II. , SCENE I
CASSIBELANUS, CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, GUERTHED, NENNIUS, BELINUS, EULINUS. VOLUSENUS following.
CAS. Heavens favour Cridous, fair Albania's king: And Britael, deck'd with the Demetian crown: The same to famous Guerthed, whose command Embraces woody Ordovic's black hills. Legate, you may your message now declare.
VOL. By me great Cæsar greets the Briton state: This letter speaks the rest.
CAS. Then read the rest.
VOLUSENUS reads.
"Cæsar, Proconsul of Gallia, to Cassibelane, King of Britain.
Since Romulus' race by will of Jove Have stretch'd their empire wide From Danube's banks (by Tigris swift) Unto Mount Atlas' side: And provinces and nations strong With homage due obey; We wish that you, hid in the sea, Do likewise tribute pay. Submitting all unto our wills For rashly aiding Gaul: And noble lads for hostages Make ready at our call. These granted may our friendship gain; Denied shall work your woe. Now take your choice, whether you'd find Rome as a friend or foe."
CAS. Bold mandates are unwelcome to free princes. Legate, withdraw; you shall be soon despatch'd.
[Exit VOLUSENUS.
CRI. He writes more like a victor than a foe; Whose greatness, risen from subdued nations, Is fasten'd only with fear's slippery knot. Nor can they fight so fierce for wealth or fame, As we for native liberty. With answer rough Bid him defiance. So thinks Cridous.
GUER. Guerthed maintains the same, and on their flesh I'll write my answer in red characters.
BRI. Thou ravenous wolf, imperious monster, Rome, Seven-headed Hydra, know, we scorn thy threats: We can oppose thy hills with mounts as high, And scourge usurpers with like cruelty. And thus thinks Britael.
EUL. Let Cæsar come: our land doth rust with ease, And wants an object, whose resisting power May strike out valorous flashes from her veins. So shadows give a picture life: so flames Grow brighter by a fanning blast. Nor think I am a courtier and no warrior born, Nor love object; for well my poet says:[277] Militat omnis amans, each lover is a soldier: I can join Cupid's bow and Mars his lance. A pewter-coat fits me as well as silk. It grieves me see our martial spirits trace The idle streets, while weapons by their side Dangle and lash their backs, as 'twere to upbraid Their needless use. Nor is it glory small They set upon us last, when their proud arms Fathom the land and seas, and reach both poles. On, then; so great a foe, so good a cause, Shall make our name more famous. So thinks Eulinus.
CAS. Then, friends and princes, on this blade take oath,[278] First to your country to revenge her wrongs; And next to me, as general, to be led With unity and courage. [They kiss the sword.
ALL. The gods bless Britain and Cassibelane.
NEN. Now, royal friends, the heirs of mighty Brute, You see what storm hangs hovering o'er this land, Ready to pour down cataclysms[279] of blood: Let ancient glory then inflame your hearts. Beyond the craggy hills of grim-fac'd Death, Bright Honour keeps triumphant court, and deeds Of martial men live there in marble rolls. Death is but Charon to the fortunate isles; Porter to Fame. What though the Roman, arm'd with foreign spoil, Behind him lead the conquer'd world, and hope To sink our island with his army's weight: Yet we have gods and men and horse to fight, And we can bravely die. But our just cause, Your forward loves, and all our people edg'd With Dardan[280] spirit and the powerful name Of country, bid us hope for victory. We have a world within ourselves, whose breast No foreigner hath unrevenged press'd These thousand years. Though Rhine and Rhone can serve, And envy Thames his never captive stream, Yet maugre all, if we ourselves are true, We may despise what all the earth can do.[281]
CAS. Let's then dismiss the legate with a frown: And draw our forces t'ward the sea, to join With the four kings of Kent, and so affront[282] His first arrival. But, before all, let Our priests and Druids, in their hallow'd groves, Propitiate the gods, and scan events By their mysterious arts. [Exeunt.
Act II, Scene II
EULINUS, HIRILDAS, ROLLANO.
HIR. Well, so: your tongue's your own, though drunk or angry.
ROL. Umh! [Seals his mouth.
HIR. Speak not a word, upon your life: be dumb.
ROL. Umh! [Gives him money.
HIR. I'll winch up thy estate. Be Harpocrates.[283]
ROL. Umh!
HIR. Thy fortunes shall be double-gilt. Be midnight.
ROL. Umh!
HIR. An excellent instrument, to be the bawd To his dear lady! But, Rollano, hark; What words, what looks did give my letter welcome?
ROL. Umh!
HIR. Nay, now thy silence is antedated: speak.
ROL. Umh!
HIR. I give thee leave, I say. Speak, be not foolish.
ROL. Then, with your leave, she us'd, upon receipt, No words, but silent joy purpl'd her face; And seeing your name, straight clapp'd it to her heart, To print there a new copy; as she'd say, The words went by her eyes too long a way.
HIR. You told her my conditions, and my oath Of silence, and that only you be used?
ROL. All, sir.
HIR. And that this night----
ROL. Ay, sir.
HIR. You guard the door----
ROL. Ay, sir.
HIR. But I ne'er mean to come.
ROL. No, sir? O wretch! Shall I deceive, when she remains so true?
HIR. No. Thou shalt be true, and she remain deceiv'd. I'll lie, and yet I will not lie. My friend Eulinus, in my shape, shall climb her bed, This is the point. You'll promise all your aid?
ROL. Your servant to command, and then reward.
EUL. We'll draw thee, meteor-like, by our warm favour, Unto the roof and ceiling of the court: We'll raise thee (hold but fast) on fortune's ladder. [Exit ROLLANO. This fellow is a medley of most lewd And vicious qualities: a braggart, yet a coward; A knave, and yet a slave: true to all villany, But false to goodness. Yet now I love him, Because he stands just in the way of love.
HIR. Coz, I commend you to the Cyprian queen, Whilst I attend Diana in the forest: My kinsman Mandubrace and I must try Our greyhounds' speed after a lightfoot hare.
[Exit HIRILDAS.
EUL. O love! whose nerves unite in equal bonds This massy frame! thou cement of the world! By which the orbs and elements agree, By which all living creatures joy to be, And dying live in their posterity. Thy holy raptures warm each noble breast, Sweetly inspiring more soul. Thy delight Surpasses melody, nectar, and all pleasures Of Tempe, and of Tempe's eldest sister, Elysium: a banquet of all the senses! By thy commanding power gods into beasts, And men to gods, are chang'd, as poets say; When sympathy rules, all like what they obey. But love triumphs when man and woman meet In full affection; double vows then fill His sacred shrine. Yet this to me denied More whets my passion: mutual love grows cold. Venus, be thou propitious to my wiles, And laugh at lovers' perjuries and guiles. [Exit.
Act II, Scene III
LANTONUS, HULACUS, two Druids, in long robes; hats like pyramids, branches of misletoe.
LAN. That souls immortal are, I easily grant; Their future state distinguish'd--joy or pain, According to the merits of this life. But then, I rather think, being free from prison And bodily contagion, they subsist In places fit for immaterial spirits; Are not transfus'd from men to beasts, from beasts To men again--wheel'd round about by change.
HUL. And were it not more cruel to turn out Poor naked souls stripp'd of warm flesh (like land-lords), Bidding them wander? then forsooth imagine Some unknown cave or coast, whither all the myriads Of souls deceas'd are shipp'd[284] and thrust together. Nay, reason rather says, as at one moment Some die, and some are born, so may their ghosts Without more cost serve the succeeding age: For (sure) they don't wear to be cast aside, But enter straight less or more noble bodies, According to desert of former deeds: The valiant into lions; coward minds Into weak hares; th' ambitious into eagles Soaring aloft; but the perverse and peevish Are next indeniz'd[285] into wrinkled apes, Each vice and virtue wearing seemly shapes.
LAN. So you debase the gods' most lively image. The human soul, and rank it with mere brutes, Whose life, of reason void, ends with their sense.
Enter BELINUS.
BEL. Hail to heaven's privy councillors! The king Desires your judgment of these troublesome times.
LAN. The gods foretold these mischiefs long ago.
In Eldell's reign the earth and sky were fill'd With prodigies, strange sights, and hellish shapes: Sometimes two hosts with fiery lances met, Armour and horse being heard amid the clouds: With streamers red now march these airy warriors, And then a sable hearse-cloth wraps up all; And bloody drops speckled the grass, as falling From their deep-wounded limbs: Whilst staring comets[286] shook their flaming hair. Thus all our wars were acted first on high, And we taught what to look for.
HUL. Nature turns stepdame to her brood, and dams Deny their monstrous issue. Saturn, join'd In dismal league with Mars, portends some change. Late in a grove, by night, a voice was heard To cry aloud, Take heed: more Trojans come! What may be known or done, we'll search, and help With all religious care.
BEL. The king and army do expect as much: That powers divine, perfum'd with odours sweet, And feasted with the fat of bulls and rams, Be pleas'd to bless their plots.
LAN. All rites and orisons due shall be perform'd: Chiefly night's empress fourfold honour craves, Mighty in heaven and hell, in woods and waves. [Exeunt.
Act II, Scene IV
CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, LABERIUS, Soldiers.
CÆS. What land, what people, and what answer, show.
VOL. We saw a paradise, whose bosom teems With silver ore, whose seas are paved with pearl, The meadows richly spread with Flora's tapestry; The fields even wonder at their harvest-loads: In crystal streams the scaly nations play, Fring'd all along with trembling poplar trees. The sun in summer, loth to leave their sight, Forgets to sleep, and glancing makes no night. Then, for the men, their stature's tall and big. With blue-stain'd skins and long black dangling hair, Promise a barbarous fierceness. They scarce know, And much less fear our empire's might: but thus Return'd defiance:--
"Cassibelane, King of Britain, to Julius Cæsar,[287] Proconsul of Gallia.
Seeing your empire's great, why should it not suffice? To covet more and more is tyrants' usual guise. To lose what Jove you gave, you'd think it but unjust; You have your answer then; defend this isle we must: Which from the world cut off, and free from her first day, Hath iron more for swords than gold for tribute's pay. If amity and like fear succour to Gaul imparts, Pardon, for this small brook could not divide our hearts. We hope the gods will help, and fortune back our cause, Who take arms but to keep our lives, our wives, and laws. As you from Troy, so we our pedigree do claim: Why should the branches fight when as the root's the same? Despise us not because the sea and north us close: Who can no farther go, must turn upon their foes. Thus rudely we conclude: wage war, or change your will, We hope to use a lance far better than a quill."
CÆS. I grieve to draw my sword against the stock Of thrice-renowned Troy; but they are rude, And must be frighted, ere we shall be friends. Then let's aboard, and (hoisting sails) convey Two legions over; for I long to view This unknown land and all their fabulous rites: And gather margarites[288] in my brazen cap. Nature nor fates can valorous virtue stop.
LAB. Now Cæsar speaks like Cæsar: stronger and stronger, Rise like a whirlwind; tear the mountain's pride; Shake thy brass harness, whose loud clattering may Waken Gradivus[289], where he sleeps on top Of Hæmus, lull'd with Boreas' roaring base, And put to flight this nation with the noise. A fly is not an eagle's combatant. Nor may a pigmy with a giant strive. [Exeunt.
Act II, Scene V
CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS; COMIUS following. Attendants.
COM. Health and good fortune on Cassibelane 'tend: My love to you and Britain waft me hither To make atonement, ere the Roman leader Bring fire and spoil, and ruin on your heads. No herb can ever grow where once he treads: Nothing withstands his force. Be not too hardy, But buy a friend with kindness, lest you buy His anger dearly.
CAS. Comius, speak no more: he knows our mind.
COM. O, let not rage so blind your judgment, but Prevent with ease the hazard of a war, Of war, a word compos'd of thousand ills. O, be not cruel to yourselves! I'll undertake Without discredit to appease his wrath, If you'll cashier your soldiers, and receive Him like a guest, not like an enemy.
CAS. False-hearted Gaul, dar'st thou persuade e'en me For to betray my people to the sword? Now know I thou art sent for to solicit Our princes to rebel, to learn our strength. Lay hands on him! a spy!
ALL. A spy! a spy! a traitor and a spy!
[They chain him.
COM. Is this the guerdon[290] of my loving care? You break the laws of nature, nations, friends. But look for due revenge at Cæsar's hand.
CAS. Expect in prison thy revenge. Away with him!
[Exit COMIUS.
Belinus, have you muster'd up our forces?
BEL. Yes, if it please your highness.
CAS. And what are the particulars?
BEL. First Cridous leads from the Albanian realm, Where Grampius' ridge divides the smiling dales, Five thousand horse and twenty thousand foot, Three thousand chariots mann'd. The Brigants come, Deck'd with blue-painted shields, twelve thousand strong; Under the conduct of Demetia's prince March twice three thousand, armed with pelts[291] and glaves;[292] Whom the Silures flank, eight thousand stout, Greedy of fight, born soldiers the first day, Whose grey-goose winged shafts ne'er flew in vain. Then Guerthed, mounted on a shag-hair steed, Full fifteen thousand brings, both horse and foot, Of desperate Ordovicians, whose use is To rush half-naked on their foes, enrag'd With a rude noise of pipes. Your province, bounded with that boiling stream[293] Where Sabrine (lovely damsel) lost her breath, And with curl'd-pated Humber, Neptune's heir, Affords eight thousand cars, with hooks and scythes, And fifty thousand expert men of war; All brave Loëgrians, arm'd with pike and spear; Each nation, being distinguish'd into troops, With gaudy pennons flickering[294] in the air.
Besides these, Kent is up in arms to blunt The edge of their first furious shock.
CAS. We'll now invite them to a martial feast, Carving with falchions, and carousing healths In their lives' moisture.
Enter ANDROGEUS.
Well-returned, Androgeus: Have you obtain'd, or is your suit denied?
AND. Our message told unto the Scots; their king With willing sympathy levies a band, Ten thousand footmen, whose strange appetites Murder and then devour; and dare gnaw and suck Their enemies' bones. Conducted thence, we saw The Pictish court, and friendly entertain'd, Receive eight thousand, whose most ugly shapes, Painted like bears and wolves, and brinded tigers, May kill and stonify without all weapons. More aid they promise, if more need. These forces, Led by Cadallan, hither march with speed.
CAS. 'Tis well, our kings consent for common good. When all are join'd, we shall o'erspread the hills, And soldiers, thicker than the sand on shore, Hide all the landing coasts. Ere next daybreak, The rocks shall answer what the drum doth speak. [Exeunt.
Act II, Scene VI
HULACUS, LANTONUS, Ministers.
LAN. That ceremonious fear, which bends the heart Of mortal creatures, and displays itself In outward signs of true obedience, As prayer, kneeling, sacrifice, and hymns, Requires again help from immortal deities, As promise, not as debt. We laud their names: They give us blessings, and forgive our blames. Thus gods and men do barter: what in piety Ascends, as much descends again in pity; A golden chain reaching from heaven to earth.
HUL. And now's the time, good brother, of their aid, When danger's black face frowns upon our state. Away, away, ye hearts and tongues profane! Without devotion mysteries are vain.
[They kneel, elevate hands thrice.
LAN. Draw near, ye heavenly powers, Who dwell in starry bowers; And ye, who in the deep On mossy pillows sleep; And ye who keep the centre, Where never light did enter; And ye whose habitations Are still among the nations; To see and hear our doings, Our births, our wars, our wooings: Behold our present grief, Belief doth beg relief.
Both going around say--
By the vervain and lunary, By fern-seed planetary, By the dreadful misletoe, Which doth on holy oak grow, Draw near, draw near, draw near!
HUL. Help us, beset with danger, And turn away your anger; Help us, begirt with trouble, And now your mercy double: Help us, oppress'd with sorrow, And fight for us to-morrow. Let fire consume the foeman, Let air infect the Roman: Let seas entomb their fury, Let gaping earth them bury: Let fire, and air, and water, And earth, conspire their slaughter.
BOTH. By the vervain, &c. Help us, help us, help us!
LAN. We'll praise then your great pow'r, Each month, each day, each hour; And blaze in lasting story Your honour and your glory. High altars lost in vapour, Young heifers free from labour, White lambs for suck still crying, Shall make your music dying. The boys and girls around, With honeysuckles crown'd; The bards with harp and rhyming, Green bays their brows entwining, Sweet tune and sweeter ditty, Shall chant your gracious pity.
BOTH. By the vervain, &c. We'll praise, we'll praise, we'll praise!
[The image of the moon: the shrine opens.
HUL. Fix, holy brother, now your prayers on one, Britain's chief patroness: with humble cry Let us invoke the moon's bright majesty. [They kneel.
LAN. Thou queen of heaven, commandress of the deep, Lady of lakes, regent of woods and deer, A lamp dispelling irksome night, the source Of generable moisture; at whose feet, With garments blue and rushy garlands dress'd, Wait twenty thousand Naiades: thy crescent Brute elephants adore, and man doth feel Thy force run through the zodiac of his limbs. O thou first guide of Brutus to this isle, Drive back these proud usurpers from this isle. Whether the name of Cynthia's silver globe: Or chaste Diana with a gilded quiver: Or dread Proserpina, stern Dis his spouse: Or soft Lucina, call'd in childbed throes, Doth thee delight--rise with a glorious face, Green drops of Nereus trickling down thy cheeks, And with bright horns, united in full orb, Toss high the seas, with billows beat the banks, Conjure up Neptune and th' Æolian slaves; Contract both night and winter in a storm, That Romans lose their way, and sooner land At sad Avernus, than at Albion's strand. So may'st thou shun the dragon's head and tail! So may Endymion snort on Latmian bed! So may the fair game fall before thy bow: Shed light on us, but lightning on our foe!
HUL. Methinks a gracious lustre spreads her brow, And with a nod she ratifies our suit.
WITHIN. Come near, and take this oracle.
LAN. Behold, an oracle flies out from her shrine; Which both the king and state shall see, before We dare unfold it. [Exeunt.
Act II, Scene VII
BRENNUS'S GHOST, NENNIUS in night-robes.
BREN. Follow me.
NEN. Follow! what means that word? who art? thy will?
BREN. Follow me, Nennius.
NEN. He names me: sure, it is some friend which speaks. I'll follow thee, though't be through Stygian lakes.
BREN. 'Tis ancient Brennus calls, whose victories Europe and Asia felt, and still record. Dear Nennius, now's the time to steel thy courage; Canst thou behold thy mother captive, then Look back upon thy ancestors, enroll'd Among the worthies who spread wide her fame? First let thy eyeballs pour out poison'd beams, And kill them with disdain, who dare but lift Their hand against her. No: no consul must Boast of her thraldom, and outbrave our walls. I wonder that such impudent owls should gaze Against the splendour of our Briton cliffs: Play thou a second Brennus: let thy lance, Like an Herculean club, two monsters tame, Rome's avarice and pride so come life or death, Let honour have the incense of thy breath. [Exit.
NEN. Farewell, heroic soul; thou shalt not blush At Nennius' deeds. The smallest drop of fame Is cheap, if death and dangers may it buy. Yet give thy words new vigour to my spirits, And spur the Pegasus of my mounting thoughts. I'll follow thee o'er piles of slaughter'd foes, And knock at Pluto's gate. I come. Come life or death, Honour, to thee I consecrate my breath. [Exit.
CÆSAR, CAMILLUS'S GHOST following.
CAM. Julius, stay here; thy friend Camillus speaks.
CÆS. O thou preserver of our present race! Our city's second founder! what dire fate Troubles thy rest, that thou shouldst trouble mine?
CAM. Only to bid thee fight.
CÆS. Thou shalt not need.
CAM. And bid thee take a full revenge on this-- This nation, which did sack and burn down Rome, Quenching the coals with blood, and kick'd our ashes, Trampling upon the ruins of our state; Then led the Gauls in triumph thorough Greece, To fix their tents beside Euxinus' gulf.
CÆS. Is this that Northern rout, the scourge of kingdoms, Whose names, till now unknown, we judged Gauls-- Their tongue and manners not unlike?
CAM. Gauls were indeed the bulk; but Brennus led (Then brother to the British king) those armies, Back'd with great troops of warlike islanders. To thee belongs to render bad for ill. O, be my spirit doubled in thy breast, With all the courage of three Scipios, Marius and Sylla, that this nation, fierce In feats of war, be forc'd to bear our yoke. [Exit.
CÆS. So may'st thou sweetly rest, as I shall strive To trace your steps: nor let me live, if I Thence disappointed ever seem to fly. [Exit.
Act II, Scene VIII
CHORUS.
1st Song.
Ancient bards have sung With lips dropping honey And a sugar'd tongue, Of our worthy knights: How Brute[295] did giants tame, And, by Isis' current, A second Troy did frame: A centre of delights.
Locrinus'[296] eldest son Did drown the furious Hun, But burnt himself with Elstred's love: Leil,[297] rex pacificus; Elud,[298] judicious, Now heavenly bodies roll above. Wise Bladud[299] founded hath Both soul and body's bath, Like Icarus he flew: Now first Mulmutius[300] wears A golden crown, whose heirs More than half the world subdue.
2d Song.
Thou nurse of champions, O thou spring Whence chivalry did flow! Thou diamond of the world's great ring, Thy glorious virtue show:
Thou many a lord hast bred, In catalogue of fame read; And still we have As captives brave, As ever Britons led. Then dub a dub, dub. The armies join, tantara.
Cassibelane with armour gay And strongly couched lance, His courser white turn'd into bay, On carcases shall prance. What a crimson stream the blade Of Nennius' sword hath made! Black Allia's day And Cannæ's fray Have for a third long stay'd. Then dub a dub, dub. The armies join, tantara.
FOOTNOTES:
[276] [Fiddle.]
[277] Ovid.--Steevens.
[278] [An usual form in ancient times.]
[279] Deluges.--Steevens.
[280] [Allusively to the fabled descent of the Britons from the Trojans.]
[281] The same sentiment is introduced by Shakespeare into "King John," act v. sc. 7--
"This England never did, nor never shall, Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror. But when it first did help to wound itself; Now these her princes are come home again, Come the three corners of the world in arms. And we shall shock them: nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true."
Again, in the old play of "King John," 1591--
"If England's Peers and People join in one, Nor Pope, nor France, nor Spain can do them wrong."
The same sentiment is in Borde's "Book of the Introduction of Knowledge," sig. A 4: "They (i.e., the English) fare sumptiously, God is served in their churches devoutli, but treason and deceit among them is used craftyly, ye more pitie, for yf they were true wjthin themselfs, thei nede not to feare, although al nations were set against them, specialli now, consydering our noble prince (i.e., Henry VIII.) hath and dayly dothe make noble defences as castels," &c.
[282] See note to "Cornelia," [v. 211.]
[283] A metaphor, from engines by which weights are raised or winched up. Harpocrates was the god of silence.
[284] [Old copy, slipt].
[285] I suppose this word is compounded from denizen, i.e., one made free, and here very licentiously employed.--Steevens.
[286] So in Milton's "Paradise Lost," bk. ii. l. 706--
"Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war."
[287] See the letter printed in Geoffrey of Monmouth's History, bk. iv. c. 2.
[288] Pearls. In 1596 Tho. Lodge published a pamphlet, entitled, "A Margarite of America."
[289] Mars.
"Gradivumque patrem Geticis qui præsidet arvis."
--Virgil, Æneid, iii. 35.
[290] Reward.
[291] Shields. The author of this play appears to advantage in this and the subsequent catalogues of warriors.--Steevens.
[292] Broadswords.
[293] The Severn.
[294] Fluttering.
[295] See note to act iii., sc. 5.
[296] See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. ii.; the play of "Locrine," [probably by Charles Tylney, and falsely] attributed to Shakespeare; and Evans's "Old Ballads," vol. i.
[297] See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. ii. c. 9.
[298] Ibid., bk. iii. c. 19.
[299] Ibid., bk. ii. c. 10.
[300] Dunwallo Molmutius. See note to act iii. sc. 5. There was an old historical play called "Mulmutius Dunwallo," which in Henslowe's MS. has the date of September 1598 affixed to it; but it must have been written much earlier, as William Rankins, the author of it, had long before repented of his "lewd life," and in 1587 published his "Mirror of Monsters," a puritanical attack on the stage and plays in general.--Collier.
III. , SCENE I
Noise of ships landing, and the battle within.
CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, LABERIUS, ATRIUS. Ensign, drums, flags.
CÆS. Our landing cost us dearly, many lives Between the ships and shore being sacrific'd: Our men, with heavy armour clogg'd, and ignorant Of all the flats and shallows, were compell'd To wade and fight, like Tritons, half above, Half under water. Now we surer tread, Though much diminish'd by so many lost. Come on, come on. [They march and go out.
CASSIBELANUS, CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, GUERTHED, the four Kings of Kent, NENNIUS, ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, EULINUS, HIRILDAS, BELINUS, ROLLANO. Ensigns, drum. A march.
CAS. So, let them land. No matter which they choose, Fishes or crows, to be executors. They'll find the land as dangerous as the sea. The nature of our soil won't bear a Roman, As Irish earth doth poison poisonous beasts.[301] On then! charge close, before they gather head.
NEN. Brother, advance. On this side I'll lead up The new-come succours of the Scots and Picts.
[They march and go out.
CÆSAR, &c.
CÆS. What, still fresh supplies come thronging from their dens! The nest of hornets is awake. I think Here's nature's shop: here men are made, not born; Nor stay nine tedious months, but in a trice Sprout up like mushrooms at war's thunderclap. We must make out a way. [Exeunt.
ROLLANO, armed cap-a-pie.
ROL. Since I must fight, I am prepar'd to fight! And much inflam'd with noise of trump and drum: Methinks I am turn'd lion, and durst meet Ten Cæsars. Where are all these covetous rogues, Who spoil the rich for gain, and kill the poor For glory? bloodsuckers and public robbers.
[LABERIUS enters, ROLLANO retires, afraid; but being gone out, goes forward.
ROL. Nay, stay, and brag Rollano did thee kill: Stay, let me flesh my sword, and wear thy spoils.
[LABERIUS re-enters with an ensign.
LAB. Come, will ye forsake your ensign, and fall off? I call to witness all the gods, I here Perform my duty. Thou canst not escape.
[ROLLANO would fly, fights, falls as wounded.
Now die, or yield thyself!
ROL. I yield, I yield! O, save my life, I yield! I am no Briton, but by chance come hither. I'll never more lift weapon in their quarrel.
LAB. How may I trust your faith?
ROL. Command me anything.
LAB. Lay down your neck. [Treads on it. Give up your sword. [Beats him with it. Base coward, live: such foes will ne'er do hurt. [Exit.
Enter EULINUS, ANDROGEUS, BELINUS, with bloody swords.
EUL. Rollano! what, at stand? pursue the chase.
ROL. I made their strongest captain fly: this hand, This martial hand, I say, did make him fly.
EUL. Some silly scout!
ROL. He was a match for Cyclops; at each step The ground danc'd, and his nostrils blew the dust: Arm'd as the god of battle pictur'd is.
EUL. What were his looks?
ROL. His brows were like a stormy winter night, When Juno scolding and Mars malcontent Disturb the air. At each look lightning flies; Jove 'gainst the giants needed but his eyes.
EUL. How eloquent is fear!
ROL. So came he stalking with a beam-like spear: I gave the onset, then receiv'd his charge, And next blow cleft his morion:[302] so he flies.
EUL. O, bravely done! here comes a straggling soldier.
Enter LABERIUS.
ROL. 'Tis he, 'tis he. I care not for vain glory; It's sweeter live, than dead to be a story. [Runs away.
EUL. O valiant coward, stay! There's not a spark Of Briton spirit doth enlive thy corpse. [Exeunt.
Act III, Scene II
NENNIUS pursuing.
NEN. Fight, Britons, fight! The day is ours. I'm cloy'd And glutted e'en with slaughter. There some fly, And flying die, and dying mangled lie. I twice broke through the ranks, yet cannot find That vent'rous captain Cæsar, on whose breast I long to try my blade, and prick that bladder Puff'd with ambition and victorious fight.
CÆSAR enters.
CÆS. We may confess they come of Trojan kind; An hundred valiant Hectors here we find.
NEN. Fairly encounter'd: let our blades discuss Who hath the justest cause; and on this combat May Victory her equal balance hang.
CÆS. Thou seem'st a worthy prince, and Cæsar's match.
[They fight, wounds NENNIUS in the head, who staggers; fights, and recovers CÆSAR'S sword fallen, and puts him to flight.
NEN. Stay, stay! Thou art at home: here's Campus Martius. The Britons, sought for, see thy frighted back: Return, and take possession of our isle, And by thy death be styl'd Britannicus. Leave not thy blade unsheath'd: a tyrant's heart To his own sword a scabbard should impart. Ye senators and gaily-gown'd Quirites, Open the Capitol's ivory gates, and lead Fat bulls with garlands green and gilded horns: Let supplications last for twice ten days: Cæsar returns a victor! Prepare the laureate coach and snow-white steeds, Embroider'd canopy and scarlet gowns: Let altars smoke, and tholes expect our spoils,[303] Cæsar returns in triumph! Basely flies, And leaves his conquest in weak infancy. For had he won this coast, yet many blows Must pass, ere he could pass the Thames; and then, Ere he touch Humber, many nations must Be tam'd; and then, before he Tweed can drink, And climb the craggy rocks of Caledon, A life is spent--yea, many thousand lives. O, my wound rages, and tormented brain Doth labour of a fury, not a Pallas.[304] This blade was steep'd in poison: O, I'm poison'd! Well didst thou fly, or I had made thee taste Thine own provision. Now my wrath and pain With double force shall flow in purple streams. The three infernal ladies with wire whips And speckled snakes shall lackey close my steps, While that I offer hecatombs of men. The Latian shepherd's brood[305] shall ban those stars, Whose glimmering sparks led their audacious pines To lie so far from home in foreign soil. When cedars fall, whole woods are crush'd; nor die Can Nennius private without company.
Enter LABERIUS.
Thou runn'st upon thy death.
LAB. A Roman never daunted was with looks, Else had not Samartane and Lybian bugbears Been captive led in chains.
NEN. But our looks kill. [Fight. LABERIUS falls. Die, slave, by Cæsar's sword! Thou art his friend. Die as the ransom of his greater ghost; And learn, as well as I, how venom smarts. Be thou my post to the Tartarian prince, And tell him Nennius comes: but first I'll send More of you headlong home, a nearer way Than by the cloudy Alps. [Exit. A retreat sounded.
Act III, Scene III
CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, LANTONUS.
CAS. Now hot alarums die in fainter notes: Tempestuous night is gone: victorious joy-- As when pale Eos[306] cleaves the eastern fogs, And, blushing more and more, opes half her eye, With holy water sprinkling all the meads, Whose clear reflex serves as her morning glass-- Doth paint with gaudy plumes the chequer'd sky. The only name of victory sounds sweeter Than all mellifluous rhetoric.
LAT. Thanks to Andates,[307] whose power kingdoms feel-- Andates, greatest goddess: in whose train Fear, red-fac'd anger, and confusion's wheel, Murder and desolation run before: But joyful shouts, mirth, olive-budding peace, And laurel-crowned triumph at her back Do pace with stately steps. Thy temple is The earth, where furious monarchs play the priests: Armies of men imbrue thy altar-stones. Thanks also to the trident-shaker's mace,[308] Drawn by two rampant sea-horses, at whose beck The waters wrinkled frown or smoothly smile. But thou, heav'n's diamond, fair Phoebus' sister, Nor Delian dames nor the Ephesian towers Shall blazon more thy praise. Thy influence strong Struck up the sandy ooze, that madding waves Batter'd their ships, and dash'd their bended sails, And with a tempest turn'd them round in scorn.
CAS. But where's the answer which her idol gave? Can you expound the sense?
LAN. Dread sovereign, thus runs the oracle--
Loud doth the king of beasts roar, High doth the queen of birds soar: But her wings clipp'd soon grow out; Both repent they are so stout. Till C. 'gainst C. strike a round, In a perfect circle bound.
The meaning, wrapp'd up in cross doubtful terms, Lies yet thus open. That disastrous fate Must be the prologue to a joyful close. The rest we'll search out, if our skill don't fail.
BEL. Renown'd Cassibelane, might my counsel speak?
CAS. I know thy loyal heart and prudent head, Upon whose hairs Time's child, Experience, hangs A milk-white badge of wisdom; and canst wield Thy tongue in senate and thy hands in field. Speak free, Belinus.
BEL. We forfeit fame and smother victory By idle lingering: the foe discomfited Must needs be much amaz'd; his ships dismember'd, Do piecemeal float upon the waves: the horse, Whose succour he expects, are beaten back By friendly winds: his camp contracted is: A tithe of soldiers left, the rest all slain: His chief munition spent or lost: provision (An army's soul) but what we give, he wants. What then shall hinder to destroy their name? So none again shall venture: but our isle, Rounded with Nereus' girdle, may enjoy Eternal peace.
CAS. I like thy warning; with united stroke Of all our nations we'll his camp beleaguer, Devouring ships and men. But one mischance, My brother's wound (his mortal wound, I fear) Turns all to wormwood. Why were ye dumb, ye idols? No sainted statue did foretell this grief. Come, let's go visit him. You may, lord general, Set Comius free; we love not to insult, But render good for ill. [Exeunt.
Act III, Scene IV
CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, &c.
CÆS. Heaven, sea and wind, and all the elements, Conspire to work us harm. Our ships, in Gaul Windbound, at length put forth and come in view, Are toss'd and torn; our navy on the shore With civil discord break each other's planks. The airy rulers are displeas'd; all day Noises and nimble flashes, mix'd with rain, Amaze our soldiers. To make grief full, my daughter's death I hear. When, powerful fortune, will thy anger cease? Never till now did Cæsar fortune fear. Mount Palatine, thou throne of Jove, and ye, Whose lesser turrets pinnacle Rome's head, Are all your deities fled? or was I bold To outgo nature, and our empire stretch Beyond her limits? Pardon, then, my fault. Or do we basely faint? Or is our might Answer'd with like, since Troy 'gainst Troy doth fight? Nor can I write now, I came over, and I overcame: such foes deny such haste.
VOL. The islanders consult, and (sure) intend Some sudden stratagem. And now the scales Poise equal day and night, when rougher seas And stormy Pleiads may our passage stop.
CÆS. Then, sirs, to ship! Compell'd, I leave this land, But to return, if gods do not withstand. [Exeunt.
Act III, Scene V
CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, LANTONUS. NENNIUS in a chair.
NEN. We won the day, and all our foes are fled?
BEL. Yes, noble Nennius, scatter'd on the shore, Thick lay the Latins, and the glutted stream Spews up her dead, whom death hath taught to swim, Though ignorant alive: their flowing blood Made a new red sea. But those few we lost, Sweetly repos'd upon their mother's breast, And, wounded all before, kept in their face A warlike frown.
NEN. Where is false Cæsar's sword, call'd Crocea Mors,[309] Which never hurt but kill'd? Let it be plac'd Within my tomb.
BEL. Here is the fatal blade.
NEN. Death like a Parthian flies, and flying kills; In midst of conquest came my deadly wound. Accursed weapon--more accursed man Who, serpent-like, in poison bathes his sting! Tiber doth breed as venomous beasts as Nile. We scorn such cruel craft. But death draws near, A giddy horror seizeth on my brain. Dear brother, and thou holy priest of heaven, Witness my words; I leave my country free, And die a victor. Thus with lighter wing My purified soul mounts to her first best cause. I long even to behold those glorious cloisters, Where Brutus,[310] great Dunwallo,[311] and his sons, Thrice-noble spirits, walk. Thou mighty enginer of this wondrous globe, Protect this isle, confound all foreign plots: Grant Thames and Tiber never join their channels; But may a natural hate, deriv'd from us, Live still in our long-trailed progeny-- My eyes do swim in death-- Before this land shall wear the Roman yoke, Let first the adamantine axle crack, Which binds the ball terrestrial to her poles, And dash the empty air! let planets drop Their scalding jelly, and, all flame being spent, Entomb the world in everlasting smoke![312] Come faster, Death: I can behold thy grim And ugly jaws with quiet mind. Now, now I hear sweet music; and my spirit flies. [He dies.
CAS. His breath is gone, who was his country's prop And my right hand. Now only doth he crave To see him laid with honour in the grave. [Exeunt.
Act III, Scene VI
EULINUS, HIRILDAS.
EUL. A mind content, O, 'tis a mind of pearl: A mint of golden thoughts, a heaven on earth! When eager longers meet full-butt their scope, And hopes are actuated beyond hope. So Jason joy'd, the golden fleece obtain'd; So Hercules joy'd, the golden fruit being gain'd; So Venus joy'd the golden ball to hold; So Midas joy'd when he turn'd all to gold. So, and much more, rejoic'd the Phrygian swain, When he convey'd the fairest (except mine), Which air did ever kiss. His brazen keel, Proud of her burden, slic'd the capering brine: The Tritons blew their horns, and sea-gods dance. Before, behind, about his ship they prance: The mermaids skip on high, but to compare Their dangling tresses with her silken hair-- These were but shadows of my bliss. A robe Of pure beatitude wraps me round about, Without a speck or blemish; nor can invention Wish more unto me than I have--Landora. I'm rich, free, learned, honour'd--all in this. Who dares conceive against the female sex But one base thought? Lo, here I stand their champion, And will maintain he is a beast, a devil, Begot between a bitch-wolf and an incubus. Women, all-good, all-perfect and all-gracious, Men-making creatures, angels clad in flesh; Let me adore your name!
HIR. And let me speak Why, Landora loves not you, but me in you.
EUL. But I in you enjoy Landora's love.
HIR. But she enjoys not your love, 'cause unknown.
EUL. No matter, I in you or you in me, So that I still possess my dearest dear. A paltry fancy last night in her bed Turmoil'd my thoughts, which since I shap'd in rhymes. Thus.
HIR. Prythee let's hear: I know thou art turn'd poet.
The Dream.
Night having drawn the curtain, down I lie By one--for worse Saturnius left the sky. Slumb'ring at last, for love can hardly sleep, Straightways I dream'd, for love doth revels keep, A damsel fair, and fashion'd for delight (Our day-born objects do return at night), With flow'ry chaplet and red velvet gown, Which from her breast was fasten'd along down With rich enamell'd locks, all which one key, Whose bright gold 'bout her silver neck did play, Could open and divorce. A veil most fair (Such whiteness only Paphian doves do wear) With false light did her beauteous front improve; From this arch Cupid shot his darts of love. With gentle strain she took me by the hand (Touches in love do more than tongues command), Then leads me with an amorous smile along: He's easily led whom beauty draws, more strong Than cable ropes. An altar we descry, Where incense-frank[313] and amber fumes did fly In little rolling curls: a reverend priest, With snowy beard waving upon his breast, There kneeling did his eyes in sorrow steep. Whose passionate cry made me, though ignorant, weep. Phlegon's[314] hot breath no sooner licks up dew Than joy had dried those tears; for, lo, I view A circular room, all built with marble clear, The title, nature's storehouse. Most strange here It seem'd: I know not how we came nor whence, Nor any passage saw to get from thence. But O, the rich delight and glorious fire Which dazzled me! no heart can more desire. Here first my guide op'd her spice-breathing door: Ask what thou wilt, this is the ark of store. No vows are here repuls'd, she said. But I, Surpris'd with extreme joy and ecstasy, By chance a scorpion's tail behind her spied: Pity such beauty such a monster hide! Trembling, yet silent, doubtful what to crave; Lo! with a stink and fearful screech this brave And glorious dame doth vanish, and a dart, Which still I quake at, struck me to the heart. But waking I reviv'd, and found in bed Such sovereign balm would cure old Peleus dead.[315]
HIR. Ha, ha! your tedious dream hath made me drowsy. But hark, we must attend the funeral pomp.
Act III, Scene VII
The funeral passes over the stage. NENNIUS'S 'scutcheon, armour, Cæsar's sword borne. Torches, mourners.
CAS. Set down that heavy load with heavier hearts. Could virtuous valour, honourable thoughts, A noble scorn of fortune, pride and death, Myriads of vows and prayers sent to heaven; Could country's love or Britain's genius save A mortal man from sleeping in his grave, Then hadst thou liv'd, great Nennius, and outliv'd The smooth-tongu'd Greek. But we may more envy, And less bewail thy loss, since thou didst fall On honour's lofty field-bed, on which stage Never did worthy act a statelier part. Nor durst pale death approach with cypress sad, Till flourishing bays thy conquering temples clad.
A Funeral Elegy sung to the Harp.
Turnus may conceal his name, Nennius had Æneas' fame. Hannibal let Afric smother, Nennius was great Scipio's brother. Greece, forbear Achilles' story, Nennius had brave Hector's glory. Thrush and nightingale, be dumb: Sorrowful songs befit a tomb. Turn, ye marble stones, to water: Isis' nymphs forswear all laughter: Sigh and sob upon your bed, Beli's noble son is dead.
A banquet served over the stage. ROLLANO, with a leg of a capon and a tankard of wine.
ROL. I like such slaughtering well of birds and beasts, Which wear no swords, nor shake a fatal pike, When hogsheads bleed, and oxen mangled lie. O, what a world of victuals is prepar'd For sacrifice and feasting! Forty thousand Fat bullocks! then the parks and forests send Full thirty thousand wild beasts, arm'd with horns And dangerous teeth: the main battalion Consists of sheep, an hundred thousand fat: The wings are both supplied with birds and fowls Sans number: and some fish for succours serve-- A goodly army. Troynovant doth smoke, And smells all like a kitchen. The king, princes, And nobles of the land a triumph hold. Music and songs, good cheer and wine; and wine And songs, and music and good cheer. Hei, brave! No more shall barley-broth pollute my throat, But nectar--nectar of the grape's sweet blood. Come, heavenly potion--wine, whose gentle warmth Softens the brain, unlocks the silent tongue; Wit's midwife, and our spirit's vestal priest, Keeping alive the natural heat. A health, A health (to make short work) to all the world! So will it (sure) go round. [Steals behind.
The triumphs. CASSIBELANUS: four Kings of Kent: three Kings, CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, GUERTHED; ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, HIRILDAS, EULINUS, BELINUS, take places.
CAS. Sorrow must doff her sable weeds, and joy Furbish the Court with fresh and verdant colours; Else should we seem ungrateful to the gods. Triumphs must thrust out obsequies; and tilt With tourney, and our ancient sport call'd Troy, Such as Iulus 'bout his grandsire's tomb Did represent; and at each temple's porch, Games, songs, and holy murdering of beasts. [They sit down.
A dancing masque of six enters, then the epinicion[316] sung by two bards.
The Roman eagle, threatening woe, The sea did shadow with her wing; But our goose-quills did prick her so That from the clouds they down her bring.
BOTH. Sing then, ye hills and dales so-so clear, That Iö Pæan all may hear.
They may us call isles fortunate; They sought for life here, not for fame. All yield to them, they to our state: The world knows but our double name.
BOTH. Sing then, ye streams and woods so-so clear, That Iö Pæan all may hear.
ANDROGEUS and TENANTIUS play at foils, then HIRILDAS and EULINUS play.
EUL. 'Twas foully play'd.
HIR. You lie, 'twas fairly hit.
EUL. I'll give a quittance.
HIR. Do your worst, vain braggart.
[They take swords, fight, HIRILDAS slain.
O, I'm slain.
CAS. Hold, hold! my nephew's slain before my face. Life shall be paid with life.
AND. He shall not die.
CAS. Shall not? your king and uncle says he shall.
EUL. No kingly menace or censorious frown Do I regard. Tanti[317] for all your power! But the compunction of my guilt doth send A shudd'ring chilness through my veins inflam'd. Why do ye stare, ye grisly powers of night? There, there his soul goes: I must follow him.
[Offers to kill himself: is hindered.
AND. He was provok'd, and did it in defence: And, being my kinsman, shall be judg'd by laws Of Troynovant: such custom claims our court.
CAS. No custom shall bar justice. I command That he appear before us.
AND. Trials are vain when passion sits as judge.
CAS. I'll soon rebate this insolent disdain.
[Exeunt ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, and EULINUS.
Let not this dismal chance deface our joy, Most royal friends.
CRI. War being silenced, and envy's rage In hell fast fetter'd, sound we now retreat, That soldiers may regreet their household gods; Their children cling about their armed thighs.
BRI. And place their trophies 'bout their smoky halls; There hang a gauntlet bright, here a stabb'd buckler, Pile up long pikes,[318] and in that corner plant A weighty sword, brandish'd by some centurion: Not he, who ne'er on snaky perils trod, But happy he, who hath them stoutly pass'd: For danger's sauce gives joy a better taste.
GUER. Great monarch, if thy summons call us back, We tender here our service, men and arms, As duty bids and binds.
CAS. Should he return, our province dares him front. So a most kind adieu unto all three.
[Exeunt CRIDOUS, BRITAEL, and GUERTHED.
Cingetorix, Carvilius, Taximagulus, Segonax, I know your faithful love: Kent's fourfold head Will check rash rebels, and as firmly stand As hearty oaks, who bear off Æolus' blows, And with a whistle but deride his force.
[Exeunt four Kings of Kent.
Burst, gall, and dye my actions in flame-colour! I saw Hirildas fall, and breathe his soul Even in my face; as though hell watch'd a time To crush our pomp and glory into sighs. The conduits of his vital spring being ripp'd, Spurtl'd my robes, soliciting revenge. Belinus, Attach the murderer, and if abettors Deny obedience, then with sword and fire Waste their dominions. For a traitor's sake, Whole towns shall tremble, and the ground shall quake. [Exeunt.
Act III, Scene VIII
ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS, MANDUBRATIUS.
AND. Shall justice and just Libra ne'er forsake Th' embroider'd belt? no sign of them on earth? Are gods dim-sighted grown, or do they sleep The morning, and carouse the afternoon, That mortal motions tumble thus by chance? Cleave, thou blue marble ceiling, that heaven's king With clearer aim may strike a tyrant's crown, Nor spend his brimstone bullets 'gainst some hill Or innocent pine.
MAN. Your injuries run low; mine break all bounds. My father butcher'd at his lawless will: I banish'd from my lands, depos'd from rule, Owing my life to night and flight.
TEN. I do confess, you may complain aloud, And tear the element with a dolorous note: Call down Astræa from her crystal chair, Or call up Nemesis from the direful deep, To expiate your wrongs. Else would the manes of your father slain In a white sheet come sliding to your bed, And be reveng'd on you. He gave you life; How can you better spend it, than to wreak His death and slaughter? but our case and cause, Brother, is not the same. Eulinus slew His innocent friend, and we defend the fact, With hostile noise drowning law's reverend voice; But murder outcries both. Give me then leave To be a neutral: my young years, unfit For any desperate course, can but complain, The king our uncle doth not use us well. [Exit.
AND. Usurpers use this method still: at first He as protector slily got the stern, During our nonage: then the commons' voice, Bought with a fawning brow and popular grace, Confirms his regiment;[319] we appointed sharers, With empty titles to beguile our thoughts, Like puppet-lords dress'd up with crown and scarf, Glad that we live and hunt, and reign o'er brutes-- Our uncle is the king who,[320] when he saw His throne establish'd and his foes repuls'd, Grown big with prosperous fortune, proudly spurns All fear of God or man.
MAN. His anger, nurs'd by jealousies, must feed On princes' flesh, who lose both state and life, If they but look awry. A tyrant's growth, Rear'd up by ruins, thence may learn his fall: For whom all fear, he justly feareth all.
AND. In antiphons[321] thus tune we female plaints; But plots and force beseem us. Thus great Cæsar Shall pull him down below us. Thou, Mandubrace, Sure pledges take of our revolt, and quickly Implore his aid, blow up his drooping fire With hopeful terms. But let him stronger come.
MAN. I fly unseen, as charmers[322] in a mist. Grateful revenge, whose sharp-sweet relish fats My apprehensive soul![323] though all were pared off Which doth accrue from fortune, and a man left As barely poor as nature thrust him out; Nay worse--though spirits boil: rage, anger, care, And grief, like wild-horse, tear the affrighted mind; Though wrongs excoriate the heart; yet all is sweeten'd If vengeance have her course. I reck[324] not how; Let commonwealth expire, and owls proclaim Sad desolation in our halls; let heaps Of dust and rubbish epitaph our towns; Let fire and water fight, who first shall spoil This universal frame. From north or south, Revenge, th' art welcome! No sin worse than pity; A tyrant's only physic is phlebotomy. [Exeunt.
Act III, Scene IX
Chorus. 1st Song.
Rejoice, O Britain! Britain, O, rejoice! The stormy cloud pass'd o'er, And only made a noise. A clattering sound was heard, And still we felt no wound: Rejoice, rejoice, Thou happy Britons' ground.
O that sweet Plenides, Eloquent Orone, Were now to chant our victories With a melodious tone; And rousing echo from the dales, With Harmony to sound: Rejoice, rejoice, Thou happy Britons' ground.
2d Song
Gang, ye lads and lasses, Sa wimble and sa wight: Fewl mickle teen betide ye, If ye ligg in this plight. Be bonny, buxom, jolly, Trip haydegues[325] belive; And gif night gars the welkin merk, Tom piper do you blive.
Hidder, eke and shidder, With spic'd sew ycram'd; Sa that unneath thilke borrels May well ne yede, ne stand: As leefe as life do weete it, When timbarins giu sound; Fore harvest gil prankt up in lathe, To loute it low around.[326]
FOOTNOTES:
[301] [An allusion to a belief which is mentioned in many of our early plays. See Dyce's Middleton, iv. 495.]
[302] Helmet.
[303] i.e., The roofs of the temples. "De tholis pendent laqueata circum Arma."
[304] Pallas being feigned by the poets to have been bred in Jupiter's brain.
[305] i.e., The Romans, who owed their founders, Romulus and Remus, to the care of Faustulus, who was shepherd to the tyrant Amulius.--Steevens.
[306] The goddess of the morning.--Steevens.
[307] The goddess of revenge. Baxter, in his "Glossary," says she is corruptly so called, and that her true name should be Andrasta.
[308] A mace [here seems to mean a sceptre, but properly stands for a club.]
[309] Geoffrey of Monmouth says, "His (Nennius's) funeral exequies were performed with regal pomp, and Cæsar's sword put into the tomb with him, which he kept possession of when struck into his shield in the combat. The name of the sword was Crocea Mors, Yellow Death, as being mortal to everybody that was wounded with it."--Bk. iv. c. 4, Thompson's translation, 1718, p. 102.
[310] By Geoffrey of Monmouth said to be the great grandson of Æneas. After being banished from Italy, on account of accidentally killing his father, he arrived at Britain, to which he gave his own name. He built Trinovantum, or London, and dying, left the government of the nation to his sons.
[311] Dunwallo Molmutius, son of Cloton, King of Cornwall. After a reign of 40 years he died, and was buried at Trinovantum, near the Temple of Concord.--"Geoffrey of Monmouth," bk. ii. c. 17. [Compare p. 484.]
[312] So in "King Henry IV., Part. II."--
"And darkness be the burier of the dead."
--Steevens.
[313] Frankincense.--Steevens.
[314] One of the horses of the Sun.--Steevens.
[315] Perhaps Pylius, i.e., Nestor--
"Illius ad tactum Pylius juvenescere possit."
--Steevens.
[316] The song of triumph.
[317] This expression of contempt I have seen in other ancient writers. It is used in the first scene of Marlowe's "Edward II."--
"As for the multitude, they are but sparks Rak'd up in embers of their poverty; Tanti; I'll fan first on the wind," &c.
There is, perhaps, some omission after it, as the line is imperfect, which might explain the meaning of the exclamation.--Collier.
[318] Old copy, piles.
[319] i.e., His government, authority. Hitherto it was misprinted--
"Bought with a frowning brow and popular grace."
The right reading is restored from the quarto.--Collier.
[320] [Old copy, King. So when.]
[321] Alternate singing.--Steevens.
[322] Charmers are enchanters or magicians. So in "Othello," act iii. sc. 4--
"That handkerchief Did an Egyptian to my mother give; She was a charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people."
And again in "The Two Noble Kinsmen," act v. sc. 4--
"Oh, you heavenly charmers, What things you make of us!"
[323] i.e., Perceptive, feeling. Falstaff observes that sack makes the mind apprehensive, quick, &c.
[324] I reck not how is the true reading: Mr Reed allowed it to stand according to the error of the old copy, I wreak not how; but to reck and to wreak are words of a totally different signification. To reck means to care for, while to wreak means to revenge.
IV. , SCENE I
CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, Attendants.
CÆS. A story is't or fable that, stern Mars, Thy weight did Romulus' sleepy mother press? Since we, thy brood degenerous, stand at gaze, Charm'd in the circle of a foaming flood, And trail our dastard pikes? Burst, Janus' prison! Roar as thou didst at Troy, drown Stentor's voice By many eighths,[327] which Pindus may re-beat, Which Caucasus may as a catch repeat, And Taurus lough the same:[328] that pigmies small May squeak, it thunders, and dive into burrows. Let the four winds with dreadful clamours sing Thy anger through th' affrighted world. What Lemnian chain shackles our mounting eagle? The moon's round concave is too strait a cage For her advanced pinions.
Enter MANDUBRATIUS,[329] wounded and bloody, with ANDROGEUS'S young son.
MAN. If pity can have room in angry breast, Favour a Briton prince, his father slain, His regiment bereft, his dearest blood Drawn by the sword of false Cassibelane, Having got crown, he then struck at my head; Nor can I safely suck my native air. His coz Androgeus also and whole regions In open war withstand his violence, Lo, Albion's aged arms spread wide t'enchain Thee, as her patron, in a true-love knot. Wherefore, dread Cæsar, let thy mercy strike Revengeful fires, and be justly styled, [Kneels. Tamer of tyrants. Then fame blows aloud, When valour helps the weak, pulls down the proud.
CÆS. Arise, unhappy prince, our deeds shall show We grant thy suit. Fortune repents at last;
[To VOLUSENUS.
The moon is chang'd, the globe doth to us turn Her shining cheek, and wooes us with a smile.
But what firm signs of faith, what faithful aid, What furtherance, can you give at our arrival?
MAN. See here Androgeus' heir, whose tender age His father ventures, and makes bold with nature To pledge his darling. He and thirty more Of noble lineage shall assure our faith; Besides I pawn my life.
CÆS. Enough. I'll once more cross the seas: For your good more than mine; that happier sky May bless your towns with peace, your fields with plenty; Perpetual spring, in gay perfum'd attire, Sirname your isle the garden of the west.
MAN. Thanks, gracious Cæsar, for this kind acceptance, My knee doth kiss the ground, my lip your knee. Pardon, ye gods, if any haunt our land, Ye nymphs and lares, fawns and sylvans wild, That thus I bring a stranger on our coasts, Whose foreign shape and language may affright Our lazy clowns, and on my country's back Once tread victorious steps. Be pleas'd to view Wrongs now redress'd, neglected first by you.
CÆS. Now, Volusene, Our glorious state, like the noon-pointed sun, When he bestrides the lion's flaming fleece, Doth north-west roll his burning brand, whose fire The ocean's blue lake cannot stop, but flies With brighter blaze to thaw the frozen isles. But how proceeds our preparation?
VOL. Many strong ships are built, five legions arm'd Ready to launch.
CÆS. Blow gently, Africus: Play on our poops. When Hyperion's son Shall couch in west his foam-bedappl'd jades, We'll rise to run our course.
Act IV, Scene II
EUL. Though Orpheus' harp, Arion's lute, the chimes Whose silver sound did Theban towers raise: Though sweet Urania with her ten-string'd lyre, Unto whose stroke the daily-rolling spheres Dance their just measures, should with tune and tone Tickle my air-bred ear; yet can their notes Those fabulous stones more enter, than my soul. Lead, poppy, slumber, stupefy my heart; But Bedlam grief acts gambols in my brain. The Centaur's wheel, Prometheus' hawk, the vulture Of Tityus, Sisyphus' never-mossy stone, The tale of Danaids' tub and Tantalus' gaping, Are but flea-bitings to my smart. I've slain A kinsman--more, a friend I dearly lov'd: Nay more, no cause provoking, but in rash And hellish choler. I thought my love had cannon-proof been 'gainst A world of injuries; when see, all is split By a small wind. Cursed be thou, my sword, The instrument of fury! cursed hand, Which mad'st the thrust! but most accursed part, Whose ruddy flesh triangular boil'd in flame, Like an Ætnean or Vesuvian salamander! That breast I so could hug, that faithful breast, That snowy white, I with dark sanguine stain'd; And from the wound's red lips his panting heart Did seem to say, Is this a friendly deed? O no, Hirildas: bears can harmless play, Lions can dally, and sheathe up their claws; I only, worst of brutes, kill friends in jest. Why does Androgeus, kindly-cruel, keep Me from their sentence? say, law bids me die; If law should not, I'll make that law myself. Shall ensigns be display'd, and nations rage About so vile a wretch? shall foreign hoofs Kick up our trembling dust, and must a Cæsar Redeem my folly with a kingdom's fall? First may I stop black Cerberus' triple jaws. Die, die! thou hast outliv'd thyself. Thou only, Phoenix of females, still dost bind and bound My runagate spirit in these walls of mud; From thee and for thee 'tis I breathe. Yet how Borrow can I his shape, or use mine own? Odious before, now worse than hell-born goblin, With brand and chains to scare this dove, all quaking 'Twixt wrath and fear. But time may favour win; When hope doth fail, then knife or rope begin. [Exit.
Act IV, Scene III
CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, ROLLANO.
CAS. Wisdom, confirm my sense! what seem'd their number?
ROL. Rising from shore, conjecture might descry A thousand ships with painted prows to pave The briny fields of Neptune; their broad sails Did Nereus canopy, Titan's taper veil. As nations twenty-nine 'gainst Troy built up A floating Delos of a thousand ships, To plough the liquid glass; no frame of Pallas, No crafty Sinon; but those wooden horse Did Troy dis-Troy. So Troynovant shall feel Her mother's fate; Achilles comes again, And Pergamus again shall sink in dust; They threaten. [Exit.
CAS. Wonder! what can their arsenals spawn so fast? Last year his barks and galleys were debosh'd;[330] This spring they sprout again: belike their navy, Like the Lernæan adder, faster grows The more 'tis prun'd. They come their last. Lord deputy, Lead on the present troops, and levy new. 'Twere best, I think, to let him land, lest view Of his huge navy should our commons fright. Retire ourselves to some place of advantage, Entice him from his ships; so cut the veins Which nourish both: enclos'd he cannot 'scape.
BEL. I rather judge, we should oppose his footing, Using the benefit of our natural mound.
CAS. Uncertain 'tis where--when, he makes inroad: To furnish all, unlikely: to neglect Any were dangerous as Pelides' heel, Our shores are large and level: then t' attend His time and leisure would exhaust the state-- Weary our soldiers.
BEL. All places may be strengthen'd more or less, As by last year discretion now may guess. The clifts themselves are bulwarks strong: the shelves And flats refuse great ships: the coast so open, That every stormy blast may rend their cables, Put them from anchor; suffering double war: Their men pitch'd battle, and ships naval fight. For charges 'tis no season to dispute: Spend something or lose all. Shall he maintain A fleet t' enthral us, we detract small costs. When freedom, life and kingdom lie at stake?
CAS. But the assailants are the flower of Italy, Back'd with four hundred Gallic horse, all tried And gallant troops, join'd in one martial body, To give a fuller stroke; when we defendants, Scatter'd along, can weak resistance make; Plainness of ground affording us no shelter.
BEL. For what serve sart and engines, mounds and trenches, But to correct the nature of a plain? A few on firm land may keep out a million Weaken'd by sea, false footing, billows' rage, And pond'rous arms; when as, receiv'd within, He prospers by our spoil: we feed a viper, And malcontents and rebels have a refuge. Nor were it safe to venture all at once; When one fought field being lost, swift ruin runs, And rushing throws down all.
CAS. We know our strength and his; we'll fight in field Some dozen miles from sea. An open theatre Gives lustre to our prowess: to keep him out Supposes fear, not manhood. No, let him march, Till he rouse Death, and stride his future grave.
BEL. Your will commands, and mine obeys. [Exeunt.
Act IV, Scene IV
CÆSAR, &c. Ensign, drum, trumpet, flag, Soldiers, Shipmen. The noise of landing.
CÆS. The coast is clear; our honour is the goal. In vain doth Tagus' yellow sand obey, Rhine's horned front and nimble Tigris running For wager with the wind, which skims his top; In vain from Ganges to Hesperian Gades, The bounds mark'd out by Jove's two base-born sons[331] Our echo'd name doth sound, if we recoil From hence again not victors. Ye pilots old, who were begot mermaids, Whose element is their sea, bred and brought up In cradles rock'd with storms and wooden walls. Fear not to grapple with the seas. Fear not Their bulks, brave veterans; that extended mass Is not of iron, but can bleed and die: They were not dipp'd in Styx, nor are they giants Or wild poetic Centaurs we assail. Let then this voyage quit out credit lost, And let rage lash on courage. Here's the game; Life may be lost, but (sure) we'll hold fast fame!
[They march about and go out. The whole battle within.
CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, &c., Soldiers.
CAS. Our first attempt doth prosper: they retiring Scud to the bosom of their fir-tree vaults, And under hatches hide themselves from death. The Cornish band made havoc of their ranks, Like Scythian wolves 'midst of a bleating fold: The jingling lances, rattling chariot-wheels, Madded their horse. The bowmen merrily shot.
BEL. Yet would our tributary kings had succour'd! We are decay'd, they much in number grown, And surely will make head again.
CAS. Fear not; thou know'st I can even with a whistle Hide Kent with glitt'ring arms. More flaming sparkles Paint not a freezing night; nor speckl'd bees Buz not about sweet Hybla's bloomy head. But what need millions, when some thousand serve? O, did my brother live! we'd climb the Alps. Like brave Mulmutius' sons: make Romulus' wolf Howl horror in their streets, and Rome look pale, As when the Punic captain[332] ey'd her walls. [March out.
CÆSAR, VOLUSENUS, &c.
CÆS. Are ye the men, who never fought in vain? Who wear Bellona's favours in your scars? Ay, ye are they. What then benumbs our spirits? Our empire from Quirinus' narrow centre Doth circling spread, and finds no brink nor bottom. Titan no later sets nor earlier wakes, Than he beholds our provinces. Why, then, What privilege hath this place? have we or they The Phrygian powers? have they Palladium got? No, no; those gods our capitol keeps with joy; These only have undaunted minds from Troy.
Enter Q. ATRIUS.
What news, good Atrius?
ATRIUS. No good news from Atrius. When ominous earth with shade and cloudy vapours Had darkness doubled, storms began to sound, The dappl'd south, rough-footed Aquilo, Came rushing like two rams, whose steeled horns Dart fiery sparks: the clouds (crush'd) breathe out flames: Thunder and lightning daunt all ears and eyes: The winds and billows strive who loudest roar:
The sky distill'd in rain: his room to fill, Ambitious waves would climb the starry hill. Our ships are batter'd all, some forty sunk.
CÆS. What devil Cacus drags our fortune back![333] Doth she move retrograde, and hoist us up, That we may fall at height? why doth Camillus Each night torment my sleep, and cry revenge? I strive against the stream.
Enter ANDROGEUS, MANDUBRATIUS, Soldiers.
AND. Thus join we standards; and resign the keys Of Troynovant with all our warlike forces.
MAN. By me the Trinobants[334] submit, and Cenimagnians, Segontiacs, Ancalites, Bybrocs, and Cassians: Six worthy nations do desire thy guard.
CÆS. All, all shall know our love.
MAN. The tyrant lies on Isis' flow'ry banks, Where a full choir sing of white surplic'd swans. The ford's unlevel belly they have fenc'd With sharp stakes under water.
CÆS. Nor stakes, lakes, fords, nor swords shall check our progress. Those downy swans shall hear more funeral notes. Their kings departed, Nennius dead, whose loss Would tears extort even from pumicean eyes: Had Britain nurs'd but such another champion, They might have stuck their darts on our barr'd gates, And Latium trembled with contrary fates.[335] In what now lies their hope?
MAN. Great numbers still remain: nay, worse, they laugh At death, and boldly trust (as Druids preach) Their souls who die in fight shall live in joy. Hence count they dangers benefits, and die With freedom in their mouth and wilful rage. But let soft mildness wait on women; let Thy wrath ring through the woods in dusty noise, To tell thy coming. No man's built so lofty, But his foundation meets the humble dust; Which undermin'd, how high he pierc'd the clouds, So deep he sinks. Hostile and civil foes shake top and root, As winds invade above and mines below. And so will we.
CÆS. No doubt: this blow shall like an earthquake move The roots and pillars of this sea-clipp'd isle. A cloud of vultures shall attend our camp, And no more shall the fields bear vert, but gules:[336] The grain, engrain'd in purple dye, shall lose His verdant hue. Bones, marrow, human limbs Shall putrifying reek, whose vapour'd slime, Kindl'd on high, may breed long-bearded stars, To tell more mischief, and outbeard Apollo.
MAN. Let's waste no time, lest more unto him flock, As humours glide to guard the wounded member.
CÆS. Atrius, let our ships be drawn on shore, New-rigg'd and mended. I must needs confess him A darling of the gods, under whose colours Stars, winter, sky, and tempests serve in pay, And know both march and skirmish by his drum. [Exeunt.
Act IV, Scene V
ROLLANO, EULINUS hearkening.
ROL. O my dear lady, hast thou slain thyself? So fairly pure, so kindly chaste, so---- [Cries. A Venus and Diana mix'd in one. She ate her meat with studs of pearl, she kiss'd With rubies, and she look'd with diamonds bright. Fish seas, and fowl the air, hunt all the earth, For such another bit, and lose your labour.
EUL. O, why dost thou complain?
ROL. Had she not kill'd herself, no cruel Atropos, No fury could for pity cut her thread. She was the loadstone of all eyes, the whetstone Of all brains, the touchstone of all hearts! she was---- [Cries.
EUL. O, my presaging thoughts in ugly form Suggest some tragedy. Speak--yet stay awhile; I know thou kill'st with speaking. Be then dumb: Let sound ne'er give those notions airy robes. Yet speak! despatch me; fear's as bad as death. O, could no tongue affirm it! Is she dead?
ROL. My mistress is.
EUL. Wither, ye pleasant gardens, where she trod! White lilies droop, and blasted daisies wink, And weep in pearly dew! blind Vesper mourn; Hang thy cold tears on ev'ry grassy blade! Groan loud, ye woods, and tear your leafy hair! Let wind and hoary frost kill every flow'r; For she is gone who made continual May Let foggy mists envelope sun and stars; For she is gone who made perpetual day. Confounded nature, stand amaz'd; dissolve Thy rolling engines, and unbrace the seas; Fling all into their first disorder'd lump; For thy chief paragon, thy rich masterpiece, The jewel for which thou didst venture all, Is lost, is lost! And can I live to speak it? How died she?
ROL. By a poison'd draught.
EUL. The very word poison infects my breath. Durst thou presume to pass that coral porch? Were not her lips sufficient antidote? Durst thou descend through those close-winding stairs With treacherous intent? How could thy venom Seize on her, and not (sweeten'd) lose his virtue, Or rather vicious quality? may toads, Dragons, and mandrakes be thy gally-pots! This body was a casket for the graces, No cask for poison. With her dies all love. Cupid may break his bow, his arrows burn, Then quench his taper in a flood of tears. Is she dead?
ROL. Or in a long trance?
EUL. She may revive. I'll visit her. Art may prolong her days, Whether she will or no. [Exeunt.
Act IV, Scene VI
CHORUS.
1. Alecto, rising from the lakes Of nights sad empery,[337] With knotty bunch of curled snakes Doth lash fair Brittany.
2. More ghastly monster did not spring From the Hibernian flood: With which Morvidus[338] combating, Of foe became his food.
3. Shall no more shepherds in the shade Sit whistling without care? Shall never spear be made a spade, And sword a ploughing-share?
4. Grant, heaven, at last that music loud Of bloody Mars be still: That Britain's virgins in a crowd With hymns the sky may fill!
2d Song.
Nor is Landora's loss The least part of our mournful muse: Jove, Juno for to cross, This Trojan dame for bride did choose.
Where she doth shine 'Bove Guendoline,[339] The amazon of her days: And Mercia wise Law to devise. O, sound Landora's praise.
There doth she shine above, Clear as great Delia's horned bow, Bright as the queen of love, To shoot down gentle beams below. Sabrina, dare Not to compare With her most splendent rays: A ring the sky A gem her eye. O, sound Landora's praise.
FOOTNOTES:
[325] [A sort of rural dance. See a long note in Nares' "Glossary," 1859, and Halliwell's Dictionary, v. Haydigee.]
[326] [This is the Scottish song which has led to the unfortunate conjecture that the author was a native of Scotland.]
[327] i.e., Octaves, a musical term.
[328] i.e., Low as a cow does. The word frequently occurs in Roman poetry. So in Virgil's third Georgic--
"Et vox assensu nemorum ingeminata remugit."
--Steevens.
[329] Mandubratius, Mr Camden observes, is by Eutropius, Bede, and the more modern writers called Androgeus, which in the British language signifies vir malus, a bad man; a name of infamy fixed on him for having been the first who betrayed his country.--Camden's "Britannia," ii. 327, edit. 1772; Baxter's "Glossary" in voce.
[330] i.e., Spoiled, rendered unserviceable. See Cotgrave in voce Desbaucher.--Steevens.
[331] Hercules and Alexander.--Steevens.
[332] Hannibal.--Steevens.
[333] Cacus stole the oxen of Hercules, and, that which way they went might not be discovered, drew them backwards into his den.--Steevens.
[334] See Cæsar's "Commentaries," bk. v. s. 20, 21. The Trinobantes were those who inhabited Middlesex and Essex. The Cenimagnians, says Camden, were the same with the Iceni, whose province contained Suffolk, Norfolk, Cambridgeshire, and Huntingdonshire. Segontiaks, he thinks, were originally the Belgæ, and places them in the hundred of Holshot, in Hampshire; the Ancalites he calls those who inhabit the hundred of Henley, in Oxfordshire; the Bybrocks, that of Bray, in Berkshire; and the Cassians the people of Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, and Herefordshire, where the name is still preserved in the hundred of Casbow.
[335]
"Versis lugeret Græcia fatis."
--Steevens.
[336] Terms of heraldry, signifying green and red.
[337] [Dominion.]
[338] A tyrant who lost his life in encountering a monster that destroyed great numbers of people on the Irish coast. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. iii. c. 15. The 4o reads Morindus.
V. , SCENE I
CÆSAR, ANDROGEUS, MANDUBRATIUS, &c. Soldiers.
CÆS. Thus gain we ground; yet still our foes will fight, Whether they win or lose. With bloody drops Our path is printed: Thames his maiden cheeks Blush with vermillion. Nations crave our league On every side; yet still Cassibelane braves us, Nor will submit.
AND. Not far hence Verulam lies, his chiefest fort: By nature guarded round with woods and fens, By art enclosed with a ditch and rampier: From hence we must dislodge the boar.
MAN. There are but two ways to assail this town, Both which I know. Your parted army must Break through both at once, and so distract His doubtful rescues.
Enter VOLUSENUS, with HULACUS prisoner.
HUL. Draw, slaves unwilling; I dare meet my death, And lead my leader.
VOL. You'll repent anon.
HUL. If I do ill; but not for suffering ill.
VOL. Your stoical apathy will relent, I know. This priest I caught within a shady grove, Devoutly kneeling at a broad oak's foot. Now he awaits your doom.
CÆS. What God adore you?
HUL. Him whom all should serve.
CÆS. What's the moon?
HUL. Night's sun.
CÆS. What's night?
HUL. A foil to glorify the day.
CÆS. What most compendious way to happiness?
HUL. To die in a good cause.
CÆS. What is a man?
HUL. An hermaphrodite of soul and body.
CÆS. How differ they in nature?
HUL. The body hath in weight, the soul in length.
CÆS. One question more: What dangers shall I pass?
HUL. Many by land and sea, as steps to glory. Throw Palatine on Æsquiline, on both Heap Aventine, to raise one pyramid for a Chair of estate, where thy advanced head, Among those heroes pictur'd in the stars, Orion, Perseus, Hercules, may consult With Jove himself: but shun the senate-house. March round about the Caspian sea; search out, 'Mong cedars tall, th' Arabian phoenix' nest; Run counter to old Nile, till thou discover His sacred head wrapt up in cloudy mountains; And, rather than work fail, turn Hellespont Out of his channel; dig that isthmus down, Which ties great Afric--shun the senate-house.
Be Saturn, and so thou shalt not be Tarquin. A Brutus strong Repays in fine The brutish wrong To Brutus' line.
CÆS. We'll talk at leisure more. [Exeunt.
Act V, Scene II
CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, &c.
CAS. No rampires keep him back: he presses forward, Though every stamp he treads seems to conjure The Fates from their infernal centre. None But he durst be so bold.
BEL. Yes, when Britons lead, and Mandubrace, insulting With naked sword, calls on the lagging soldiers; When fierce Androgeus, with revolted nations, Ushers his army. No way half so quick To ruinate kingdoms as by homebred strife. Thus, while we single fight, we perish all.
CAS. Ay, ay, those treach'rous caitiffs! rebel slaves! O, may their country's heavy curse them sink Below the nine-fold brazen gates of hell! That princock[340] proud!--ah, 'twas a 'scape in policy: I should have slain the whelps with their good sire. Let Britain's climacterical year now run, The series break of seventy kings: nay, let One urn conclude our ashes and the world's. Befall what will, in midst of horror's noise And crackling flames, when all is lost, we'll die With weapons in our hands, and victory scorn: There's none that die so poor as they are born. Faithful Belinus, let a post command The Kentish kings to set upon his fleet, Whilst we here bate. Four thousand charioteers, (Such as did glide upon the Phrygian plains, And (wheeling) double service do perform-- Both horseman's speed and footman's stable strength) Still do remain: with these and flocking voluntaries We'll give him once more battle. Let the captains Enter and hear my charge.
Enter CAPTAINS. He stands on a throne.
Subjects and fellow-soldiers, we must now try For ancient freedom or perpetual bondage: There is no third choice. The enraged foe (With cruel pride, proud avarice) hath spoil'd From East to West, hunting for blood and gain. Your wives and daughters ravish'd, ransack'd towns, Great bellies ripp'd with lances, sprawling babes, The spouse, about her husband's neck, run through By the same spear. Think on these objects; Then choose them for your lords, who spoil and burn Whole countries, and call desolation peace.[341] Yield, yield, that he, ennobled by our spoils, May climb the capitol with triumphant car; You led, fast-fetter'd, through the staring streets, For city dames to mock your habit strange, And fill their arras-hangings with our story. No: Brennus' ghost forbid! who this night stood Before my eyes, and grimly furious spake: Shall Britain stoop to Roman rods and hatchets, And servile tribute? will ye so defame Your ancestors, and your successors wrong, Heirs but of slavery? O, this day make good The glory of so many ages pass'd I see you are incens'd, and wish to use Your weapons, not your ears.
ALL. To arms, to arms, to arms! we'll fight and die. [Exeunt.
Act V, Scene III
EULINUS in a nightcap, unbraced. Viol, poynado.[342] Plays, and sings to the viol.
So the silver-feather'd swan, Both by death and colour wan, Loves to sing, before she die, Leaving life so willingly. But how can I sing a note, When dead hoarseness stops my throat? Or how can I play a stroke, When my heart-strings are all broke?
Come, guilty night, and with black velvet wings Mantle me round: let melancholic thoughts Hang all my brain with blacks, this darksome grove, My gallery. So, all things suit my mind: Such funeral colours please a gasping heart. I died with thee, Landora, once; now only Some struggling spirits are behind, to be Laid out with most thrift on thy memory. Where shall I first begin my last complaint, Which must be measur'd by my glass of life? At thee, Hirildas, slain in furious mood, By whose help only I enjoy'd my love? Or thee, Landora, dying for his sake, And in thy death including mine? Or at my country's wreck, whose surface torn Doth for my vengeance importune the pole? Or at myself? Ay, there is sorrow's spring. Shall I go wand'ring, lurk in woods unknown (A banish'd hermit), and sigh out my griefs, Teaching the pretty birds to sing, My dear, My dear Landora? There to feed on acorns, Drink the clear fountain, and consume with weeping, Were but an easy life, an easy death: My violent passion must have sudden vent. Refined soul, whose odoriferous light The damned hags stare at, and whining elves, Thinking it heaven in hell, behold my pangs, Pity my dying groans, and be more soft. O, may our shadows mingle; then shall I Envy no more those citizens above, The ambrosian juncates of th' Olympian hall. And all that gorgeous roof. But cowards talk. Come, thou last refuge of a wearisome life. [Draws his poignard. A passport to the Elysian land, a key To unlock my griev'd inmate. Lo! I come. O, let this river from my eyes, this stream [Unbuttons. From my poor breast, beg favour of thy ghost: O, let this lukewarm blood thy rigour steep, [Stabs. And mollify thy adamantine heart. Leander-like, I swim to thee through blood: Be thy bright eyes my Pharos, and conduct me Through the dull night of gloomy Erebus. Flow, flow, ye lively drops, and from my veins Run winding to the ocean of my bliss: Tell her my love, and, if she still shall doubt, Swear that ye came directly from my heart. I stay too long. [Stabs again.] Sweet lady, give me welcome. Though I shall pass twelve monsters, as the sun, Or twelve Herculean labours on a row, Yet one kind look makes all my labours sweet. Thou fairy queen[343] of the Tartarian court, To whom Proserpine may the apple give, Worthier than she to warm old Pluto's bed; See thy poor vassal welt'ring in his gore. I faint, I faint; I die thy martyr, as I liv'd thy priest: Great goddess, be propitious! sweet Landora-- [Falls and dies.
Act V, Scene IV
The four Kings of Kent march over the stage. A drum struck up within. Q. ATRIUS comes with CINGETORIX prisoner. ROLLANO running; VOLUSENUS meets him.
ROL. What shall I do? how shall I 'scape? [Falls for fear.
VOL. I scorn to take advantage; rise and fight.
ROL. I had rather be kill'd quickly, quickly.
VOL. Then die, as thou desirest. [Thrusts at him.
ROL. O, let me wink first. [Bawls aloud. I shall never endure it. O, O, I am pepper'd and salted!
[Exit VOLUSENUS. ROLLANO crawls away.
CASSIBELANUS, BELINUS, &c.
CAS. O, that base fortune should great spirits damp, And fawn on muddy slaves! That envious fate Should ripen villany with a Syrian dew, And blast sweet virtue with a Syrian flame! A catalogue of mischiefs do concur: Our Briton Hector Nennius dead; our kings, Angry to be refus'd, sit still at home; And then those traitors with their train augment His huge and expert army. Nothing stops him: Rivers nor rampiers, woods nor dangerous bogs. On this side Thames his dismal ensigns shine. Last, Kent's unhappy rulers are at sea O'erthrown, and our men almost spent. Then, general, In desperate pride and valour's scornful rage, Let us run headlong through their armed tents, And make their camp a shambles; so to raise Our lofty tombs upon their slaughter'd heaps.
BEL. Nay, rather first let us parley for peace.
CAS. Ye country gods and nymphs, who Albion love: Old father Neptune: all ye powers divine: Witness my loyal care! If human strength, Courage and policy could a kingdom save, We did our best; but discord, child of hell, Numbers of train-men, and each captain pick'd Out of a province, make us bow or break. In vain we strive, when deities do frown; When destinies push, Atlas himself comes down.
Enter COMIUS.
BEL. No mediator is so fit as Comius: And here's the man.
COM. Do not the dangers which Environ you call for a good conclusion? Which I wish, as friend to both sides.
CAS. No, Comius. There is more behind than Cæsar Hath overrun: our charioteers still drive; Our harness still is worn. Through woods and lakes We'll tire his dainty soldiers; then set fire On towns, and sacrifice ourselves, our wives, Our goods and cattle, in one public flame, That wind may blow our ashes in his face.
COM. So shall dead el'ments curse your causeless fury: Rather conclude some friendly peace.
CAS. Thus far we hear you. If with honour'd terms And royal looks he will accept our faith, We will obey, but never serve.
COM. I'll undertake as much. [Exeunt.
Act V, Scene V
ANDROGEUS, TENANTIUS.
AND. Thus civil war by me and factious broils Deface this goodly land: I am reveng'd; The cause (Eulinus) dead, my anger dies. He is our uncle, and in danger's mouth; Both claim relenting pity. Whom peace made A rampant lion, war hath made a lamb. Cæsar shall not proceed, for private ends, To captivate our isle, whose clamorous curse Doth knock, I know, at heaven's star-nail'd gates: For that Jove's bird, imp'd[344] with our plumes, o'erflew The ocean's wall, to seek her prey in Britain.
TEN. Ay, we have made a rod for our own backs: Fetters of gold are fetters. No gap worse To let destruction in by, than to call A foreign aid who, having seen our weakness, And tasted once the fatness of our land, Is not so easily thrust out as admitted. Such medicine is worse than the malady: Fretting the bowels of our kingdom.
AND. I know their hatred just; and here resign All my birthright to thee, my second self. I must forsake my country's sight, and seek New fortunes with this emperor, in hope To be rais'd up by his now rising wheel.
TEN. O, do not so, dear brother! so to part Were to divide one individual soul. Nor think me so ambitious. I can live A private life, and see a regal crown With no more envy than I see the sun Glitter above me. Let not Lud's two sons Be parted by a sea. I hold your presence At higher price than a whole kingdom's pomp. Keep then your right; like those admired twins, Let us rejoice, mourn, live, and die together.
AND. You shall a sceptre gain.
TEN. And lose a brother.
AND. Bear you the sovereign power of this land.
TEN. A body politic must on two legs stand: I'll bear a part, so to diminish envy.
AND. I must away, and shun the people's eye.
TEN. If to yourself unkind, be kind to me; For my sake stay at home; why will you fly? Think you a stepdame soil gives sweeter sap?
AND. Ay, for trees transplanted do more goodly grow.
TEN. And I'll count men but stocks, when they do so.
AND. I am resolv'd, all troubles brought asleep, To leave you with a parting kiss.
TEN. And by that kiss May I transfuse my soul or quite expire. Brothers have often for a kingdom fought; We strive to lose it. This is holy strife. But here I vow, if e'er that sacred lace Shall gird my temples, Rome must keep her bounds, Or fish for tribute in the dreadful deep.
Act V, Scene VI
CÆSAR, MANDUBRATIUS.
AND. Let gracious favour smooth war's rugged brow; Cassibelane will compound; all rage must end. We choose you umpire for a friendly close.
CÆS. It is my glory to end all with peace; And for that cause I Comius sent in haste For to conduct him hither.
TEN. This trump gives warning of the king's approach.
CASSIBELANUS, COMIUS, LANTONUS.
CAS. Fate, and no fault of mine, makes me appear To yield, as far as honour gives me leave.
CÆS. Hail, valorous prince! disdain not this ingrafting Into Rome's empire, whose command encloses The whole Levant, and whose large shadow hides The triple-bounded earth and bellowing seas.
CAS. We shall observe your will, so you impose A league--no yoke. [They shake hands.
CÆS. Thus we determine: that crown still shall stand: Reign as the total monarch of this isle, Till death unkings you. 'Twere, Androgeus, best You in our train kept honourable place; And let Tenantius wear the royal wreath. You must forgive the towns which did revolt, Nor seek revenge on Trinobants, but let Young Mandubrace possess his father's princedom.
CAS. Be all wrongs drench'd in Lethe.
AND. Pardon my rash attempts.
MAN. Count me your loyal friend.
[CASSIBELANUS embraces ANDROGEUS and MANDUBRATIUS.
CÆS. In sign of league you shall us pledges give, And yearly pay three thousand pound of silver Unto our treasury. So let these decrees Be straight proclaim'd through Troynovant, whose tower[345] Shall be more fairly built at my charge, as A lasting monument of our arrival.
CAS. All shall be done, renowned prince, whose worth, Unparallel'd both as a friend and foe, We do admire. Accept this surcoat, starrified with pearls And diamonds, such as our own shores breed.
CÆS. And you receive this massy cup of gold, Love's earnest and memorial of this day. By this suppose our senate calls you friend.
[They sit together.
LAN. Now time, best oracle of oracles, Father of truth, the true sense doth suggest Of Dian's answer. The lion and the eagle do design The Briton and the Roman states, whose arms Were painted with those animals; both fierce, Weary at last, conclude: the semicircles, First letters of the leaders' names (we see) Are join'd in true love's endless figure. Both come of Trojan race, both nobly bold, Both matchless captains on one throne behold.
CÆS. Now the Tarpeian rock o'erlooks the world, Her empire bounded only by the ocean; And boundless fame beats on the starry pole. So Danow, crawling from a mountain's side, Wider and deeper grows, and like a serpent Or pyramid revers'd, improves his bigness As well as length; till, viewing countries large, And fed with sixty rivers, his wide mouth On th' Euxine sea-nymph gapes, and fear doth stir, Whether he will disgorge or swallow her.
CAS. Since the great guide of all, Olympus' king, Will have the Romans his viceroys on earth; Since the red fatal eyes of crow-black night Fling their malignant influence on our state; Since Britain must submit; it was her fame, None but a Julius Cæsar could her tame.
[While trumpets sound, ANDROGEUS and TENANTIUS embracing, take leave. All depart.
Act V, Scene VII
CHORUS.
1st Song.
Come, fellow-bards, and sing with cheer; Since dreadful alarums we shall no more hear. Come, lovely peace, our saint divine, Olive and laurel do love for to twine. The Graces and Muses, and nymphs in a round: Let voice beat the air, and feet beat the ground.
So hell's black image chas'd away, Eos doth dandle the goldy-lock'd day; So, Bruma[346] banish'd all forlorn, Cupid and Flora the spring do adorn: And so, the grim fury of Mars laid in grave, A merrier ending doth friendly peace crave.
2d Song.
The sky is glad, that stars above Do give a brighter splendour: The stars unfold their flaming gold, To make the ground more tender: The ground doth send a fragrant smell, That air may be the sweeter: The air doth charm the swelling seas With pretty chirping metre: The sea with rivers' water doth Feed[347] plants and flowers dainty: The planets do yield their fruitful seed, That beasts may live in plenty: The beasts doth give both food and cloth, That men high Jove may honour: And so the world runs merrily round, When peace doth smile upon her. O then, then O! O then, then O! This jubilee last for ever: That foreign spite or civil fight Our quiet trouble never. [Exeunt.
MERCURY reducing the ghosts of CAMILLUS and BRENNUS.
CAM. How bravely Cæsar pass'd the angry main!
BREN. How bravely was he back repuls'd again!
CAM. How did he wheel his sword in Nennius' face!
BREN. How did he lose his sword, and fly apace!
CAM. How did again his army fill your coast!
BREN. Ay, when our princes did conduct his host.
CAM. How did they pierce through Isis' dangerous flood!
BREN. But made her swell, and bankrupt[348] with their blood.
CAM. Mirror of captains, Julius, still hath won.
BREN. But we may justly brag of two for one.
CAM. Confess, our valorous race hath now repaid The Allian massacre[349] and our city's flame: See how they yield, and yearly tribute pay.
BREN. No, proud dictator, both do weary stand On equal terms: both wish a peaceful league. But if they shall oppress, know, generous spirits Will break this compact, like a spider's web.
MER. Jove's will is finish'd: and, though Juno frown, That no more Trojan blood shall dye the stage, The world's fourth empire Britain doth embrace. The thunder-bearer with a Janus look At once views ruddy morn and cloudy west: Her wings, display'd o'er this terrestrial egg, Will shortly hatch an universal peace; For Jove intends a favour to the world. It now remains that you two martial wights Cease from your braving one another's worth: You must be friends at last. The close is sweet, When, after tumults, hearts and hands do meet. [Exeunt.
Nec lusisse pudet, sed non incidere ludum.
FOOTNOTES:
[339] The wife of Locrine. See Geoffrey of Monmouth, bk. ii. c. 4.
[340] A coxcomb, or conceited person. So in "The Emperor of the East," act iv. sc. 1--
"I have a heart, yet As ready to do service for my leg As any princock, peacock of you all."
And again, "The Old Law," act iii. sc. 2--
"That wet one has cost many a princock's life."
See also Mr Steevens's note on "Romeo and Juliet," act i. sc. 5.
[341] This sentiment, and many others in the course of the play, are borrowed: it is a translation from a very well known passage in Tacitus: solitudinem faciunt, &c.--Collier.
[342] i.e., Poignard, sword. So in "The Return from Parnassus"--
"Strikes his poynado at a button's breadth."
[343] Alluding to Spenser's celebrated poem.--Steevens.
[344] See note to "Albumazar," [xi. 346.]
[345] The Tower of London, said to have been built by Julius Cæsar.
[346] [The winter solstice.]
[347] The 4o has it--
"The sea with rivers' water doth The plants and flowers dainty."
--Collier.
[348] Or broken-banked with the flood.
[349] The slaughter made at the battle of Allia, in the year of Rome 363.
THE LOST LADY.
EDITION.
_The Lost Lady. A Tragy Comedy. Imprinted at London by Jo. Okes, for John Colby, and are to be sold at his Shop, at the Signe of the Holy Lambe on Ludgate-hill. 1639. Folio._
[Sir William Barclay or Berkley was probably related to Sir Richard Barclay, author of "A Discourse of the Felicity of Man," first printed in 1598. He wrote, besides the "Lost Lady," a "Description of Virginia." An account of him will be found in Bliss's edition of Wood's "Athenæ," iii. 1111-12.
"The Lost Lady" was reprinted by Dodsley in 1744, but excluded from the second and third editions of the collection.]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[350]
Men.
LYSICLES. EUGENIO. AGENOR. CLEON. ERGASTO. PHORMIO. PINDARUS. PHYSICIAN.
Women.
MILESIA. HERMIONE. IRENE. PHILLIDA. ACANTHE.
FOOTNOTES:
[350] [Not in the old copy.]
THE LOST LADY.
Act I
Enter AGENOR, PHYSICIAN.
AGEN. Sir, I hope Lord Lysicles is not yet Retir'd?
PHY. No, sir, he commanded immediate Notice should be given of your coming.
AGEN. I fear my stay at the castle hath made My duty seem unmannerly; but till This minute I had not my despatches from the governor.
PHY. Let it not trouble you: he never shuts his eyes Till all this other world opens theirs; nor Does he sleep then, but with distracted thoughts Labours his fancy, to present him objects That may advance his grief.
AGEN. What may the monstrous cause be?
PHY. It was monstrous indeed. He lost his mistress, Barbarously murder'd by her perfidious uncle: Her urn is in Cirrha, which my lord nightly Visits, and presents it all his contracted Sighs of the fled day; but at his parting Re-assumeth more by thinking she is not: To whose dear memory his tears and griefs Are offered. He's now alone, and the Religious awe which makes our priests retire, Before they do adore th' incensed powers, Is seen in him, who never dares approach Her honoured tomb, till a just contemplation of His loss hath made his sorrow eloquent. See! he comes. If, when he parts, your haste Will license you, I will relate the story Of his unequall'd sufferings.
Enter LYSICLES.
LYS. Do you depart to-night?
AGEN. This hour, my lord.
LYS. I will not wrong you to entreat your care In suddenly delivering these small packets; But lest you should believe they are merely Ceremonious, and so bear any date, I now Inform you, I'm concern'd in nothing nearer. My griefs excepted.
AGEN. I wish your lordship's happiness.
LYS. First, wish me a captivity; for as I am i' th' instant, if Heaven should pour His blessings on me, their quality would alter. Sir, good night. [Exit.
PHY. Sir, you are sad.
AGEN. He has no heart to joy that can be otherwise, That sees this glorious youth groan under his Harsh fate.
PHY. What a sad accent had each word he uttered?
AGEN. I could not mark them much; but his whole frame Is of such making as if Despair had been The architect. We may wish, [but] not hope, A long life in him.
PHY. Sir, will you now take horse?
AGEN. I should, had you Not promised the original of this Misfortune: and, trust me, it is a bold Curiosity, that makes me search into it; for if The silent presentation hath struck amazement In me, how shall I guard my heart, when sad Disasters violence my passions?
PHY. Thus then in short:-- These noble kingdoms, Thessaly and Sparta, Have, from the time two kings commanded all, Under both titles still been emulous, And jealous of th' advantages which each Suspected might be in the adverse party. This caused a lasting war; but the fierce storm Threaten'd not till the reign of these two kings, Both crowned young, both of an equal age; Both having all the passions of their subjects, Their fears excepted. The ambassadors That should congratulate the new-made kings, As if one spirit had inspired both, Came with this message, little varied-- "That each were joy'd in such an enemy; No more the fearful wisdom of old men Should rust their swords, that fate had given to one Command of all." In short, their forces met, And in ten bloody days none could decide Which had the better cause: The virtues of each prince so prevalent, Fortune was but spectator. To conclude, Urgent affairs at home compell'd each king To leave their armies. Ours committed his To Strimon, father of Prince Lysicles; The Duke of Argos did command the Spartan, Who, swoll'n with the great name of general, Before his king had hardly left the fight Of this great army, draws his forces out, And fac'd us in our trenches. 'Tis not yet Unquestion'd whether fear or policy Made Strimon keep in his: but certainly this, That virtue, sharpen'd by necessity, Procur'd our triumph. Here Lysicles Anticipated years unto his fame, And on the wounds of his brave enemy Did write his story, which our virgins sing. But from this conquest did begin the cause Of all his misery.
AGEN. How from this? unless the king should judge it Too dangerous an honour to be given to one.
PHY. He's lord of so much virtue, He cannot fear it in a subject.
AGEN. And as the common voice reach'd him in Athos, There's none he looks on with [a] greater Demonstration of his love.
PHY. I know not that; but this I am perfect in: His judgment is directed by the king so powerfully, He cannot think his virtues injured, Though many should be nearer in his graces, 'Twould afflict him strangely if any should Be thought to love his prince better than he.
AGEN. Pardon my interruption: pray proceed.
PHY. The duke, defeated, posts unto the Court, Where he design'd unto his dire revenge Th' obscurest path that ever time reveal'd Since her first glass: procures his king to throw Neglects upon him, and to seem in doubt Of his obliged faith. A severe search Is made on his papers, his treasure valued By the public officer, and himself, Twice deprehended in a seeming flight, Calumniated, libell'd, and disgrac'd By his own seeking and belief of others, Who, judging him to be their honour's ruin, First raze his house, and then demand his life As sacrifice unto their brothers, sons, Nephews, and public loss. Sedition Had now the face of piety, which (once Receiv'd as just) can hardly be repell'd. The king with difficulty doth assure his life With promise of his banishment. This he foresaw and sought, and did disguise Himself, in fear of the incensed people: Parts in the night, and partner of his fate Hath his fair niece, who is so innocent She cannot think there is a greater crime Practis'd by men than error, which does make Us seem more vicious than in act we are.
AGEN. I want a perspective for this dark mystery; And but your knowledge doth dissolve my doubts, 'Twould seem a riddle that a gentleman Of his known valour [and his] reputation Should strive to lose both for some secret end, I cannot yet arrive to.
PHY. Sir, you know Revenge doth master all our passions That are not servants to her rage.
AGEN. But how, unfriended, banish'd, the reproach Of traitor fix'd upon him, he could find The way unto't more easy, I am ignorant.
PHY. This story will resolve you. To this Court He comes: is brought to th' king; then with a modest freedom Relates his sufferings; hopes that fame hath taught His story ere his coming, else he should Continue miserable, as believ'd Both by his friends and enemies a traitor. Delivers that he sought protection From him, because none else could vindicate His innocence, which many mothers here, Say'th he, have wept that day when fortune Consulted fate who should be conqueror. You brave lords (say'th he) that were present, did my sword Parley? Did you receive wounds on condition? Were these by compact? All my blood is lost, Since 'tis discredited; what before was spent, Ran in my name, and made that live: but now, Great King, you only repeal my honour's fall By giving death unto your enemy. Our prince resents his fate, confirms him his By a large pension, and too soon entrusts [him] With all his secrets; gives him means to view His forts, which he designs, and learns the strength Of each particular province; and (inform'd Of all) makes his escape, and is received Of the Spartan king with all remonstrances Of love and confess'd service; but before He parted, did that horrid act which Lysicles Must die for.
AGEN. Indeed this story Doth not much concern him, if I mistake not.
PHY. At his arrival here, he left his niece With this design, that, when his plots were ripe, Without suspect he might come to the borders. Hither he comes, and at his entrance is By a base traitorous servant certified Of the great love 'twixt her and Lysicles, The compact of their vows, with divers letters The lovers had exchang'd. He storms and cries, If thou dost love young Lysicles, my hate Shall strike thee dead; thy hand pluck'd back my honour When it was mounting; be constant, and this hand Shall by her death give thee a ling'ring one, And my revenge in thy own house begin. Then with a barbarous unheard-of cruelty Murders his niece, and the same instant flies. Fame had the next sun blown this through the city; His house was searched, the trunk of the dead lady Found in the hall; the head he carried with him, In honour of his cruelty.
AGEN. Sure, he was mad!
PHY. I would say so too, but that I would not Make him less guilty of this inhumanity.
AGEN. What furies govern man! We hazard all Our lives and fortunes to gain hated memories; And in the search of virtue tremble at shadows. But how are you ascertain'd that he did This horrid act?
PHY. He sent the summons of her death By her that had betray'd her; the report Did make her spirits throng unto her heart, And (sure) had kill'd it, had not heaven decreed His hand should be as black as his intent. She begg'd some time for prayer, and retir'd; In her own blood did write her tragedy And parting wishes to her dear betroth'd. Now hear the strangest mistook piety, That ever entered in a virgin's breast, She so much lov'd this barbarous homicide, She would not have him guilty of her death; And therefore with her own hands wounds herself, And as she bled, she writ unto her lord-- At last concludes-- They will not let me make them innocent; I'm call'd unto my death, and I repent My wound, because I would not hurt That which I hope you lov'd. This bloody note Was found the next day in her pocket.
AGEN. And came it to the Lord Lysicles?
PHY. It did; and if you e'er had seen A hundred parents at one time deplore The unexpected deaths of their lost children, The father's sorrow and the mother's tears-- 'Twould emblemise, but not express his grief. Sometimes he shriek'd, as if h' had sent his soul Out in his voice; sometimes stood fix'd, and gaz'd, As if he had no sense of what he saw: Sometimes he'd swoon; and if the memory Of his dear mistress, even i' th' gates of death, Had not pursu'd him, he had certain died. Torment did now give life; at last he drew His sword, and e'er he could be stay'd, did fall Upon the point. This I think did preserve him; For, not[351] being mortal, and he fainting with The loss of blood, had not then strength enough To end himself, until he was persuaded To live, to celebrate her memory; Which nightly he doth do upon her tomb, Whither he now is gone.
AGEN. I have not heard Of such a love as this!
PHY. Nor ever shall Of such a beauty as did cause it. 'Tis late, and I'll not trouble you with her story: When you're at Court, all tongues will speak her merit To your wonder. I'll bring you to your horse. [Exit.
[ACT I., SCENE 2.]
The Tomb discovered. Enter LYSICLES with a page and a torch, [and then withdraws.][352] Enter ERGASTO and CLEON.
CLE. And will you marry now?
ERG. Indeed will I.
CLE. And what shall Be done with all those locks of hair you have?
ERG. Why, I'll make buttons of 'em, and had they half The value that I swore they had when I did beg 'em, Rich orient diamonds could not equal them: Some came eas'ly, and some I was forc'd to Dig for in th' mine.
CLE. And your priz'd liberty-- What shall become of that? You swore you would not marry till there were A law established that married men Might be redeem'd, as slaves are.
ERG. I was an ass when I talk'd so: Those damned books of chastity I read In my minority corrupted me; but since I'm practis'd in the world, I find there are No greater libertines than married men. 'Tis true 'twas dangerous, this knot, in the First age, when it was a crime to break vows: But, thanks to Venus, the scene is alter'd, And we act other parts. I'll tell thee The privileges we enjoy when we are married. First, our secrecy is held authentic, which is Assurance will take up any woman At interest, that is not peevish; then th' acquaintance which our wives bring us, to whom at times I carry my wife's commendations; and if their husbands be not at home, I do commend myself.
CLE. For what, I prythee?
ERG. For a good dancer, a good rider, a good ----, anything that I think will please 'em.
CLE. Thou'lt have a damnable conceit of thy wife, by thy knowledge and opinion of all other women, unless you think her a ph[oe]nix.
ERG. 'Twill be my best resolution. But hark in thy ear, rogue: I could be content to think, and wish mine and all for the public good, and wear my horns with as much confidence, as the best velvet-head of 'em all, and paint them in my crest with this inscription These he deserved for his love to the commonwealth.
CLE. A rare fame you would purchase!
ERG. A more lasting one than any monument you can repeat the epitaph of; and would it not be glorious to be commemorated as the first founder of the commonalty of undisparaged cuckolds?
CLE. Yes, and prayed for by bastards, that got better fathers than they were destined to by their mothers' marriages.
ERG. And cursed by surgeons that were undone by honest women's practices.
CLE. And this done voluntarily, which you will hardly avoid, though you have a thousand guards to prevent it. I, that have been your playfellow, shall be first suspected, and first banished.
ERG. By Jupiter, never! No, though 'twould preserve a thousand smooth foreheads. If she be honest, your arts cannot alter her; and if otherwise, had I not rather adopt a son of thine than a stranger's? And confess truly, Cleon: would you not for this public benefit be content to sacrifice a sister, that we might love no longer by obligations, but affection; and seeing, liking, and enjoying, finished in a meeting.
CLE. Unless I had means to appropriate one, you cannot suspect but I should wish a title unto all. But what hopes have you of your mistress?
ERG. No airy ones of liking and affection; but mine are built on terra firma already, which her father looks on greedily, and proportions this to that grandchild, to the second this.
CLE. Is he not somewhat startled at the report of thy debauchery? For though your thickset woods and spreading vineyards make excellent shades to keep away the sun--I mean the piercing eye of censure--yet some suspicions common fame will raise.
ERG. Indeed it was my enemy, whilst my elder brother lived.
CLE. But since his death you are altered. I must confess it, for then the slenderness of your annuity allowed you but the election of some one sin: I mean a cherished sin, whilst the others repined, that thought themselves of equal dignity; in time they had their turns, yet singly still: but since your brother's death you have shown yourself a grateful gentleman, and recompensed those that have suffered for you to the full.
ERG. A pretty satire this, to whip boys of nine! Yet still I tell thee, I am another in the opinion of the world.
CLE. Another Heliogabalus thou wouldst be, Hadst thou his power; but by what conjuration can You bring me to think it?
ERG. By reason, which is a spirit will hardly be Rais'd in you; but thus it is. Whilst my brother Liv'd, my wildness was observed by----
CLE. But now you walk in shades, recluse, and shut Up in your coach; your painted liveries Supposed fairies, and she that you were wont to Visit by the name of Madam Ruffiana is now Your aunt. All this I am perfect in, yet cannot Reach the mystery of your suppos'd disguise You say doth mask you.
ERG. Hear me, and be converted. I say I was Observed by those that were nearest in blood to me; And with fear, too, lest the ruin of my Fortune might force them to supply my wants. This caus'd the ague, this the admonitions and Frequent counsels--sometimes severe reproofs, Every one curling himself from any hopes of mine, That would assist me; and those gave largest counsels, That would give nothing else.
CLE. Of this I am yet a sad party and a witness too.
ERG. Since my brother's death, the names of things Are changed; my riots are the bounties of my nature, Carelessness the freedom of my soul: My prodigality, an easiness of mind proportion'd To my fortune. Believe me, Cleon, this poverty Is that which puts a multiplying-glass upon our Faults, and makes 'em swell, and fill the eye; Our crimes cry highest then when they have brought us low.
CLE. I have not known any condemn'd for playing, But for losing.
ERG. True; and let it be thy rule for all things else.
CLE. If this be certain, 'twill be long ere I be reputed virtuous.
ERG. Thou'lt never be, unless it be this way, I prophesy, good Cleon----
CLE. 'Tis a sad story; pray let us leave it. Have you no rivals?
ERG. None present that I can fear, having her Father's firm consent.
CLE. Eugenio, your rival, still continues banish'd.
ERG. And I hope will, till I am full possess'd of Hermione.
CLE. Did you give him cause to draw upon you in th' garrison?
ERG. Nor knew then of any[353] offence, or his pretences, Which his folly look'd I should divine; he met me on the guard, And drew upon me. We had a little scuffle, Were parted, and he banish'd for the insolence.
CLE. Prince Lysicles labours to recall him.
ERG. By all means; he was by in the nois'd battle, saw the Prince cleave this man to the twist,[354] divide a second, Overthrow a third; he is his trumpet.
CLE. His actions need none.
ERG. Wilt thou be happy, Cleon, believe not fame So far, as to make thyself less than another man. There were thousands that served for six sesterces, That did more than both; yet sleep forgotten. 'Tis Now time to meet the ladies on the walk. [Exeunt.
Enter LYSICLES;[355] kneels to the tomb, and then speaks.
LYS. I do profane this place, for were my griefs As great as I would boast 'em, I could not live To tell them to the world. Or is the passage which my soul should make, Shut up with sorrow? 'Tis so, and a joy, A hopeful joy, to meet her must give freedom To my sad prisoner, when my hand shall lead This dagger to his heart that parted ours. And heaven, that hear'st this vow, pour on my head Dire thunder, if I shrink in what I promise. And, sacred'st saint, if from thy place of rest, Thou turn'st thy eyes upon thy holy relics, Accept my vows, and pardon me the life Of the curs'd homicide: a full revenge Of thy death and [of] my life's misery Shall make him pay the time he has outliv'd My happiness; and when he is fall'n, Present thyself in all thy glories to me, That my freed soul may owe her liberty To no force, but impatient longing Of re enjoying thee. And, holy tomb, The altar where my heart is nightly offered, Let my wing'd love have passage through thy marble, And fan the sacred ashes, knowing no heat But what he takes from them. So peace and rest Dwell ever with thee. [Exit.
Enter HERMIONE, IRENE, PHILLIDA, all veiled.
IRE. Dear Hermione, pinch me, or I shall sink with laughter.
HER. What said the stranger, Phillida? I did not hear it.
PHIL. Nothing, madam.
HER. Then he did talk by signs, he was long about it. What was't, Irene?
IRE. He long importuned her to show her face, which after many urgings she consented to; and he in recompense made a low reverence to her, and then thanks her for the great favour, and concludes he never did receive so great a one from any woman, since all else have done them with a reference to themselves; but hers was merely goodness, for, before he saw her, he might have suspected her face, handsomely hid, for a piece of beauty, if her virtue would have suffered him to be longer in that error.
PHIL. I would I were a man for his sake.
IRE. So you told him, and he, still courteous for all your anger, promised to give you what you wanted of a man, or teach you how to make one.
HER. Thou wilt never be old, wench, if thou still keep'st this humour.
IRE. Not a sigh older these seven years, if't please Sir Cupid; for he blows our bellows. [Enter ERGASTO and CLEON.] But look, yonder's your servant, there's no starting now; you must stand to't. But before he comes to interrupt us, observe with me, how in that deep band, short cloak, and his great boots, he looks three storeys high, and his head is the garret where he keeps nothing but lists of horse-matches, and some designs for his next clothes.
PHIL. Where is his cellarage?
IRE. He'll show it thee himself, dear Phillida, and thine too, if thou wilt have him! But they make to us!
ERG. Madam, will you honour me and this gentleman with a sight of that which doth enrich the world?
HER. You will not take our excuses, if we should say you find us now with more advantage to our beauties.
ERG. So breaks the morning forth, but the sun's rays are not so quick and piercing as your eyes, for they descend even to our hearts.
IRE. Heaven defend! my heart would tremble, if they should.
ERG. Why, madam?
IRE. See such impieties as are lodged there in a man, and not be struck with horror! 'tis impossible.
ERG. Your wit doth make you cruel. But, madam, I have something to deliver unto you, which your father commanded no ear should hear but yours.
IRE. What have you there, Cleon?
CLE. Verses, madam.
IRE. Whose?
CLE. Of Lord Ergasto's, written in celebration of the fair Hermione.
IRE. Did he buy them, or found them without a father, and has adopted them for his own?
CLE. They are his own.
IRE. Here.
CLE. I pray read them.
IRE. What have I deserved of you, good Cleon, that you should make me read his verses in his own presence? If you think I have not already as ill an opinion of him as I can have, you lose your labour.
CLE. Read them, and I'll assure you you'll find things well said and seriously; and you will alter your opinion of him.
IRE. Pray give them me, I long to be working wonders. [She reads single words.] Rubies, Pearls, Roses, Heaven. Do you not think he has done my cousin a simple favour, comparing of her voice to that of heaven?
CLE. 'Tis his love makes him do it; not finding any thing on earth fit to express her, he searcheth heaven for a similitude.
IRE. Alas! good gentleman, 'tis the first time he ever thought on't; what frequent thunders should I hear, if 'twere as he would have it? Let me counsel you: lay them aside till they have contracted an inch of dust, then with your finger write their epitaph, expressing the mutual quiet they gave men, and received from them; or, as all poisons serve for some use, give them your physician, and let him apply them to his patient for a vomit--this way they may be useful.
CLE. However you esteem them, such an elogy would make you think your glass had not yet flattered you.
IRE. It cannot; I prevent it, and accuse it for not showing the hills of snow, the rubies, and the roses they say have being from me. But stay--heaven opens, and I see a tempest coming; your poet is a prophet.
HER. I'll call an oath to be my witness.
ERG. Madam!
HER. My own fears light upon me, if the night that eves the day of marriage, doth not shut me from the world.
ERG. Why, madam, this intemperance?
HER. 'Tis a just anger.
ERG. If you are angry, madam, with all that love you, there lives none that has more enemies, every eye that looks upon you you must hate.
IRE. Sir Cleon, our friends are engaged; pray let us be o' th' party. What has called up this choler in my sweet cousin? My lord, you have been begging favours.
ERG. Yes, of heaven, that it would furnish me with merits fit to deserve your cousin.
IRE. When it has [been] granted you, return to her, and renew your suit; but if you stay till then, you must get spectacles to see her beauty with.
HER. Why should you hinder your repose and mine? You know I never loved you.
IRE. Then he has no reason to accuse you of inconstancy.
ERG. Why are you fair? or why has my stars enforced me to love nothing else?
IRE. If your love were considerable, what an obligation had your cousin to your stars? Then these remonstrances of yours are impulsive, and not voluntary.
ERG. I cannot tell; but when I seriously direct them to you, I'll swear I am bewitched.
CLE. Madam, this is repugnant to your other virtues, that you should hate a man for loving you. Before he did profess himself your servant, I know you did receive him with indifferency at least. Whence then proceeds your hate?
HER. From his expression of his love.
CLE. A cruel son sprung from so mild a father, if he did urge you to anything, might blast your honour.
IRE. She would not hear him; and as it is, how much does he oblige her? He's now her servant, and would entreat her to let him be her master; a request strangely modest!
CLE. If I were he, I'd take an honourable composition, let her choose whom she pleas'd for husband, and continue her secret servant still.
HER. You are uncivil.
Enter PINDARUS.
CLE. Pardon me, madam, this mirth's a liberty; your cousin doth allow me. Here comes your father.
[PINDARUS whispers with ERGASTO: he speaks to HERMIONE.
PIN. How long is't you have undertaken to be your own disposer?
HER. Sir!
PIN. After my cares had sought you out a man that brings all blessings that the world calls happy, you must refuse him!
HER. Sir, I have taken an oath.
PIN. I know the priest that gave it. Do you not blush, being so young, to know how to distinguish the difference of desires! And this so wildly, that you will put off your obedience rather than lose one that you dare not say hath interest in you; but by my hopes of rest, I'll use the power custom and nature give me to force you to your happiness.
Enter LYSICLES.
LYS. How now, my lord? What miracle can raise a tempest here, where so much beauty reigns?
PIN. My lord, you are not practised in the cares of fathers: I thought to have seen this gentleman my son to-morrow; and she does refuse him. But----
LYS. It must not be; pardon me, virtue, that I begin an act will set a stain upon my blushing brow. Yet I must thorough. Lord Pindarus, my fortunes carry a pardon with them, when they make me err in acts of ceremonial decencies, they have been so heavy and so mighty, they have bent me so low to th' earth, I could not cast my face upwards to hope a blessing; the cause you are perfect in.
PIN. 'Tis a noble sorrow; but your deep melancholy gives it too large a growth.
LYS. Thus all do press it; yet had my grief relation only to myself, I would not part them from; my heart and memory they justly do possess. But my father hath no more issue save myself, for to confer his name and fortunes on.
PIN. Our Greece would mourn if such a glorious stock should end in the most flourishing branch.
LYS. If you do wish it a continuance, 'tis in your power to make it last to ages. Since my Milesia's death, I have not loved a lady equal with your Hermione; in her I hope to lose my swollen misfortunes, and find out a joy that may extinguish them. 'Tis now no time to tell her how much I am her servant; for this lord here, that does pretend to her fair graces, before I had declared myself his rival--perchance you would believe me if I had said, he no way doth deserve her.
PIN. Where you pretend, who can? But heaven, that designed a blessing to my child, it had been pride to hope for, hath made her still averse to his pretences; but giving her the liberty of refusing, I know he is removed.
LYS. Thus then to-morrow I'll wait on you. Ladies, I am your servant. [Exit.
PIN. My Lord Ergasto, you see with how much candour I have embraced your love; yet, though I do put on a father's strictness in my daughter's presence, I cannot force her to an act whereon for ever will depend her happiness. My house shall still be open to you as my heart. My business calls me, get you home; your servant. [Exit PINDARUS.
CLE. Ergasto, my Lord Ergasto, what, have you left your tongue with your heart?
ERG. Is she not strangely fair?
CLE. You'll not believe me if I should say the contrary.
ERG. D'ye think that there are such faces in Elysium?
CLE. I'm sure many better go t'other way, if they be not marred in the voyage. But do you remember where you are to meet with Phormio?
ERG. Nor anything else; her beauty makes me forget all things that has no reference to it.
CLE. Heyday! if within these two hours you do not forget the cause of this forgetfulness, I'll be an eunuch. What, if the prince should be your rival? I cannot tell, but my Lord Pindarus on a sudden fell from his anger to his daughter to a ceremony to you might be suspected.
ERG. 'Tis a fear that makes me tremble.
CLE. Courage, man! If you have not lost your memory, your remedy is certain. There are more handsome faces will recompense this loss. Let us meet Phormio. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[351] [i.e., The wound not being, &c.]
[352] [This is the second scene of Act i., though not so marked. The entrance of Lysicles, with his page and torch, was in dumb-show, the tomb having been apparently placed in the back of the stage while the curtain was drawn.]
[353] [Old copy, any of.]
[354] [Fork, Fr. fourchure.]
[355] [He must be supposed, from the preceding direction, to have been in the back of the stage.]
II. , SCENE 1
Enter HERMIONE, IRENE, and PHILLIDA.
IRE. Have you sent for the Egyptian lady?
HER. I have; and she'll be here within this half-hour.
IRE. She speaks our language.
HER. Her father was of Greece a wealthy merchant, and his business enforcing him to leave his country, he married a lady of that place, where he lived, who, excellent in the mystery of divination, hath left that knowledge to her daughter, enriched with thousand other modest virtues, as is delivered to me by those are frequent with her.
IRE. Do you believe what Phillida say'th is the voice of all your friends?
HER. What is't?
IRE. That you shall marry with Prince Lysicles.
PHIL. I heard your uncle say the governor did receive it with all appearances of joy, in hope this match will free him from this deep melancholy: and 'tis determined the next feast joins your hands.
HER. The grave must be my bed then. With what harsh fate doth heaven afflict me, That all those blessings which make others happy Must be my ruin! But if this lady's knowledge Shall inform me that I shall ne'er enjoy Eugenio, Darkness shall seize me, ere [the] tapers light My blushes to the forsworn Hymen's rites.
IRE. Why should you labour your disquiet, cousin? Anticipating thus your knowledge, you will make Your future sufferings present; and so call Lasting griefs upon you, which your hopes might Dissipate, till heaven had made your mind Strong enough to encounter them.
HER. Dear Irene, Our stars, whose influence doth govern us, Are not malignant to us, but whilst we Remain in this false earth. He that hath courage To divest himself of that, removes with it Their powers to hurt him; and injur'd Love, Who sees that fortune would usurp his power, I know will not be wanting. See, the lady
Enter ACANTHE the Moor.
Comes! Madam, the excuse that justifies sick men That send for their physician, must beg my pardon, That did not visit you to have this honour. Here you see a virgin that hath long stood The mark of fortune, and now's so full of misery That, though the gods resented what I suffer, Yet I fear that they have plung'd me to extremes, Exceed their own assistance.
MOOR. Fear not their power.
HER. I do not; but their will to help me I must doubt; For those that know no reason of their hate Must fear it is perpetual. And let the ensigns of their wrath fall on me, If e'er by any willing act I have provok'd Their justice. To you now, in whom 'tis said, As in their oracle they speak, I come to know What mighty growth of dangers are decreed me.
MOOR. First, dearest lady, do not think my power Great as my will to serve you; 'tis so weak That, if you should rely on't, I shall seem Cold in your service, when it does not answer What is expected from it. All I know Is but conjectured; for our stars incline, Not force us in our actions. Let me observe your face.
HER. Do, and if yet you are not perfect in Your mysteries, observe mine well; and when you meet A face branded with such a line, conclude It miserable: when an eye that doth Resemble this, teach it to weep betimes, That so being lost, it may not see those miseries Must be its only object. [The MOOR starts. Are my misfortunes of that horrid shape That the mere speculation doth affright Those whose compassion only it concerns? I, that must stand the strokes then, what defence Shall I prepare against them? Yet a hope That they be ripen'd now to fall on me, Lightens a desperate joy to my dark soul: For the last dart shall be embrac'd as remedy To cure my former wounds.
MOOR. It is not that; I was surprised in considering I must Partake of all your fortunes; for our ascendants Threaten like danger to us both.
HER. Are then my miseries grown infectious too? Must that be added? Pardon me, gentle lady; this Sad crime I must account amongst my secret faults: I meant no more but to communicate, Not part my sorrows with you.
MOOR. [O,] would you could; with what great willingness Should I embrace a share of what afflicts you? I'd haste to meet and ease you of your fears. Now if to one, whose interest doth force her To advance your hopes, you dare deliver The cause of your disquiet, you shall find a closet, If not a fort, to vindicate your fears.
HER. You shall know all. I have exchang'd my heart With a young gentleman's, now banished His country and my hopes; his rival labours To make me his; my father resolute I should Consent, till fortune chang'd, but lessen'd not My sufferings; for our prince, Lysicles, Ruins me with the honour of his search.
MOOR. Does Eugenio know you love him?
HER. No.
MOOR. Why does he doubt it?
HER. A womanish scorn to have my love reveal'd, Made me receive his declaration of it As an affront unto my honour, and when He came to take his leave, I left him In the opinion I would obey my father.
MOOR. I have heard as much; but [these] contradictions In the prince's actions do amaze me: They say he loves your friend, and labours now For to recall him; and that every night He courts his former flame, hid in the ashes Of his lost mistress.
HER. By this judge how miserable I am? That my malignant stars force them to change Nature and virtue too, that else would shine Unmoved, like the star that does direct The wand'ring seaman. Must then nature change, And will not fortune cease to persecute? Good gods! I will submit to all but breach of faith.
MOOR. They will not hear us, madam, unless we Contribute to their aid our best endeavours. I have thought a way may for a time secure you: You must dissemble with the prince, and seem To love Ergasto. 'Tis not impossible, but he, seeing you Prefer one so far beneath him, may provoke A just neglect from him. Then for Ergasto, Besides the time you gain, there may succeed A thousand ways to hinder his pretence.
HER. Can my heart e'er consent my tongue should say, I am for any other but Eugenio? No, my dear love, though cruel fate hath sever'd My vow'd embraces, yet hath death ice enough To fright all others from them.
MOOR. I see love is a child still; what a trifle Doth now disturb him! You will not get your health At the price of saying you are sick. I know There is another remedy more proportion'd For your disease, but not for you that suffer, Which is this: Tell the prince that you're engag'd, but he That broke with vows and friendship for your love, Will not desist for such suppos'd slight lets; And then your father will force you t' his will.
HER. If the prince leave me, it is most certain He'll use his power to make me take Ergasto.
MOOR. Those that in dangers that do press them nearly, Will not resolve upon some hazard, and Give leave to chance to govern what Our knowledge cannot hinder, must sit still, And wait their preservation from a miracle.
HER. I am determin'd; for knives, fire, and seas Shall lose their qualities, ere fate shall make Me his: and if death cannot be Shunn'd, I will meet it boldly.
Enter IRENE.
IRE. Cousin, the prince is come to see you.
MOOR. Good madam, use some means that I may speak With him before he goes: my heart doth promise I shall do something in your service; and Be sure, when he first speaks of love, seem not To understand him. [Exit.