Robert Greene: [Six Plays]

by Robert Greene

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]