Robert Greene: [Six Plays]

by Robert Greene

Enter a Lawyer, a Merchant, and a Divine.

Law. My friends, what think you of this present state?
Were ever seen such changes in a time?
The manners and the fashions of this age
Are, like the ermine-skin, so full of spots,
As sooner may the Moor be washèd white
Than these corruptions banish'd from this realm.
Merch. What sees Mas Lawyer in this state amiss?
Law. A wresting power that makes a nose of wax
Of grounded law, a damn'd and subtle drift
In all estates to climb by others' loss;
An eager thirst of wealth, forgetting truth.
Might I ascend unto the highest states,
And by descent discover every crime,
My friends, I should lament, and you would grieve
To see the hapless ruins of this realm.
Div. O lawyer, thou hast curious eyes to pry
Into the secret maims of their estate;
But if thy veil of error were unmask'd,
Thyself should see your sect do maim her most.
Are you not those that should maintain the peace,
Yet only are the patrons of our strife?
If your profession have his ground and spring
First from the laws of God, then country's right,
Not any ways inverting nature's power,
Why thrive you by contentions? why devise you
Clauses, and subtle reasons to except?
Our state was first, before you grew so great,
A lantern to the world for unity:
Now they that are befriended and are rich
Oppress the poor: come Homer without coin,
He is not heard. What shall we term this drift?
To say the poor man's cause is good and just,
And yet the rich man gains the best in law?
It is your guise (the more the world laments)
To coin provisos to beguile your laws;
To make a gay pretext of due proceeding,
When you delay your common-pleas for years.
Mark what these dealings lately here have wrought:
The crafty men have purchas'd great men's lands;
They powl,[292] they pinch, their tenants are undone;
If these complain, by you they are undone;
You fleece them of their coin, their children beg,
And many want, because you may be rich:
This scar is mighty, Master Lawyer.
Now war hath gotten head within this land,
Mark but the guise. The poor man that is wrong'd
Is ready to rebel; he spoils, he pills;
We need no foes to forage that we have:
The law, say they, in peace consumèd us,
And now in war we will consume the law.
Look to this mischief, lawyers: conscience knows
You live amiss; amend it, lest you end!
Law. Good Lord, that these divines should see so far
In others' faults, without amending theirs!
Sir, sir, the general defaults in state
(If you would read before you did correct)
Are, by a hidden working from above,
By their successive changes still remov'd.
Were not the law by contraries maintain'd,
How could the truth from falsehood be discern'd?
Did we not taste the bitterness of war,
How could we know the sweet effects of peace?
Did we not feel the nipping winter-frosts,
How should we know the sweetness of the spring?
Should all things still remain in one estate,
Should not in greatest arts some scars be found?
Were all upright, nor chang'd, what world were this?
A chaos, made of quiet, yet no world,
Because the parts thereof did still accord:
This matter craves a variance, not a speech.
But, Sir Divine, to you: look on your maims,
Divisions, sects, your simonies, and bribes,
Your cloaking with the great for fear to fall,—
You shall perceive you are the cause of all.
Did each man know there was a storm at hand,
Who would not clothe him well, to shun the wet?
Did prince and peer, the lawyer and the least,
Know what were sin, without a partial gloss,
We'd need no long discovery then of crimes,
For each would mend, advis'd by holy men.
Thus [I] but slightly shadow out your sins;
But, if they were depainted out of life,
Alas, we both had wounds enough to heal!
Merch. None of you both, I see, but are in fault;
Thus simple men, as I, do swallow flies.
This grave divine can tell us what to do;
But we may say, "Physician, mend thyself."
This lawyer hath a pregnant wit to talk;
But all are words, I see no deeds of worth.
Law. Good merchant, lay your fingers on your mouth;
Be not a blab, for fear you bite yourself.
What should I term your state, but even the way
To every ruin in this commonweal?
You bring us in the means of all excess,
You rate it and retail it as you please;
You swear, forswear, and all to compass wealth;
Your money is your god, your hoard your heaven;
You are the groundwork of contention.
First, heedless youth by you is over-reach'd;
We are corrupted by your many crowns:
The gentlemen, whose titles you have bought,
Lose all their fathers' toil within a day,
Whilst Hob your son, and Sib your nutbrown child,
Are gentlefolks, and gentles are beguil'd.
This makes so many noble minds to stray,
And take sinister courses in the state.

Enter a Scout.

Scout. My friends, be gone, an if you love your lives!
The King of England marcheth here at hand:
Enter the camp, for fear you be surpris'd.
Div. Thanks, gentle scout,—God mend that is amiss,
And place true zeal whereas corruption is! [Exeunt.

SCENE V.—Castle of Sir Cuthbert Anderson.

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

Q. Dor. What news in court, Nano? let us know it.
Nano. If so you please, my lord, I straight will show it:
The English king hath all the borders spoil'd,
Hath taken Morton prisoner, and hath slain
Seven thousand Scottish lads not far from Tweed.
Q. Dor. A woful murder and a bloody deed!
Nano. The king, our liege, hath sought by many means
For to appease his enemy by prayers:
Naught will prevail unless he can restore
Fair Dorothea, long supposèd dead:
To this intent he hath proclaimèd late,
That whosoe'er return the queen to court
Shall have a thousand marks for his reward.
Lady And. He loves her, then, I see, although enforc'd,
That would bestow such gifts for to regain her.
Why sit you sad, good sir? be not dismay'd.
Nano. I'll lay my life, this man would be a maid.
Q. Dor. [aside to Nano]. Fain would I show myself, and change my tire.
Lady And. Whereon divine you, sir?
Nano. Upon desire.
Madam, mark but my skill. I'll lay my life,
My master here, will prove a married wife.
Q. Dor. [aside to Nano]. Wilt thou bewray me, Nano?
Nano. [aside to Dor.]. Madam, no:
You are a man, and like a man you go:
But I, that am in speculation seen,[293]
Know you would change your state to be a queen.
Q. Dor. [aside to Nano]. Thou art not, dwarf, to learn thy mistress' mind:
Fain would I with thyself disclose my kind,
But yet I blush.
Nano. [aside to Dor.]. What? blush you, madam, than,[294]
To be yourself, who are a feignèd man?[295]
Lady And. Deceitful beauty, hast thou scorn'd me so?
Nano. Nay, muse not, madam, for he tells you true.
Lady And. Beauty bred love, and love hath bred my shame.
Nano. And women's faces work more wrongs than these:
Take comfort, madam, to cure your disease.
And yet he loves a man as well as you,
Only this difference, he cannot fancy two.
Lady And. Blush, grieve, and die in thine insatiate lust.
Q. Dor. Nay, live, and joy that thou hast won a friend,
That loves thee as his life by good desert.
Lady And. I joy, my lord, more than my tongue can tell:
Though not as I desir'd, I love you well.
But modesty, that never blush'd before,
Discover my false heart: I say no more.
Let me alone.
Q. Dor. Good Nano, stay awhile.
Were I not sad, how kindly could I smile,
To see how fain I am to leave this weed!
And yet I faint to show myself indeed:
But danger hates delay; I will be bold.—
Fair lady, I am not [as you] suppose,
A man, but even that queen, more hapless I,
Whom Scottish king appointed hath to die;
I am the hapless princess, for whose right,
These kings in bloody wars revenge despite;
I am that Dorothea whom they seek,
Yours bounden for your kindness and relief;
And, since you are the means that save my life,
Yourself and I will to the camp repair,
Whereas your husband shall enjoy reward,
And bring me to his highness once again.
Lady And. Pardon, most gracious princess, if you please,
My rude discourse and homely entertain;
And, if my words may savour any worth,
Vouchsafe my counsel in this weighty cause:
Since that our liege hath so unkindly dealt,
Give him no trust, return unto your sire;
There may you safely live in spite of him.
Q. Dor. Ah lady, so would worldly counsel work;
But constancy, obedience, and my love,
In that my husband is my lord and chief,
These call me to compassion of his state:
Dissuade me not, for virtue will not change.
Lady And. What wondrous constancy is this I hear!
If English dames their husbands love so dear,
I fear me in the world they have no peer.
Nano. Come, princess, wend, and let us change your weed:
I long to see you now a queen indeed. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.—Camp of the King of Scots.

Enter the King of Scots, the English Herald, and Lords.

K. of Scots. He would have parley, lords. Herald, say he shall,
And get thee gone. Go, leave me to myself.
[Exit Herald.—Lords retire.
'Twixt love and fear, continual is the war;
The one assures me of my Ida's love,
The other moves me for my murder'd queen:
Thus find I grief of that whereon I joy,
And doubt in greatest hope, and death in weal.
Alas, what hell may be compar'd with mine,
Since in extremes my comforts do consist!
War then will cease, when dead ones are reviv'd;
Some then will yield when I am dead for hope.—
Who doth disturb me?