Orl. Princes of France, the sparkling light of fame,
Whose glory's brighter than the burnish'd gates
From whence Latona's lordly son doth march,
When, mounted on his coach tinsell'd with flames,
He triumphs in the beauty of the heavens;
This is the place where Rodomont lies hid:
Here lies he, like the thief of Thessaly,
Which scuds abroad and searcheth for his prey,
And, being gotten, straight he gallops home,
As one that dares not break a spear in field.
But trust me, princes, I have girt his fort,
And I will sack it, or on this castle-wall
I'll write my resolution with my blood:—
Therefore, drum, sound a parle.
[A parle is sounded, and a Soldier comes upon the walls.
Sol. Who is't that troubleth our sleeps?
Orl. Why, sluggard, seest thou not Lycaon's son,
The hardy plough-swain unto mighty Jove,
Hath trac'd his silver furrows in the heavens,
And, turning home his over-watchèd team,
Gives leave unto Apollo's chariot?
I tell thee, sluggard, sleep is far unfit
For such as still have hammering in their heads,
But only hope of honour and revenge:
These call'd me forth to rouse thy master up.
Tell him from me, false coward as he is,
That Orlando, the County Palatine,
Is come this morning, with a band of French,
To play him hunt's-up with a point of war;
I'll be his minstrel with my drum and fife;
Bid him come forth, and dance it if he dare,
Let fortune throw her favours where she list.
Sol. Frenchman, between half-sleeping and awake,
Although the misty veil strain'd over Cynthia
Hinders my sight from noting all thy crew,
Yet, for I know thee and thy straggling grooms
Can in conceit build castles in the sky,
But in your actions like the stammering Greek
Which breathes his courage bootless in the air,
I wish thee well, Orlando, get thee gone,
Say that a sentinel did suffer thee;
For if the round or court-of-guard should hear
Thou or thy men were braying at the walls,
Charles' wealth, the wealth of all his western mines,
Found in the mountains of Transalpine France,
Might not pay ransom to the king for thee.
Orl. Brave sentinel, if nature hath enchas'd
A sympathy of courage to thy tale,
And, like the champion of Andromache,
Thou, or thy master, dare come out the gates,
Maugre the watch, the round, or court-of-guard,
I will attend to abide the coward here.
If not, but still the craven sleeps secure,
Pitching his guard within a trench of stones,
Tell him his walls shall serve him for no proof,
But as the son of Saturn in his wrath
Pash'd[147] all the mountains at Typhœus' head,
And topsy-turvy turn'd the bottom up,
So shall the castle of proud Rodomont.—
And so, brave lords of France, let's to the fight.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Battle-field.
Alarums: Rodomont and Brandimart fly. Enter Orlando with Rodomont's coat.
Orl. The fox is scap'd, but here's his case:
I miss'd him near; 'twas time for him to trudge.
[Enter the Duke of Aquitain.
How now, my lord of Aquitain!
Aq. My lord, the court-of-guard is put unto the sword
And all the watch that thought themselves so sure,
So that not one within the castle breathes.
Orl. Come then, let's post amain to find out Rodomont,
And then in triumph march unto Marsilius. [Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND
SCENE I.—Near the Castle of Marsilius.
Enter Medor and Angelica.
Ang. I marvel, Medor, what my father means
To enter league with County Sacripant?
Med. Madam, the king your father's wise enough;
He knows the county, like to Cassius,
Sits sadly dumping, aiming Cæsar's death,
Yet crying "Ave" to his majesty.[148]
But, madam, mark awhile, and you shall see
Your father shake him off from secrecy.
Ang. So much I guess; for when he will'd I should
Give entertainment to the doting earl,
His speech was ended with a frowning smile.
Med. Madam, see where he comes; I will be gone.
[Exit.