke passyon.
But more of that hereafter: take it hence
And let the ladyes guarde it tyll it be
Interrd with publique sollempe obsequy.
[Attendants, La Busse and Gab. carie away the dead.
Where is Orlando my renowned nephewe?
Rich. Without, attendinge your hye pleasure.
Char. Good coosse, intreate hys presence that hys face
May blesse an ould man's eie sight. O tys he [Exit Rich.
Hathe brought to Fraunce her wishes in suche wreathes
Of uncompared conquests that it bends
With weaknes of requyttall. Here he comes!
Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Richard and Didier,
Attend[ants].
O my best souldier, wellcome! I growe younge
With thynkinge of thy gloryes. Wellcome, coosse,
Wellcome, renowned Oliver, wellcome all!
But thou, myne eagle, wellcome as my healthe!
Th'ast brought me peace, the braunche of hapynes.
Orl. The good that I have doone, Sir, is without me
And I partake not of it, but within me
I bringe and beare more mysseryes then would
Unpeople your whole kyngdome.
Char. Whats the matter?
Orl. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power
Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded
(Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse)
To tell you of a practyse gainst my life
By Ganelon.
Char. Call hym; you shall be hearde,
You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge.
Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe
That indyrect surmyses more abuse
And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde
An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one.
Orl. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde
An inocent brest: myne keepes a register
With corsives charactred on everye syde
Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er]. But I say,
Were Ganelon here—
Enter Ganelon.
Gan. As he is, my lorde,
To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature,
The mallyce of thys slave or of the world,
Can charge me with. Speak then the uttermost.
Orl. I say you are a man that haveinge longe
Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence
At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman
(For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie
Be myne afflyction) to poyson me.
Gan. My emperour,
If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way
Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor,
Justyce hathe left the earthe.
Char. What say you, Syr? ha!
Did. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie
That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true
That with a summe of goulde and further hopes
Of future honors he did wynne my promysse
To poyson the greate Palladyne.
Char. Thys is dyrect.
Gan. A dyrect vyllanye!
If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man,
Any such slave, discarded for's badd life,
May make hys former master forfayte hys;
You may in ten days hange up all your nobles
And yet have lawe for't. But if any man
(Thys slave except), although hys synns would make
The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte
And the grasse wither with his loathed …,
Will justefye thys accusatyon,
Ile remayne destitute of all replye.
Char. Nephewe, what other proofe have you?
Orl. Your majestie sees all,
And the thyrde parte of that product gaynst me
Or gaynst another man (for anye ellse)
Would be enoughe.
Rei. Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycie Works on the lives of prynces, God forbydd But one mans oathe should stand for testymonye.
Oli. Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leade Dyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at. All Fraunce dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne.
Ric. In soothe I doe not thynke so. Envyes tonges Are sharpe and manye, and they ever cleave Most to'th oppressed, oft to'th inocent.
Rei. Doe not deceyve your selfe out of your love. Brother, tys knowne he is most treacherous.
Bus. Worthy Reinaldo, carrye better thoughts: My father is your servant, and dothe love you.
Rei. Would a loved vertue as I knowe you doe, I then would honor hym. Uppon my life In thys he is most guyltye.
Char. Come, no more.
There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe,
And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyve
Howe dearlye I doe pryze him. Ganelon,
Hencefourthe you never more shall see the courte:
Yare banysht thence. You have a cuntrye house,
Let that receyve you: when you thence departe
Your life is forfayte. Away!
Gan. I doe obay Your Majestye. [Exe. Gan., La Busse.
Orl. Is thys a punishment?
Rei. Tys a disgrace, best cossen.
Did. And noble bloode Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds.
Orl. Hence, slave!
By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne.
Was ever man like me unfortunate?
Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor
In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd
T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd.
Enter Turpin.
Char. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene? My joy of life, my ages comforter! Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee.
Tur. What meanes your majestie?
Char. I meane to live for ever on thy necke
And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares.
O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge,
Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse
When the bright sonne dothe kysse it.
Orl. Ha, whats thys?
Tur. I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man, That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you.
Char. Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume,
A verye myne of imortallytie.
Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye,
Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed.
Thou hast no wrinckles: theise are carracters
In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye.
Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will.
[Kisses Turpin.
Orl.—Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge.
Rei.—Nay, farre above my readinge.
Orl.—Upon my life! The ould men will not ravyshe one another?
Tur. Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne Thys toe much wanton passyon.
Char. They are joys
Toe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete;
We will in private measure our delights
And fyll our wishes bryme full. F[r]aunce is thyne,
And he is but disloyall dare repyne.
[Ex. Char., Turp.
Orl. This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus The whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous.
[Ex. all but Didier.
Did. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye
And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe
I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe.
Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man,
Has undoone me. What course shall I take now?
I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me.
My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt
For anye ill. Successe may make all fayre;
He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre.
[Exit.
Actus Tertius.
(SCENE I.)
Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella.
[Eld.] … … … it is not possyble … … … … … The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye Richard Should promise more true fortytude in love Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons.
Gab. Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs,
The smale assurance and the certayne deathe,
The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns
That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures;
And are you styll to learne or will you trust
A lovelye face with all your good beleife?
My dutye checks myne anger, or I should—
Eld. What should you?
Gab. Give your tast a bytternes.
Eld. I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson; See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill.
Gab. Spleene shall not taynte my goodnes
So muche as to account your errors follyes;
But, I proteste, were you another woman,
I should be bouldlye seryous and tell you
That all the wytts of chrystendome are spente
In stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes:
And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boy
Beares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie!
Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye face
When they themselves deceyve most by the face?
Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if we
Cannot suspect when others doe dissemble?
Eld. True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into the meale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eie syghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to the tune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks a crannye as bygg as a conye borrowe to gett out agayne.
Gab. And wherefore then should I trust in the face?
Mother, tys true your sonne, my cruell brother,
The toe much wise, toe subtyll Ganelon,
Onlye withdrawes Richards affectyon.
Even to my selfe a swore a should not love me;
And who that knowes hym, knowes he is not ledd
By the charme of hys voyce onlye?
Eld. Trust me, wenche, Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thys Where lyethe our preventyon?
Gab. Onlye thus:
You must by all meanes styrre dissentyon
Twixte Rychard and my brother, tourne their loves
To mortall hate and emulatyon;
Which but effected, Richard suer will love
Bee't but alone to crosse hys enemye.
Eld. Content thy selfe, gyrle. There is not the malytious creature nowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor a tale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedes of enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or good fellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theire frendshypp. But to better purpose—
Gab. Peace, no more: here comes the aged byshopp The kyngs inamord darlinge.
Enter Turpin.
Tur. Best ladye, well encounterd: howe runns chaunce With your deare sonne, my good lord Ganelon?
Eld. Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir.
Lost from the courte he left behynde hym there
All cares and all vexatyons: nowe he sleepes,
Eats, drynks and laughes, and, but when he dothe sweate,
Moves not hys hatt tyll bedd tyme; dothe not fawne,
Nor croutche, nor crynge, nor startche his countenance;
Is not tane up with other mens affayres
But onlye looks to's owne comodytie.
Tur. Hys chaunge was passynge happye then, it seemes.
Gab. Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, nowe
He onlye wayts on hys partycullar,
Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayse
All hys to cuntrye fortunes; which, they say,
Is safest, surest, and least envyed.
Tur. Why, prettie Ladye, you'le not leave the courte?
Eld. Yes, gratyous lorde; I'me sent to bringe her thence.
Our pore retyred famylie must plante
Theire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91]
Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces.
Tur. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys
Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende
Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye
Your sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreate
You will imparte unto hym.
Eld. Most willinglie; Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled there Which to the courte is a contrarye spheare.
[Ex. Eldegr. and Gab.
Tur. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble!
… … … … …
O tys a foule and damned sorcerye
And maks the best of wisdome and of men,
Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre,
Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse.
Why I am even rackt with complyment
And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe
Houlde difference in thys incantatyon.
But I will trye it further, harke a comes;
Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye.
Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard.
Char. Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve
My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence?
I pray thee tender my declyninge age,
Stande allways neare that I may never faynte;
For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life
Then mightie nature when she made me younge.
Tur. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante.
Char. O you dyssemble fynelye!
Tur. I protest, sir.
Char. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me,
But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye,
For I confess, as freelye as I love,
One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome;
And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I?
A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge
That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles.
Tur. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent. I doe adore you next to dietie [sic] And will lay downe my life for you to treade on.
Char. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive
Another god, or I must forfayte heaven
And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature.
Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence
From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake:
Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee
Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie.
Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all,
All my domynions and authoryties;
Thynke what may please thee, make a full request
Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors.
Tur. What shall I aske, that in your favours have All that I can desyer?
Char. Nay, aske me somethynge: Come, tell't in myne eare?
Bus. What thynke you, lorde? Has any favrytt all he can desyer.
Rich. Yes, and a be contented.
Bus.—Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie contented?
Rich.—Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt.
Bus.—Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, Richard, he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe blame hys doatinge on my sister.
Rich.—No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole, muche more with prynces.
Bus.—If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare; let us prate whylst they whysper.
Rich.—Is that good manners?
Bus.—Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.
Rich.—Come, thou art wanton!
Bus.—As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging. Twere a myrackle should he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way to be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhat there must be.
Char. How now, cossen, what says La Busse?
Bus. Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of mynuts.
Char. Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.—But, sweete frend, Assure thy selfe th'ast fyxte my resolutyon As fyrme as destenye, and I will give All satisfactyon to the Palladyne.
Tur. It wilbe royall in you.
Enter Ganelon.
Char. Kysse me, sweete.—O you are wellcome; stand up. And howe does thys retyred life agree With Ganelon?
Gan. As Ganelon with it,
Most desolatlye, sir. I have induerd
Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you;
In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd
[Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd
Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente
I never slepte in quyett nor awakt
But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last.
Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle
Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares
Over and over. Fortune has opposd
My naturall blessings and my wishest ends;
Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes
Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve
Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge
Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all
My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne
A suffrynge of that impyous accounte
Which nowe afflycts me.
Char. O you are conynge.
Tur. Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte.
Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver.
But here comes the earle of Angeres.
Char. Nephewe, y'are discontented and I woulde Give all rights to your honor, which did cause Me latelye thus to send for you.
Orl. Tys true,
You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd
And came: but then, Sir, what became of me?
You sente me presentlye away for Spayne.
Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys
As well methynks as if it hapned nowe.
Char. Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake.
Orl. O that I could mistake or never thynke
Uppon thys daylie terror to my sence.
Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake
But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus.
Char. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good Into a stronge disease.
Orl. So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall,
I have a straunge disease. But, gratyous Sir,
Littill thought I, when I departed hence
And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd.
Char. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer.
Orl. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede
Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with,
But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare
My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with't.
Rei.—A touches hym most bouldlye.
Oli.—Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge.
Orl. Beleive't, my sycknes is like the disease
Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame,
For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse:
But what good man can well escape a cursse
When Emperours, that should be absolute,
Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant?
Gan. Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more.
Orl. Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde?
Gan. Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt.
Char. I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one,
You, Ganelon, I meane: there dothe belonge
Unto your fault muche more then banishment.
I heare discharge you of all offyces,
Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds
The slender name of a pore gentyllman.
Besyds I fyne you out of your estate
At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence
To see the courte, but live thence banyshed.
Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be light
Ile lay more burthens on hym.—Come, best frende.
Orl. Sir, I desyer no mans miserye.
[Ex. Cha., Turp.
Gan. Then welcome once agayne my libertie!
Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee
And utter my dystractyon; only nowe
Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome.
Before I was devyded in my selfe,
The emperour and the state did clayme a parte;
But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd
And onlye thou shalt have what manye had,
My best imployments and my whole desyers.
Rich. You are a juell fytter for the State,
And I feare what will followe. Sure th'emperoure,
Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne
In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome.
Gan. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me He wants his refudge, and my glorye then Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende, Which is your selfe, that onlye … to me … … enoughe to caper … … …
Orl. What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe? Cossen Reinaldo, cossen Oliver, Why does he growe thus guyddie?
Gan. What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge
That I should take a pore content in shame?
Your envye will discredite you, my lorde.
Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of Aesopps dogge
That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger?
Orl. Rei. Oli. What then?
Gan. He was an arrant peevyshe curre,
Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye
I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne)
Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame.
Orl. Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole.
Gan. Sir, I am just of your opynion I;
For what extreame beast but a foolishe curre
Would envye that which he hym selfe dispyses?
Be not offended, Sir, thoughe symple I
Can live in peace at home with hungrye leeks
And never curse my planettes. I can leape
With more actyvitie then yesterday.—Capers.
Does thys offend you, Sir?
Orl. Exceedinglye.
Rei. Were you thus nymble ever from a boy?
Gan. No, in good faythe it taks me of the sodayne.
Oli. Your harte is lighter then it needs, I doute.
Gan. Yes, and your heade is lighter then your heeles.
Bus. It is the honor of hys gravitie
Not to be shaken with rydiculous winds
Of envye or of scandall. Good Sir, thynke
His resolutyons nowe his champyons.
Gan. Syrha, no more; you shall goe home with me
And learne to laughe at fortune; I have there
A worthye matche and vertuous wife for thee
And she shall pyle up all your flatterye:
The courte hath no use for it.—Sir, methought
You talkt of lightnes, did you not?
Orl. Yes, that your heade is lighter then your heeles.
Gan. It is, I thanke my starres; howe can it chuse,
Beinge disburdend of so manye feares,
So much attendance and so manye synnes
By losse of my late offyces? I am bounde
(My contyence knowes it well) to blesse your lordshipp
If you or others moved the emperour
To my displaceinge. I am nowe unloaded
Of all the wayghtie cares that did oppresse me,
And shall I not discover what I am.
A nymble and a newe borne quyet man. [Capers.]
—Does thys offend you?
Enter Turpin.
Tur. Where's lorde Richard?
Rich. Here, reverend Sir.
Tur. Hys majestie comands you uppon payne
Of life and your aleagance that from hence
You never more conversse with Ganelon
Eyther by letter, speeche or complyment.
No not so much as see hym; and withall
You must imediatlye attend his hyghnes.
Rich. I am hys servant. [Ex. Tur., Rich.
Gan. Tyll nowe I neare felt thunder, I am strooke To deathe with mans soft languadge. Come away: Tyll nowe I neare saw trulye a sadd day.
[Ex. Can., La Busse.
Orl. Wherefore did the angrye emperour Degrade thys merrye lorde? To pleasure me, Did he not, cossen?
Rei. Yes, to satisfye The wronge he did in plottinge of your deathe.
Orl. He did so, righte, but tys as fruytlesse all As catchynge of the moone: tys past mans power To take away my cursse of destenye.
Oli. Tys that opynion multyplyes your cursse.
Orl. Had any man but such a slave as I
Look't to have tryumphd in hys base dejection
And he should have beene glutted with hys fortunes,
Whylst I and all the projects I can make
Cannot (with fortunes leave) gett a good dreame.
Rei. Doe not so blame your fortunes, worthye cossen: You have in many actyons prosperd well.
Orl. Good, doe not studye how to flatter me; I am in althyngs most unfortunate. Witnes my fyrst love to Angellica, … … … my cursse … … … My manye shypwracks, my halfe combattings, Charmes and inchauntments or whatever ells Can breake the harte of resolutyon.
Rei. What say you to your conquests?
Orl. Tut, in thosse
Fortune did never medle: honor there
Served in her person, not by substytute.
Instead of which pore blessinge not a day
Hathe hapned synce without some mysserye.
Wheres now my hope of byrthrighte, where all Fraunce?
Drownd in the cradle of a chamber groome.
And now, just now, resolveinge to aflycte
That myserable lorde, he doth dispyse
Me & hys shame, because in me it lyes.
By heaven I will release hym!
Rei. Nothinge so: Pray leave thys angrye moode and followe me; Ile add a torment to hys mysserye.
[Exe.