Robert Greene: [Six Plays]

by Robert Greene

Enter Alvida with her Ladies, with dispersed locks.

Alvi. Come, mournful dames, lay off your broider'd locks,
And on your shoulders spread dispersèd hairs:
Let voice of music cease where sorrow dwells:
Clothèd in sackcloth, sigh your sins with me;
Bemoan your pride, bewail your lawless lusts;
With fasting mortify your pamper'd loins:
O, think upon the horror of your sins,
Think, think with me, the burden of your blames!
Woe to thy pomp, false beauty, fading flower,
Blasted by age, by sickness, and by death!
Woe to our painted cheeks, our curious oils,
Our rich array, that foster'd us in sin!
Woe to our idle thoughts, that wound our souls!
O, would to God all nations might receive
A good example by our grievous fall!
First Lady. You that are planted there where pleasure dwells,
And think your pomp as great as Nineveh's,
May fall for sin as Nineveh doth now.
Alvi. Mourn, mourn, let moan be all your melody,
And pray with me, and I will pray for all:—
O Lord of heaven, forgive us our misdeeds!
Ladies. O Lord of heaven, forgive us our misdeeds!
Usurer. O Lord of light, forgive me my misdeeds!

Enter Rasni, with his Kings and Lords in sackcloth.

K. of Cil. Be not so overcome with grief, O king,
Lest you endanger life by sorrowing so.
Rasni. King of Cilicia, should I cease my grief,
Whereas my swarming sins afflict my soul?
Vain man, know this, my burden greater is
Than every private subject's in my land.
My life hath been a loadstar unto them,
To guide them in the labyrinth of blame:
Thus I have taught them for to do amiss;
Then must I weep, my friend, for their amiss.
The fall of Nineveh is wrought by me:
I have maintain'd this city in her shame;
I have contemn'd the warnings from above;
I have upholden incest, rape, and spoil;
'Tis I, that wrought the sin, must weep the sin.
O, had I tears like to the silver streams
That from the Alpine mountains sweetly stream,
Or had I sighs, the treasures of remorse,
As plentiful as Æolus hath blasts,
I then would tempt the heavens with my laments,
And pierce the throne of mercy by my sighs!
K. of Cil. Heavens are propitious unto faithful prayers.
Rasni. But after we repent, we must lament,
Lest that a worser mischief doth befall.
O, pray: perhaps the Lord will pity us.—
O God of truth, both merciful and just,
Behold, repentant men, with piteous eyes
We wail the life that we have led before:
O, pardon, Lord! O, pity Nineveh!
All. O, pardon, Lord! O, pity Nineveh!
Rasni. Let not the infants, dallying on the teat,
For fathers' sins in judgment be oppress'd!
K. of Cil. Let not the painful mothers big with child,
The innocents, be punish'd for our sin!
Rasni. O, pardon, Lord! O, pity Nineveh!
All. O, pardon, Lord! O, pity Nineveh!
Rasni. O Lord of heaven, the virgins weep to thee!
The covetous man sore sorry for his sin,
The prince and poor, all pray before thy throne;
And wilt thou, then, be wroth with Nineveh?
K. of Cil. Give truce to prayer, O king, and rest a space.
Rasni. Give truce to prayers, when times require no truce?
No, princes, no. Let all our subjects hie
Unto our temples, where, on humbled knees,
I will expect some mercy from above.
[They all enter the temple.

SCENE III.—Outside the City of Nineveh.

Enter Jonas.

Jonas. This is the day wherein the Lord hath said
That Nineveh shall quite be overthrown;
This is the day of horror and mishap,
Fatal unto the cursèd Ninevites.
These stately towers shall in thy watery bounds,
Swift-flowing Lycus, find their burials:
These palaces, the pride of Assur's kings,
Shall be the bowers of desolation,
Whereas the solitary bird shall sing,
And tigers train their young ones to their nest.
O all ye nations bounded by the west,
Ye happy isles where prophets do abound,
Ye cities famous in the western world,
Make Nineveh a precedent for you!
Leave lewd desires, leave covetous delights,
Fly usury, let whoredom be exil'd,
Lest you with Nineveh be overthrown.
Lo, how the sun's inflamèd torch prevails,
Scorching the parchèd furrows of the earth!
Here will I sit me down, and fix mine eye
Upon the ruins of yon wretched town;
And, lo, a pleasant shade, a spreading vine,
To shelter Jonas in this sunny heat!
What means my God? the day is done and spent;
Lord, shall my prophecy be brought to naught?
When falls the fire? when will the judge be wroth?
I pray thee, Lord, remember what I said,
When I was yet within my country-land:
Jehovah is too merciful, I fear.
O, let me fly, before a prophet fault!
For thou art merciful, the Lord my God,
Full of compassion, and of sufferance,
And dost repent in taking punishment.
Why stays thy hand? O Lord, first take my life,
Before my prophecy be brought to naught!
[A serpent devours the vine.
Ah, he is wroth! behold, the gladsome vine,
That did defend me from the sunny heat,
Is wither'd quite, and swallow'd by a serpent!
Now furious Phlegon triumphs on my brows,
And heat prevails, and I am faint in heart.

Enter the Angel.

Angel. Art thou so angry, Jonas? tell me why.
Jonas. Jehovah, I with burning heat am plung'd,
And shadow'd only by a silly vine;
Behold, a serpent hath devourèd it:
And lo, the sun, incens'd by eastern wind,
Afflicts me with canicular aspéct.
Would God that I might die! for, well I wot,
'Twere better I were dead then rest alive.
Angel. Jonas, art thou so angry for the vine?
Jonas. Yea, I am angry to the death, my God.
Angel. Thou hast compassion, Jonas, on a vine,
On which thou never labour didst bestow;
Thou never gav'st it life or power to grow,
But suddenly it sprung, and suddenly died:
And should not I have great compassion
On Nineveh, the city of the world,
Wherein there are a hundred thousand souls,
And twenty thousand infants that ne wot[123]
The right hand from the left, beside much cattle?
O Jonas, look into their temples now,
And see the true contrition of their king,
The subjects' tears, the sinners' true remorse!
Then from the Lord proclaim a mercy-day,
For he is pitiful as he is just.[124]
Jonas. I go, my God, to finish thy command.
[Exit Angel.
O, who can tell the wonders of my God,
Or talk his praises with a fervent tongue?
He bringeth down to hell, and lifts to heaven;
He draws the yoke of bondage from the just,
And looks upon the heathen with piteous eyes:
To him all praise and honour be ascrib'd.
O, who can tell the wonders of my God?
He makes the infant to proclaim his truth,
The ass to speak to save the prophet's life,
The earth and sea to yield increase for man.
Who can describe the compass of his power,
Or testify in terms his endless might?
My ravish'd sprite, O, whither dost thou wend?
Go and proclaim the mercy of my God;
Relieve the careful-hearted Ninevites;
And, as thou wert the messenger of death,
Go bring glad tidings of recover'd grace. [Exit.