Robert Greene: [Six Plays]

by Robert Greene

Enter Sacripant and his Man.

Sac. How fares my fair Angelica?
Ang. Well, that my lord so friendly is in league,
As honour wills him, with Marsilius.
Sac. Angelica, shall I have a word or two with thee?
Ang. What pleaseth my lord for to command?
Sac. Then know, my love, I cannot paint my grief,
Nor tell a tale of Venus and her son,
Reporting such a catalogue of toys:
It fits not Sacripant to be effeminate.
Only give leave, my fair Angelica,
To say, the county is in love with thee.
Ang. Pardon, my lord; my loves are over-past:
So firmly is Orlando printed in my thoughts,
As love hath left no place for any else.
Sac. Why, overweening damsel, see'st thou not
Thy lawless love unto this straggling mate
Hath fill'd our Afric regions full of blood?
And wilt thou still perséver in thy love?
Tush, leave the Palatine, and go with me.
Ang. Brave county, know, where sacred love unites,
The knot of gordian at the shrine of Jove
Was never half so hard or intricate
As be the bands which lovely Venus ties.
Sweet is my love; and, for I love, my lord,
Seek not, unless as Alexander did,
To cut the plough-swain's traces with thy sword,
Or slice the slender fillets of my life:
For else, my lord, Orlando must be mine.
Sac. Stand I on love? Stoop I to Venus' lure,
That never yet did fear the god of war?
Shall men report that County Sacripant
Held lovers' pains for pining passions?
Shall such a siren offer me more wrong
Than they did to the prince of Ithaca?
No; as he his ears, so, county, stop thine eye.
Go to your needle, lady, and your clouts;
Go to such milksops as are fit for love:
I will employ my busy brains for war.
Ang. Let not, my lord, denial breed offence:
Love doth allow her favours but to one,
Nor can there sit within the sacred shrine
Of Venus more than one installèd heart.
Orlando is the gentleman I love,
And more than he may not enjoy my love.
Sac. Damsel, begone: fancy[149] hath taken leave;
Where I took hurt, there have I heal'd myself,
As those that with Achilles' lance were wounded,
Fetch'd help at self-same pointed spear.
Beauty can brave, and beauty hath repulse;
And, beauty, get ye gone to your Orlando.
[Exit Angelica.
Man. My lord, hath love amated[150] him whose thoughts
Have ever been heroical and brave?
Stand you in dumps, like to the Myrmidon
Trapt in the tresses of Polyxena,
Who, amid the glory of his chivalry,
Sat daunted with a maid of Asia?
Sac. Thinkst thou my thoughts are lunacies of love?
No, they are brands firèd in Pluto's forge,
Where sits Tisiphone tempering in flames
Those torches that do set on fire revenge.
I lov'd the dame; but brav'd by her repulse,
Hate calls me on to quittance all my ills;
Which first must come by offering prejudice
Unto Orlando her belovèd love.
Man. O, how may that be brought to pass, my lord?
Sac. Thus. Thou see'st that Medor and Angelica
Are still so secret in their private walks,
As that they trace the shady lawnds,
And thickest-shadow'd groves,
Which well may breed suspicion of some love.
Now, than the French no nation under heaven
Is sooner touch'd with sting of jealousy.
Man. And what of that, my lord?
Sac. Hard by, for solace, in a secret grove,
The county once a-day fails not to walk:
There solemnly he ruminates his love.
Upon those shrubs that compass-in the spring,
And on those trees that border-in those walks,
I'll slily have engrav'n on every bark
The names of Medor and Angelica.
Hard by, I'll have some roundelays hung up,
Wherein shall be some posies of their loves,
Fraughted so full of fiery passions
As that the county shall perceive by proof
Medor hath won his fair Angelica.
Man. Is this all, my lord?
Sac. No; for thou like to a shepherd shalt be cloth'd,
With staff and bottle, like some country-swain
That tends his flocks feeding upon these downs.
Here see thou buzz into the county's ears
That thou hast often seen within these woods
Base Medor sporting with Angelica;
And when he hears a shepherd's simple tale,
He will not think 'tis feign'd.
Then either a madding mood will end his love,
Or worse betide him through fond jealousy.
Man. Excellent, my lord; see how I will play the shepherd.
Sac. And mark thou how I play the carver:
Therefore be gone, and make thee ready straight.
[Exit his Man.

[Sacripant carves the names and hangs up the roundelays on the trees, and then goes out.

Re-enter his Man attired like a shepherd.

Shep. Thus all alone, and like a shepherd's swain,
As Paris, when Œnone lov'd him well,
Forgat he was the son of Priamus,
All clad in grey, sat piping on a reed;
So I transformèd to this country shape,
Haunting these groves do work my master's will,
To plague the Palatine with jealousy,
And to conceit him with some deep extreme.—
Here comes the man unto his wonted walk.

Enter Orlando and Orgalio.

Orl. Orgalio, go see a sentinel be plac'd,
And bid the soldiers keep a court-of-guard,
So to hold watch till secret here alone
I meditate upon the thoughts of love.
Org. I will, my lord. [Exit.
Orl. Fair queen of love, thou mistress of delight,
Thou gladsome lamp that wait'st on Phœbe's train,
Spreading thy kindness through the jarring orbs,
That in their union praise thy lasting powers;
Thou that hast stay'd the fiery Phlegon's course,
And mad'st the coachman of the glorious wain
To droop, in view of Daphne's excellence;
Fair pride of morn, sweet beauty of the even,[151]
Look on Orlando languishing in love.
Sweet solitary groves, whereas the nymphs
With pleasance laugh to see the satyrs play,
Witness Orlando's faith unto his love.
Tread she these lawnds, kind Flora, boast thy pride.
Seek she for shade, spread, cedars, for her sake.
Fair Flora, make her couch amidst thy flowers.
Sweet crystal springs,
Wash ye with roses when she longs to drink.
Ah, thought, my heaven! ah, heaven, that knows my thought!
Smile, joy in her that my content hath wrought.
Shep. [aside]. The heaven of love is but a pleasant hell,
Where none but foolish-wise imprison'd dwell.
Orl. Orlando, what contrarious thoughts be these,
That flock with doubtful motions in thy mind?
Heaven smiles, and trees do boast their summer pride.
What! Venus writes her triumphs here beside.
Shep. [aside]. Yet when thine eye hath seen, thy heart shall rue
The tragic chance that shortly shall ensue.
Orl. [reads]. "Angelica":—ah, sweet and heavenly name,
Life to my life, and essence to my joy!
But, soft! this gordian knot together co-unites
A Medor partner in her peerless love.
Unkind, and will she bend her thoughts to change?
Her name, her writing! Ah foolish and unkind!
No name of hers, unless the brooks relent
To hear her name, and Rhodanus vouchsafe
To raise his moisten'd locks from out the reeds,
And flow with calm alongst his turning bounds:
No name of hers, unless the Zephyr blow
Her dignities alongst Ardenia woods,
Where all the world for wonders do await.
And yet her name! for why Angelica;
But, mix'd with Medor, not Angelica.
Only by me was lov'd Angelica,
Only for me must live Angelica.
I find her drift: perhaps the modest pledge
Of my content hath with a secret smile
And sweet disguise restrain'd her fancy thus,
Figuring Orlando under Medor's name;
Fine drift, fair nymph! Orlando hopes no less.
[Spies the roundelays.
Yet more! are Muses masking in these trees,
Framing their ditties in conceited lines,
Making a goddess, in despite of me,
That have no other but Angelica?
Shep. [aside]. Poor hapless man, these thoughts contain thy hell!
Orl. [reads].
"Angelica is lady of his heart,
Angelica is substance of his joy,
Angelica is medicine of his smart,
Angelica hath healèd his annoy."
Ah, false Angelica!—what, have we more?
[Reads.
"Let groves, let rocks, let woods, let watery springs,
The cedar, cypress, laurel, and the pine,
Joy in the notes of love that Medor sings
Of those sweet looks, Angelica, of thine.
Then, Medor, in Angelica take delight,
Early, at morn, at noon, at even and night."
What, dares Medor court my Venus?
What may Orlando deem?
Ætna, forsake the bounds of Sicily,
For now in me thy restless flames appear.
Refus'd, contemn'd, disdain'd! what worse than these?—Orgalio!

Re-enter Orgalio.

Org. My lord?
Orl. Boy, view these trees carvèd with true love-knots,
The inscription "Medor and Angelica?";
And read these verses hung up of their loves:
Now tell me, boy, what dost thou think?

Org. By my troth, my lord, I think Angelica is a woman.