The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition), by Various, Edited by Robert Dodsley
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Title: A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition)
Author: Various
Release Date: November 29, 2003 [eBook #10336]
Language: English
Chatacter set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. VII (4TH EDITION)***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen, and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
A SELECT COLLECTION OF OLD ENGLISH PLAYS, VOL. VII
Fourth Edition
Originally published by Robert Dodsley in the Year 1744.
Now first chronologically arranged, revised and enlarged with the Notes of all the Commentators, and new Notes.
1876.
CONTENTS:
Tancred And Gismunda
The Wounds Of Civil War
Mucedorus
The Two Angry Women Of Abington
Look About You
EDITION
The Tragedie of Tancred and Gismund. Compiled by the Gentlemen of the Inner Temple, and by them presented before her Maiestie. Newly reuiued and polished according to the decorum of these daies. By R.W. London, Printed by Thomas Scarlet, and are to be solde by R. Robinson, 1591, 4to.
[Some copies are dated 1592; but there was only a single edition. Of the original text, as written in 1568, there is no printed copy; but MSS. of it are in MS. Lansdowne 786, and Hargrave MS. 205, neither of which appears to present any evidence of identity with the copy mentioned by Isaac Reed below as then in private hands. Both these MSS. have now been collated with the text of 1591, and the conclusion must be, that Wilmot, though he unquestionably revived, did not do so much, as he might wish to have it inferred, in polishing the play. The production was formed on a classical model, and bears marks of resemblance in tone and style to the "Jocasta" of Euripides, as paraphrased by Gascoigne in 1566. The Lansdowne MS. of "Tancred and Gismunda" was written, about 1568-70, while the Hargrave is much more modern.]
INTRODUCTION.
It appears from William Webbe's Epistle prefixed to this piece, that after its first exhibition it was laid aside, and at some distance of time was new-written by R. Wilmot. The reader, therefore, may not be displeased with a specimen of it in its original dress. It is here given from the fragment of an ancient MS. taken out of a chest of papers formerly belonging to Mr Powell, father-in-law to the author of "Paradise Lost," at Forest Hill, about four miles from Oxford, where in all probability some curiosities of the same kind may remain, the contents of these chests (for I think there are more than one) having never yet been properly examined. The following extract is from the conclusion of the piece.—Reed. [Reed's extract has been collated with the two MSS. before-mentioned; where the Powell MS. may now be, the editor cannot say. The differences, on the whole, are not material; but the Lansdowne MS. 786 has supplied a few superior readings and corrections.]
But in thy brest if eny spark remaine
Of thy dere love. If ever yet I coulde
So moche of thee deserve, or at the least
If with my last desire I may obtaine
This at thy handes, geve me this one request
And let me not spend my last breath in vaine.
My life desire I not, which neither is
In thee to geve nor in my self to save,
Althoughe I wolde. Nor yet I aske not this
As mercye for myne Erle in ought to crave,
Whom I to well do knowe howe thou hast slayen.
No, no, father, thy hard and cruell wronge
With pacience as I may I will sustaine
In woefull life which now shall not be longe.
But this one suite, father, if unto me
Thou graunt, though I cannot the same reacquite
Th'immortall goddes shall render unto thee
Thy due reward and largely guerdon it,
That sins it pleased thee not thus secretly
I might enjoy my love, his corps and myne
May nathelesse together graved be
And in one tombe our bodies both to shrine
With which this small request eke do I praie
That on the same graven in brasse thou place
This woefull epitaphe which I shall saye,
That all lovers may rue this mornefull case;
Loe here within one tombe where harbor twaine
Gismonda Quene and Countie Pallurine!
She loved him, he for her love was slayen,
For whoes revenge eke lyes she here in shrine.
[GISMONDA dieth
TANCRED. O me alas, nowe do the cruell paines
Of cursed death my dere daughter bereave.
Alas whie bide I here? the sight constraines
Me woefull man this woefull place to leaue.
SCENE III.
TANCRED cometh out of GISMOND'S Chamber.
TANCRED. O dolorous happe, ruthefull and all of woe
Alas I carefull wretche what resteth me?
Shall I now live that with these eyes did soe
Beholde my daughter die? what, shall I see
Her death before my face that was my lyfe
And I to lyve that was her lyves decay?
Shall not this hand reache to this hart the knife
That maye bereve bothe sight and life away,
And in the shadowes darke to seke her ghoste
And wander there with her? shall not, alas,
This spedy death be wrought, sithe I have lost
My dearest ioy of all? what, shall I passe
My later dayes in paine, and spende myne age
In teres and plaint! shall I now leade my life
All solitarie as doeth bird in cage,
And fede my woefull yeres with waillfull grefe?
No, no, so will not I my dayes prolonge
To seke to live one houre sith she is gone:
This brest so can not bende to suche a wronge,
That she shold dye and I to live alone.
No, this will I: she shall have her request
And in most royall sorte her funerall
Will I performe. Within one tombe shall rest
Her earle and she, her epitaph withall
Graved thereon shal be. This will I doe
And when these eyes some aged teres have shed
The tomb my self then will I crepe into
And with my blood all bayne their bodies dead.
This heart there will I perce, and reve this brest
The irksome life, and wreke my wrathful ire
Upon my self. She shall have her request,
And I by death will purchace my desyre.
FINIS.
EPILOGUS.
If now perhappes ye either loke to
Th'unhappie lovers, or the cruell sire
Here to be buried as fittes their degree
Or as the dyeng ladie did require
Or as the ruthefull kinge in deepe despaire
Behight of late (who nowe himself hath slayen)
Or if perchaunse you stand in doutfull fere
Sithe mad Megera is not returnde againe
Least wandring in the world she so bestowe
The snakes that crall about her furious face
As they may raise new ruthes, new kindes of woe
Bothe so and there, and such as you percase
Wold be full lothe so great so nere to see
I am come forth to do you all to wete
Through grefe wherin the lordes of Salerne be
The buriall pompe is not prepared yet:
And for the furie, you shall onderstand
That neither doeth the litle greatest god
Finde such rebelling here in Britain land
Against his royall power as asketh rod
Of ruth from hell to wreke his names decaie
Nor Pluto heareth English ghostes complaine
Our dames disteyned lyves. Therfore ye maye
Be free from feare, sufficeth to maintaine
The vertues which we honor in you all,
So as our Britain ghostes when life is past
Maie praise in heven, not plaine in Plutoes hall
Our dames, but hold them vertuous and chast,
Worthie to live where furie never came,
Where love can see, and beares no deadly bowe,
Whoes lyves eternall tromp of glorious fame
With joyfull sounde to honest eares shall blowe.
FINIS.
The Tragedie of Gismonde of Salerne.
Such is a specimen of the play as it was originally acted before Queen Elizabeth, at the Inner Temple, in the year 1568. It was the production of five gentlemen, who were probably students of that society; and by one of them, Robert Wilmot, afterwards much altered and published in the year 1591.[1] [Wilmot had meanwhile become rector of North Okenham, in Essex];[2] and in his Dedication to the Societies of the Inner and Middle Temples, he speaks of the censure which might be cast upon him from the indecorum of publishing a dramatic work arising from his calling. When he died, or whether he left any other works, are points equally uncertain.
"Nearly a century after the date of that play," observes Lamb, in his 'Extracts from the Garrick Plays,' "Dryden produced his admirable version of the same story from Boccaccio. The speech here extracted (the scene between the messengers and Gismunda) may be compared with the corresponding passage in the 'Sigismunda and Guiscardo' with no disadvantage to the older performance. It is quite as weighty, as pointed, and as passionate."
To the Right Worshipful and Virtuous Ladies, the Lady MARY PETER and the Lady ANNE GRAY, long health of body, with quiet of mind, in the favour of God and men for ever.
It is most certain (right virtuous and worshipful) that of all human learning, poetry (how contemptible soever it is in these days) is the most ancient; and, in poetry, there is no argument of more antiquity and elegancy than is the matter of love; for it seems to be as old as the world, and to bear date from the first time that man and woman was: therefore in this, as in the finest metal, the freshest wits have in all ages shown their best workmanship. So amongst others these gentlemen, which with what sweetness of voice and liveliness of action they then expressed it, they which were of her Majesty's right Honourable maidens can testify.
Which being a discourse of two lovers, perhaps it may seem a thing neither fit to be offered unto your ladyships, nor worthy me to busy myself withal: yet can I tell you, madames, it differeth so far from the ordinary amorous discourses of our days, as the manners of our time do from the modesty and innocency of that age.
And now for that weary winter is come upon us, which bringeth with him drooping days and tedious nights, if it be true, that the motions of our minds follow the temperature of the air wherein we live, then I think the perusing of some mournful matter, tending to the view of a notable example, will refresh your wits in a gloomy day, and ease your weariness of the louring night. Which if it please you, may serve ye also for a solemn revel against this festival time, for Gismund's bloody shadow, with a little cost, may be entreated in her self-like person to speak to ye.
Having therefore a desire to be known to your W., I devised this way with myself to procure the same, persuading myself, there is nothing more welcome to your wisdoms than the knowledge of wise, grave, and worthy matters, tending to the good instructions of youths, of whom you are mothers.
In this respect, therefore, I shall humbly desire ye to bestow a favourable countenance upon this little labour, which when ye have graced it withal, I must and will acknowledge myself greatly indebted unto your ladyships in this behalf: neither shall I amongst the rest, that admire your rare virtues (which are not a few in Essex), cease to commend this undeserved gentleness.
Thus desiring the king of heaven to increase his graces in ye both, granting that your ends may be as honourable as your lives are virtuous, I leave with a vain babble of many needless words to trouble you longer.
Your Worships' most dutiful
and humble Orator,
ROBERT WILMOT.
TO HIS FRIEND R.W.
Master R.W., look not now for the terms of an intreater: I will beg no longer; and for your promises, I will refuse them as bad payment: neither can I be satisfied with anything but a peremptory performance of an old intention of yours, the publishing I mean of those waste papers (as it pleaseth you to call them, but, as I esteem them, a most exquisite invention) of Gismund's tragedy. Think not to shift me off with longer delays, nor allege more excuses to get further respite, lest I arrest you with my actum est, and commence such a suit of unkindness against you, as when the case shall be scann'd before the judges of courtesy, the court will cry out of your immoderate modesty. And thus much I tell you before: you shall not be able to wage against me in the charges growing upon this action, especially if the worshipful company of the Inner-Temple gentlemen patronise my cause, as undoubtedly they will, yea, and rather plead partially for me, than let my cause miscarry, because themselves are parties. The tragedy was by them most pithily framed, and no less curiously acted in view of her Majesty, by whom it was then as princely accepted, as of the whole honourable audience notably applauded: yea, and of all men generally desired, as a work, either in stateliness of show, depth of conceit, or true ornaments of poetical art, inferior to none of the best in that kind: no, were the Roman Seneca the censurer. The brave youths that then (to their high praises) so feelingly performed the same in action, did shortly after lay up the book unregarded, or perhaps let it run abroad (as many parents do their children once past dandling) not respecting so much what hard fortune might befall it being out of their fingers, as how their heroical wits might again be quickly conceived have been ever since wonderful fertile. But this orphan of theirs (for he wand'reth as it were fatherless) hath notwithstanding, by the rare and beautiful perfections appearing in him, hitherto never wanted great favourers and loving
How much you shall make me and the rest of your private friends beholden to you, I list not to discourse: and therefore grounding upon these alleged reasons; that the suppressing of this tragedy, so worthy for the press, were no other thing than wilfully to defraud yourself of an universal thank, your friends of their expectations, and sweet Gismund of a famous eternity, I will cease to doubt of any other pretence to cloak your bashfulness, hoping to read it in print (which lately lay neglected amongst your papers) at our next appointed meeting.
I bid you heartily farewell. From Pyrgo in Essex, August the eighth, 1591.
Tuus fide & facultate
GUIL. WEBBE.[3]
To the Worshipful and Learned Society, the GENTLEMEN STUDENTS of the Inner Temple, with the rest of his singular good Friends, the GENTLEMEN of the Middle Temple, and to all other courteous Readers, R.W. wisheth increase of all health, worship, and learning, with the immortal glory of the graces adorning the same.
Ye may perceive (right Worshipful) in perusing the former epistle sent to me, how sore I am beset with the importunities of my friends to publish this pamphlet: truly I am and have been (if there be in me any soundness of judgment) of this opinion, that whatsoever is committed to the press is commended to eternity, and it shall stand a lively witness with our conscience, to our comfort or confusion, in the reckoning of that great day.
Advisedly, therefore, was that proverb used of our elder philosophers, Manum a tabula: withhold thy hand from the paper, and thy papers from the print or light of the world: for a lewd word escaped is irrevocable, but a bad or base discourse published in print is intolerable.
Hereupon I have endured some conflicts between reason and judgment, whether it were convenient for the commonwealth, with the indecorum of my calling (as some think it) that the memory of Tancred's tragedy should be again by my means revived, which the oftener I read over, and the more I considered thereon, the sooner I was won to consent thereunto: calling to mind that neither the thrice reverend and learned father, M. Beza, was ashamed in his younger years to send abroad, in his own name, his tragedy of "Abraham,"[4] nor that rare Scot (the scholar of our age) Buchanan, his most pathetical Jephtha.
Indeed I must willingly confess this work simple, and not worth comparison to any of theirs: for the writers of them were grave men; of this, young heads: in them is shown the perfection of their studies; in this, the imperfection of their wits. Nevertheless herein they all agree, commending virtue, detesting vice, and lively deciphering their overthrow that suppress not their unruly affections. These things noted herein, how simple soever the verse be, I hope the matter will be acceptable to the wise.
Wherefore I am now bold to present Gismund to your sights, and unto yours only, for therefore have I conjured her, by the love that hath been these twenty-four years betwixt us, that she wax not so proud of her fresh painting, to straggle in her plumes abroad, but to contain herself within the walls of your house; so am I sure she shall be safe from the tragedian tyrants of our time, who are not ashamed to affirm that there can no amorous poem savour of any sharpness of wit, unless it be seasoned with scurrilous words.
But leaving them to their lewdness, I hope you, and all discreet readers, will thankfully receive my pains, the fruits of my first harvest: the rather, perceiving that my purpose in this tragedy tendeth only to the exaltation of virtue and suppression of vice, with pleasure to profit and help all men, but to offend or hurt no man. As for such as have neither the grace, nor the good gift, to do well themselves, nor the common honesty to speak well of others, I must (as I may) hear and bear their baitings with patience.
Yours devoted in his ability,
R. WILMOT.
A PREFACE TO THE QUEEN'S MAIDENS OF HONOUR.[5]
1. A SONNET OF THE QUEEN'S MAIDS.
They which tofore thought that the heaven's throne
Is placed above the skies, and there do feign
The gods and all the heavenly powers to reign,
They err, and but deceive themselves alone.
Heaven (unless you think mo be than one)
Is here in earth, and by the pleasant side
Of famous Thames at Greenwich court doth 'bide.
And as for other heaven is there none.
There are the goddesses we honour so:
There Pallas sits: there shineth Venus' face:
Bright beauty there possesseth all the place:
Virtue and honour there do live and grow:
There reigneth she such heaven that doth deserve,
Worthy whom so fair goddesses should serve.
2. ANOTHER TO THE SAME.
Flowers of prime, pearls couched all in gold,
Light of our days, that glads the fainting hearts
Of them that shall your shining gleams behold,
Salve of each sore, recure of inward smarts,
In whom virtue and beauty striveth so
As neither yields: behold here, for your gain,
Gismund's unlucky love, her fault, her woe,
And death; at last her cruel father slain
Through his mishap; and though you do not see,
Yet read and rue their woful tragedy.
So Jove, as your high virtues done deserve,
Grant you such pheers[6] as may your virtues serve
With like virtues; and blissful Venus send
Unto your happy loves an happy end.
3. ANOTHER TO THE SAME.
Gismund, that whilome liv'd her father's joy
And died his death, now dead, doth (as she may)
By us pray you to pity her annoy.
And, to requite the same, doth humbly pray,
Heavens to forefend[7] your loves from like decay.
The faithful earl doth also make request,
Wishing those worthy knights whom ye embrace,
The constant truth that lodged in his breast.
His hearty love, not his unhappy case,
Befall to such as triumph in your grace.
The king prays pardon of his cruel hest,[8]
And for amends desires it may suffice.
That by his blood he warneth all the rest
Of fond fathers, that they in kinder wise
Intreat the jewels where their comfort lies.
We, as their messengers, beseech ye all
On their behalfs to pity all their smarts.
And for ourselves (although the worth be small)
We pray ye to accept our humble hearts,
Avow'd to serve with prayer and with praise
Your honours, all unworthy other ways.[9]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.[10]
CUPID.
TANCRED, the King.
GISMUNDA, the King's Daughter.
LUCRECE, her Aunt.
GUISCARD, Count Palurin.
RENUCHIO, Captain of the Guard.
JULIO, Lord Chamberlain.
MEGAERA.
CHORUSES.[11]
ARGUMENT OF THE TRAGEDY.[12]
Tancred, the Prince of Salerne, overloves
His only daughter (wonder of that age)
Gismund, who loves the County[13] Palurin
Guiscard, who quites her likings with his love:
A letter in a cane describes the means
Of their two meetings in a secret cave.
Unconstant fortune leadeth forth the king
To this unhappy sight, wherewith in rage
The gentle earl he doometh to his death,
And greets his daughter with her lover's heart.
Gismunda fills the goblet with her tears,
And drinks a poison which she had distill'd,
Whereof she dies, whose deadly countenance
So grieves her father, that he slew himself.
ANOTHER OF THE SAME, MORE AT LARGE, IN PROSE.[14]
Tancred, King of Naples and Prince of Salerne, gave his only daughter Gismund (whom he most dearly loved) in marriage to a foreign prince, after whose death she returned home to her father, who having felt great grief of her absence whilst her husband lived, immeasurably esteeming her, determined never to suffer any second marriage to bereave him of her. She, on the other side, waxing weary of that her father's purpose, bent her mind to the secret love of the County Palurin: to whom (he being likewise inflamed with love of her) by a letter subtly enclosed in a cloven cane, she gave to understand a convenient way for their desired meetings, through an old ruinous vault, whose mouth opened directly under her chamber floor. Into this vault when she was one day descended (for the conveyance of her lover), her father in the mean season (whose only joy was in his daughter) came to her chamber, and not finding her there, supposing her to have been walked abroad for her[15] disport, he threw him down on her bed, and covered his head with a curtain, minding to abide and rest there till her return. She, nothing suspecting this her father's unseasonable coming, brought up her lover out of the cave into her chamber, where her father espied their secret love: and he (not espied of them) was upon this sight stricken with marvellous grief; but either for that the sudden despite had amazed him, and taken from him all use of speech, or for that he resolved himself to a more convenient revenge, he then spake nothing, but noted their return into the vault, and secretly departed. Afterward, bewailing his mishap, he commanded the earl to be attached, imprisoned, strangled, unbowelled, and his heart in a cup of gold to be presented to his daughter:[16] she thankfully receiveth the present, filling the cup (wherein the heart was) with her tears, with a venomous potion (by her distilled for that purpose) she drank to her earl. Which her father hearing of, came too late to comfort his dying daughter, who for her last request besought him that her lover and herself might in one tomb be together buried for a perpetual memory of their faithful loves; which request he granted, adding to the burial himself, slain with his own hands, to his own reproach, and the terror of all other hard-hearted fathers.
Introductio in Actum Secundum.
Before the second act there was heard a sweet noise of still pipes, which sounding, Lucrece entered, attended by a maiden of honour with a covered goddard of gold, and, drawing the curtains, she offereth unto Gismunda to taste thereof; which when she had done, the maid returned, and Lucrece raiseth up Gismunda from her bed, and then it followeth ut in act ii. sc. 1.
Introductio in Actum Tertium.
Before this act the hautboys sounded a lofty almain, and Cupid ushereth after him Guiscard and Gismunda, hand in hand; Julio and Lucrece, Renuchio and another maiden of honour. The measures trod, Gismunda gives a cane into Guiscard's hand, and they are all led forth again by Cupid, ut sequitur.
Introductio in Actum Quartum.
Before this act there was heard a consort of sweet music, which playing, Tancred cometh forth, and draweth Gismunda's curtains, and lies down upon her bed; then from under the stage ascendeth Guiscard, and he helpeth up Gismunda: they amorously embrace and depart. The king ariseth enraged. Then was heard and seen a storm of thunder and lightning, in which the furies rise up, ut sequitur.
Introductio in Actum Quintum.
Before this act was a dead march played, during which entered on the stage Renuchio, Captain of the Guard, attended upon by the guard. They took up Guiscard from under the stage; then after Guiscard had kindly taken leave of them all, a strangling-cord was fastened about his neck, and he haled forth by them. Renuchio bewaileth it; and then, entering in, bringeth forth a standing cup of gold, with a bloody heart reeking hot in it, and then saith, ut sequitur.
TANCRED AND GISMUNDA.[17]
ACT I., SCENE 1.
CUPID cometh out of the heavens in a cradle of flowers, drawing forth upon the stage, in a blue twist of silk, from his left hand, Vain Hope, Brittle Joy: and with a carnation twist of silk from his right hand, Fair Resemblance, Late Repentance.
CUPID. There rest my chariot on the mountaintops.[18]
I, that in shape appear unto your sight[19]
A naked boy, not cloth'd but with my wings,
And that great God of Love, who with his might
Ruleth the vast wide world and living things.[20]
This left hand bears Vain Hope, short joyful state,
With Fair Resemblance, lovers to allure:
This right hand holds Repentance all too late,
War, fire,[21] blood, and pains without recure.
On sweet ambrosia is not my food,
Nectar is not my drink: as to the rest
Of all the gods: I drink the lover's blood.
And feed upon the heart[22] within his breast.
Well hath my power in heaven and earth been try'd,
And deepest hell my piercing force hath known.
The marble seas[23] my wonders hath descry'd,
Which elder age throughout the world hath blown.[24]
To me the king of gods and men doth yield,
As witness can the Greekish maid,[25] whom I
Made like a cow go glowing through[26] the field,
Lest jealous Juno should the 'scape espy.
The doubled night, the sun's restrained course,
His secret stealths, the slander to eschew,
In shape transform'd,[27] we[28] list not to discourse.
All that and more we forced him to do.
The warlike Mars hath not subdu'd our[29] might,
We fear'd him not, his fury nor disdain,
That can the gods record, before whose sight
He lay fast wrapp'd in Vulcan's subtle chain.
He that on earth yet hath not felt our power,
Let him behold the fall and cruel spoil
Of thee, fair Troy, of Asia the flower,
So foul defac'd, and levell'd[30] with the soil
Who forc'd Leander with his naked breast
So many nights to cut the frothy waves,
But Hero's love, that lay inclos'd in Sest?
The stoutest hearts to me shall yield them slaves.
Who could have match'd the huge Alcides'[31] strength?
Great Macedon[32] what force might have subdu'd?
Wise Scipio who overcame at length,
But we, that are with greater force endu'd?
Who could have conquered the golden
But Jason, aided by Medea's art?
Who durst have stol'n fair Helen out of Greece
But I, with love that bold'ned Paris' heart?
What bond of nature, what restraint avails[34]
Against our power? I vouch to witness truth.
The myrrh tree,[35] that with shamefast tears bewails
Her father's love, still weepeth yet for ruth,[36]
But now, this world not seeing in these days
Such present proofs of our all-daring[37] power,
Disdains our name, and seeketh sundry ways
To scorn and scoff, and shame us every hour.
A brat, a bastard, and an idle boy:
A[38] rod, a staff, a whip to beat him out!
And to be sick of love, a childish toy:
These are mine honours now the world about,
My name disgrac'd to raise again therefore,
And in this age mine ancient renown
By mighty acts intending to restore,
Down to the earth in wrath now am I come;
And in this place such wonders shall ye hear,
As these your stubborn and disdainful hearts
In melting tears and humble yielding fear
Shall soon relent by sight of others' smarts.
This princely palace will I enter in,
And there inflame the fair Gismunda so,
Enraging all her secret veins within,
Through fiery love that she shall feel much woe.[39]
Too-late-Repentance, thou shalt bend my bow;
Vain Hope, take out my pale, dead, heavy shaft,
Thou, Fair Resemblance, foremost forth shalt go,
With Brittle Joy: myself will not be least,
But after me comes Death and deadly Pain.
Thus shall ye march, till we return again.[40]
Meanwhile, sit still, and here I shall you show
Such wonders, that at last with one accord
Ye shall relent, and say that now you know
Love rules the world, Love it a mighty lord.[41]
[CUPID with his train entereth into KING TANCRED'S palace.
ACT I., SCENE 2.
GISMUNDA in purple cometh out of her chamber,
attended by four maids that are the Chorus.
GISMUNDA. "O vain, unsteadfast state of mortal things!
Who trust this world, leans to a brittle stay:
Such fickle fruit his flattering bloom forth brings,
Ere it be ripe, it falleth to decay."
The joy and bliss that late I did possess,
In weal at will, with one I loved best,
Is turned now into so deep distress,
As teacheth me to know the world's unrest.[42]
For neither wit nor princely stomachs serve
Against his force, that slays without respect
The noble and the wretch: ne doth reserve
So much as one for worthiness elect.
Ah me, dear lord! what well of tears may serve
To feed the streams of my foredulled eyes,
To weep thy death, as thy death doth deserve,
And wail thy want in full sufficing wise?
Ye lamps of heaven, and all ye heavenly powers,[43]
Wherein did he procure your high disdain?
He never sought with vast huge mountain towers
To reach aloft, and over-view your reign:
Or what offence of mine was it unwares,
That thus your fury should on me be thrown,
To plague a woman with such endless cares?
I fear that envy hath the heavens this shown:
The sun his glorious virtues did disdain;
Mars at his manhood mightily repin'd;
Yea, all the gods no longer could sustain,
Each one to be excelled in his kind.
For he my lord surpass'd them every one;[44]
Such was his honour all the world throughout.
But now, my love, oh! whither art thou gone?
I know thy ghost doth hover hereabout,
Expecting me, thy heart, to follow thee:
And I, dear love, would fain dissolve this strife.
But stay awhile, I may perhaps foresee
Some means to be disburden'd of this life,
"And to discharge the duty of a wife,[45]
Which is, not only in this life to love,
But after death her fancy not remove."
Meanwhile accept of these our daily rites,
Which with my maidens I shall do to thee,
Which is in songs to cheer our dying sprites
With hymns of praises of thy memory.
_Cantant.
Quae mihi cantio nondum occurrit_.[46]
ACT I, SCENE 3.
The song ended, TANCRED the King cometh out of his palace with his guard.
TANCRED. Fair daughter, I have sought thee out with grief,
To ease the sorrows of thy vexed heart.
How long wilt thou torment thy father thus,
Who daily dies to see thy needless tears?
Such bootless plaints, that know nor mean nor end,
Do but increase the floods of thy lament;
And since the world knows well there was no want
In thee of ought, that did to him belong,
Yet all, thou seest, could not his life prolong.
Why then dost thou provoke the heavens to wrath?
His doom of death was dated by his stars,
"And who is he that may withstand his fate?"
By these complaints small good to him thou dost,
Much grief to me, more hurt unto thyself,
And unto nature greatest wrong of all.
GISMUNDA. Tell me not of the date of nature's days,
Then in the April of her springing age:
No, no, it was my cruel destiny,
That spited at the pleasance of my life.
TANCRED. My daughter knows the proof of nature's course.
"For as the heavens do guide the lamp of life,
So can they reach no farther forth the flame,
Than whilst with oil they do maintain the same."
GISMUNDA. Curst be the stars, and vanish may they curst,
Or fall from heaven, that in their dire aspčct[47]
Abridg'd the health and welfare of my love.
TANCRED. Gismund, my joy, set all these griefs apart;
"The more thou art with hard mishap beset,
The more thy patience should procure thine ease."
GISMUNDA. What hope of hap may cheer my hapless chance?
What sighs, what tears may countervail my cares?
What should I do, but still his death bewail,
That was the solace of my life and soul?
Now, now, I want the wonted guide and stay
Of my desires and of my wreakless thoughts.
My lord, my love, my life, my liking gone,
In whom was all the fulness of my joy,
To whom I gave the first-fruits of my love,
Who with the comfort of his only sight
All care and sorrows could from me remove.
But, father, now my joys forepast to tell,
Do but revive the horrors of my hell.
As she that seems in darkness to behold
The gladsome pleasures of the cheerful light.
TANCRED. What then avails thee fruitless thus to rue
His absence, whom the heavens cannot return?
Impartial death thy husband did subdue,
Yet hath he spar'd thy kingly father's life:
Who during life to thee a double stay,
As father and as husband, will remain,
With double love to ease thy widow's want,
Of him whose want is cause of thy complaint.
Forbear thou therefore all these needless tears,
That nip the blossoms of thy beauty's pride.
GISMUNDA. Father, these tears love challengeth of due.
TANCRED. But reason saith thou shouldst the same subdue.
GISMUNDA. His funerals are yet before my sight.
TANCRED. In endless moans princes should not delight.
GISMUNDA. The turtle pines in loss of her true mate.
TANCRED. And so continues poor and desolate.
GISMUNDA. Who can forget a jewel of such price?
TANCRED. She that hath learn'd to master her desires.
"Let
In meanest wits, to bear the greatest ills."
GISMUNDA. So plenteous are the springs
Of sorrows that increase my passions,
As neither reason can recure my smart,
Nor can your care nor fatherly comfort
Appease the stormy combats of my thoughts;
Such is the sweet remembrance of his life.
Then give me leave: of pity, pity me,
And as I can, I shall allay these griefs.
TANCRED. These solitary walks thou dost frequent,
Yield fresh occasions to thy secret moans:
We will therefore thou keep us company,
Leaving thy maidens with their harmony.
Wend[48] thou with us. Virgins, withdraw yourselves.
[TANCRED and GISMUNDA, with the guard, depart into the palace;
the four maidens stay behind, as Chorus to the Tragedy.
CHORUS 1. The diverse haps which always work our care,
Our joys so far, our woes so near at hand,
Have long ere this, and daily do declare
The fickle foot on which our state doth stand.
"Who plants his pleasures here to gather root,
And hopes his happy life will still endure,
Let him behold how death with stealing foot
Steps in when he shall think his joys most sure."
No ransom serveth to redeem our days
If prowess could preserve, or worthy deeds,
He had yet liv'd, whose twelve labours displays
His endless fame, and yet his honour spreads.
And that great king,[49] that with so small a power
Bereft the mighty Persian of his crown,
Doth witness well our life is but a flower,
Though it be deck'd with honour and renown.
CHORUS 2. "What grows to-day in favour of the heaven,
Nurs'd with the sun and with the showers sweet,
Pluck'd with the hand, it withereth ere even.
So pass our days, even as the rivers fleet."
The valiant Greeks, that unto Troia gave
The ten years' siege, left but their names behind.
And he that did so long and only save
His father's walls,[50] found there at last his end.
Proud Rome herself, that whilome laid her yoke
On the wide world, and vanquish'd all with war,
Yet could she not remove the fatal stroke
Of death from them that stretch'd her pow'r so far.
CHORUS 3. Look, what the cruel sisters once decree'd,
The Thunderer himself cannot remove:
They are the ladies of our destiny,
To work beneath what is conspir'd above.
But happy he that ends this mortal life
By speedy death: who is not forc'd to see
The many cares, nor feel the sundry griefs,
Which we sustain in woe and misery.
Here fortune rules who, when she list to play,
Whirleth her wheel, and brings the high full low:
To-morrow takes, what she hath given to-day,
To show she can advance and overthrow.
Not Euripus'[51] (unquiet flood) so oft
Ebbs in a day, and floweth to and fro,
As fortune's change plucks down that was aloft,
And mingleth joy with interchange of woe.
CHORUS 4. "Who lives below, and feeleth not the strokes,
Which often-times on highest towers do fall,
Nor blustering winds, wherewith the strongest oaks
Are rent and torn, his life is sur'st of all:"
For he may fortune scorn, that hath no power
On him, that is well pleas'd with his estate:
He seeketh not her sweets, nor fears her sour,
But lives contented in his quiet rate,
And marking how these worldly things do vade,[52]
Rejoiceth to himself, and laughs to see
The folly of men, that in their wits have made
Fortune a goddess, placed in the sky.
Exegit ROD. STAF.
FINIS ACTUS I.
ACT II, SCENE 1.
GISMUNDA AND LUCRECE.
GISMUNDA. Dear aunt, my sole companion in distress,
And true copartner of my thoughtful cares:
When with myself I weigh my present state,
Comparing it with my forepassed days,
New heaps of cares afresh begin t'assay
My pensive heart, as when the glittering rays
Of bright Phoebus are suddenly o'erspread
With dusky clouds, that dim his golden light:
Namely, when I, laid in my widow's bed,
Amid the silence of the quiet night,
With curious thought the fleeting course observe
Of gladsome youth, how soon his flower decays,
"How time once past may never have recourse,
No more than may the running streams revert
To climb the hills, when they been rolled down
The hollow vales. There is no curious art,
Nor worldly power: no, not the gods can hold
The sway of flying time, nor him return,
When he is past: all things unto his might
Must bend, and yield unto the iron teeth
Of eating time." This in the shady night
When I record: how soon my youth withdraws
Itself away, how swift my pleasant spring
Runs out his race,—this, this, aunt, is the cause,
When I advise me sadly[53] on this thing,
That makes my heart in pensive dumps dismay'd.
For if I should my springing years neglect,
And suffer youth fruitless to fade away;
Whereto live I? or whereto was I born?
Wherefore hath nature deck'd me with her grace?
Why have I tasted these delights of love,
And felt the sweets of Hymeneus' bed?
But to say sooth, dear aunt, it is not I,
Sole and alone, can thus content to spend
My cheerful years: my father will not still
Prolong my mournings, which have griev'd him,
And pleased me too long. Then this I crave,
To be resolved of his princely mind.
For, stood it with the pleasure of his will
To marry me, my fortune is not such,
So hard, that I so long should still persist
Makeless alone in woful widowhood.
And shall I tell mine aunt? Come hither then,
Give me that hand: By thine own right hand,
I charge thy heart my counsels to conceal.
Late have I seen, and seeing took delight,
And with delight, I will not say, I love
A prince, an earl, a county in the court.
But love and duty force me to refrain,
And drive away these fond affections,
Submitting them unto my father's hest.
But this, good aunt, this is my chiefest pain,
Because I stand at such uncertain stay.
For, if my kingly father would decree
His final doom, that I must lead my life
Such as I do, I would content me then
To frame my fancies to his princely hest,
And as I might, endure the grief thereof.
But now his silence doubleth all my doubts,
Whilst my suspicious thoughts 'twixt hope and fear
Distract me into sundry passions:
Therefore, good aunt, this labour must be yours,
To understand my father's will herein,
For well I know your wisdom knows the means,
So shall you both allay my stormy thoughts,
And bring to quiet my unquiet mind.
LUCRECE. Sufficeth this, good niece, that you have said;
For I perceive what sundry passions
Strive in your breast, which oftentimes ere this
Your countenance confused did bewray.
The ground whereof since I perceive to grow
On just respect of this your sole estate,
And skilful care of fleeting youth's decay,
Your wise foresight such sorrowing to eschew
I much commend, and promise as I may
To break this matter, and impart your mind
Unto your father, and to work it so,
As both your honour shall not be impeach'd,
Nor he unsatisfied of your desire.
Be you no farther grieved, but return
Into your chamber. I shall take this charge,
And you shall shortly truly understand
What I have wrought, and what the
GISMUNDA. I leave you to the fortune of my stars.
[GISMUNDA departeth into her chamber, LUCRECE
abiding on the stage.
LUCRECE. The heavens, I hope, will favour your request.
My niece shall not impute the cause to be
In my default, her will should want effect:
But in the king is all my doubt, lest he
My suit for her new marriage should reject.
Yet shall I prove him: and I heard it said,
He means this evening in the park to hunt.[54]
Here will I wait attending his approach.
ACT II., SCENE 2.
TANCRED cometh out of his palace with GUISCARD,
the COUNTY PALURIN, JULIO, the Lord Chamberlain,
RENUCHIO, captain of his guard, all ready to hunt.
TANCRED. Uncouple all our hounds; lords, to the chase—
Fair sister Lucre[ce], what's the news with you?
LUCRECE. Sir, as I always have employ'd my power
And faithful service, such as lay in me,
In my best wise to honour you and yours:
So now my bounden duty moveth me
Your majesty most humbly to entreat
With patient ears to understand the state
Of my poor niece, your daughter.
TANCRED. What of her?
Is she not well? Enjoys she not her health?
Say, sister: ease me of this jealous fear?
LUCRECE. She lives, my lord, and hath her outward health;
But all the danger of her sickness lies
In the disquiet of her princely mind.
TANCRED. Resolve me; what afflicts my daughter so?
LUCRECE. Since when the princess hath entomb'd her lord,
Her late deceased husband of renown;
Brother, I see, and very well perceive,
She hath not clos'd together in his grave
All sparks of nature, kindness, nor of love:
But as she lives, so living may she feel
Such passions as our tender hearts oppress,
Subject unto th'impressions of desire:
For well I wot my niece was never wrought
Of steel, nor carved from the stony rock:
Such stern hardness we ought not to expect
In her, whose princely heart and springing years
Yet flow'ring in the chiefest heat of youth,
Is led of force to feed on such conceits,
As easily befalls that age, which asketh ruth
Of them, whom nature bindeth by foresight
Of their grave years and careful love to reach
The things that are above their feeble force:
And for that cause, dread lord, although—
TANCRED. Sister, I say,
If you esteem or ought respect my life,
Her honour and the welfare of our house,
Forbear, and wade[55] no farther in this speech.
Your words are wounds. I very well perceive
The purpose of this smooth oration:
This I suspected, when you first began
This fair discourse with us. Is this the end
Of all our hopes, that we have promised
Unto ourself by this her widowhood?
Would our dear daughter, would our only joy,
Would she forsake us? would she leave us now,
Before she hath clos'd up our dying eyes,
And with her tears bewail'd our funeral?
No other solace doth her father crave;
But, whilst the fates maintain his dying life,
Her healthful presence gladsome to his soul,
Which rather than he willing would forego,
His heart desires the bitter taste of death.
Her late marriage hath taught us to our grief,
That in the fruits of her perpetual sight
Consists the only comfort and relief
Of our unwieldy age: for what delight,
What joy, what comfort, have we in this world;
Now grown in years, and overworn with cares,
Subject unto the sudden stroke of death,
Already falling, like the mellowed fruit,
And dropping by degrees into our grave?
But what revives us, what maintains our soul
Within the prison of our wither'd breast,
But our Gismunda and her cheerful sight?
O daughter, daughter! what desert of mine,
Wherein have I been so unkind to thee,
Thou shouldst desire to make my naked house
Yet once again stand desolate by thee?
O, let such fancies vanish with their thoughts:
Tell her I am her father, whose estate,
Wealth, honour, life, and all that we possess,
Wholly relies upon her presence here.
Tell her, I must account her all my joy,
Work as she will: but yet she were unjust
To haste his death, that liveth by her sight.
LUCRECE. Her gentle heart abhors such ruthless thoughts.
TANCRED. Then let her not give place to these desires.
LUCRECE. She craves the right that nature challengeth.
TANCRED. Tell her, the king commandeth otherwise.
LUCRECE. The king's commandment always should be just.
TANCRED. Whate'er it be, the king's command is just.
LUCRECE. Just to command: but justly must he charge.
TANCRED. He chargeth justly that commands as king.
LUCRECE. The king's command concerns the body best.
TANCRED. The king commands obedience of the mind.
LUCRECE. That is exempted by the law of kind.
TANCRED. That law of kind[56] to children doth belong.
LUCRECE. In due obedience to their open wrong?
TANCRED. I then, as king and father, will command.
LUCRECE. No more than may with right of reason stand.
TANCRED. Thou knowest our mind, resolve[57] her, depart—
Return the chase, we have been chas'd enough.
[TANCRED returneth into his palace, and leaveth the hunt.
LUCRECE. He cannot hear, anger hath stopp'd his ears,
And over-love his judgment hath decay'd
Ah, my poor niece! I shrewdly fear thy cause,
Thy just complaint, shall never be reliev'd.
ACT II., SCENE 3.
GISMUNDA cometh alone out of her chamber.
GISMUNDA. By this I hope my aunt hath mov'd the king,
And knows his mind, and makes return to me
To end at once all this perplexity.
Lo, where she stands. O, how my trembling heart
In doubtful thoughts panteth within my breast.
For in her message doth rely my smart,
Or the sweet quiet of my troubled mind.
LUCRECE. Niece, on the point you lately willed me
To treat of with the king on your behalf,
I brake even now with him so far, till he
In sudden rage of grief, ere I scarce had
My tale out-told, pray'd me to stint my suit,
As that from which his mind abhorred most.
And well I see his fancy to refute,
Is but displeasure gain'd and labour lost.
So firmly fixed stands his kingly will
That, till his body shall be laid in grave,
He will not part from the desired sight
Of your presence, which silder he should have,
If he had once allied you again
In marriage to any prince or peer—
This is his final resolution.
GISMUNDA. A resolution that resolves my blood
Into the icy drops of Lethe's flood.
LUCRECE. Therefore my counsel is, you shall not stir,
Nor farther wade in such a case as this:
But since his will is grounded on your love,
And that it lies in you to save or spill
His old forewasted age, you ought t'eschew
The thing that grieves so much his crazed heart,
And in the state you stand content yourself:
And let this thought appease
That in your hands relies your father's death
Or blissful life; and since without your sight
He cannot live, nor can his thoughts endure
Your hope of marriage, you must then relent,
And overrule these fond affections;
Lest it be said you wrought your father's end.
GISMUNDA. Dear aunt, I have with patient ears endur'd
The hearing of my father's hard behest;
And since I see that neither I myself,
Nor your request, can so prevail with him,
Nor any sage advice persuade his mind
To grant me my desire, in willing wise
I must submit me unto his command,
And frame my heart to serve his majesty.
And (as I may) to drive away the thoughts
That diversely distract my passions,
Which as I can, I'll labour to subdue,
But sore I fear I shall but toil in vain,
Wherein, good aunt, I must desire your pain.
LUCRECE. What lies in me by comfort or advice,
I shall discharge with all humility.
[GISMUNDA and LUCRECE depart into GISMUNDA'S chamber.
CHORUS 1. Who marks our former times and present years,
What we are now, and looks what we have been,
He cannot but lament with bitter tears
The great decay and change of all women.
For as the world wore on, and waxed old,
So virtue quail'd,[58] and vice began to grow.
So that that age, that whilome was of gold,
Is worse than brass, more vile than iron now.
The times were such (that if we aught believe
Of elder days), women examples were
Of rare virtues: Lucrece disdain'd to live
Longer than chaste; and boldly without fear
Took sharp revenge on her enforced heart
With her own hands: for that it not withstood
The wanton will, but yielded to the force
Of proud Tarquin, who bought her fame with blood.
CHORUS 2. Queen Artemisia thought an heap of stones
(Although they were the wonder of that age)
A worthless grave, wherein to rest the bones
Of her dear lord, but with bold courage
She drank his heart, and made her lovely breast
His tomb, and failed not of wifely faith,
Of promis'd love and of her bound behest,
Until she ended had her days by death.
Ulysses' wife (such was her steadfastness)
Abode his slow return whole twenty years:
And spent her youthful days in pensiveness,
Bathing her widow's bed with brinish tears.[59]
CHORUS 3. The stout daughter of Cato, Brutus' wife, Portia,
When she had heard his death, did not desire
Longer to live: and lacking use of knife
(A most strange thing) ended her life by fire,
And ate whot-burning coals. O worthy dame!
O virtues worthy of eternal praise!
The flood of Lethe cannot wash out thy fame,
To others' great reproach, shame, and dispraise.
CHORUS 4. Rare are those virtues now in women's mind!
Where shall we seek such jewels passing strange?
Scarce can you now among a thousand find
One woman stedfast: all delight in change.
Mark but this princess, that lamented here
Of late so sore her noble husband's death,
And thought to live alone without a pheer;
Behold how soon she changed hath that breath!
I think those ladies that have lived 'tofore,
A mirror and a glass to womenkind;
By those their virtues they did set such store,
That unto us they none bequeath'd behind;
Else in so many years we might have seen
As virtuous as ever they have been.
CHORUS 1. Yet let not us maidens condemn our kind,
Because our virtues are not all so rare:
For we may freshly yet record in mind,
There lives a virgin,[60] one without compare,
Who of all graces hath her heavenly share;
In whose renown, and for whose happy days,
Let us record this paean of her praise.
Cantant.
FINIS ACTUS II. Per HEN. NO.[61]
ACT III., SCENE 1.
CUPID. So now they feel what lordly Love can do,
That proudly practise to deface his name;
In vain they wrastle with so fierce a foe;
Of little sparks arise a blazing flame.
"By small occasions love can kindle heat,
And waste the oaken breast to cinder dust."
Gismund I have enticed to forget
Her widow's weeds, and burn in raging lust:
'Twas I enforc'd her father to deny
Her second marriage to any peer;
'Twas I allur'd her once again to try
The sour sweets that lovers buy too dear.
The County Palurin, a man right wise,
A man of exquisite perfections,
I have like wounded with her piercing eyes,
And burnt her heart with his reflections.
These two shall joy in tasting of my sweet,
To make them prove more feelingly the grief
That bitter brings: for when their joys shall fleet,
Their dole shall be increas'd without relief.
Thus Love shall make worldlings to know his might;
Thus Love shall force great princes to obey;
Thus Love shall daunt each proud, rebelling spirit;
Thus Love shall wreak his wrath on their decay.
Their ghosts shall give black hell to understand,
How great and wonderful a god is Love:
And this shall learn the ladies of this land
With patient minds his mighty power to prove.
From whence I did descend, now will I mount
To Jove and all the gods in their delights:
In throne of triumph there will I recount,
How I by sharp revenge on mortal wights
Have taught the earth, and learned hellish sprites
To yield with fear their stubborn hearts to Love,
Lest their disdain his plagues and vengeance
prove.
[CUPID remounteth into the heavens.
ACT III., SCENE 2.
LUCRECE cometh out of GISMUNDA'S chamber solitary.
LUCRECE. Pity, that moveth every gentle heart
To rue their griefs, that be distress'd in pain,
Enforceth me to wail my niece's smart,
Whose tender breast no long time may sustain
The restless toil, that her unquiet mind
Hath caus'd her feeble body to endure;
But why it is (alack!) I must not find,
Nor know the man, by whom I might procure
Her remedy, as I of duty ought,
As to the law of kinship doth belong.
With careful heart the secret means I sought,
Though small effect is of my travail sprung:
Full often as I durst I have assay'd
With humble words the princess to require
To name the man which she hath so denay'd,[62]
That it abash'd me further to desire,
Or ask from whence those cloudy thoughts proceed,
Whose stony force, that smoky sighs forth send,
Is lively witness how that careful dread
And hot desire within her do contend:
Yet she denies what she confess'd of yore,
And then conjoin'd me to conceal the same;
She loved once, she saith, but never more,
Nor ever will her fancy thereto frame.
Though daily I observed in my breast
What sharp conflicts disquiet her so sore,
That heavy sleep cannot procure her rest,
But fearful dreams present her evermore
Most hideous sights her quiet to molest;
That starting oft therewith, she doth awake,
To muse upon those fancies which torment
Her thoughtful heart with horror, that doth make
Her cold chill sweat break forth incontinent
From her weak limbs. And while the quiet night
Gives others rest, she, turning to and fro,
Doth wish for day: but when the day brings light,
She keeps her bed, there to record her woe.
As
Stream down her cheeks, immixed with deadly groans,
Whereby her inward sorrow so appears,
That as salt tears the cruel cause bemoans.
In case she be constrained to abide
In prease[63] of company, she scarcely may
Her trembling voice restrain it be not spy'd,
From careful plaints her sorrows to bewray.
By which restraint the force doth so increase,
When time and place give liberty to plain,
That as small streams from running never cease,
Till they return into the seas again;
So her laments, we fear, will not amend,
Before they bring her princely life to end.
To others' talk when as she should attend,
Her heaped cares her senses so oppress,
That what they speak, or whereto their words tend,
She knows not, as her answers do express.
Her chief delight is still to be alone,
Her pensive thoughts within themselves debate:
But whereupon this restless life is grown,
Since I know not, nor how the same t'abate;
I can no more but wish it as I may,
That he which knows it, would the same allay,
For which the Muses with my song shall pray.
ACT III., SCENE 3.
After the song, which was by report very sweetly repeated by the Chorus, LUCRECE departeth into GISMUNDA'S chamber, and GUISCARD cometh out of the palace with JULIO and RENUCHIO, gentlemen, to whom he turneth, and saith:
GUISCARD. Leave me, my friends; this solitary walk
Enticeth me to break your company.
Leave me, my friends, I can endure no talk.
Let me entreat this common courtesy. [The gentlemen depart.
What grievous pain they 'dure, which neither may
Forget their loves, ne yet enjoy their love,
I know by proof, and daily make assay.
Though Love hath brought my lady's heart to love,
My faithful love with like love to requite;
This doth not quench, but rather cause to flame
The creeping fire which, spreading in my breast
With raging heat, grants me no time of rest.
If they bewail their cruel destiny,
Which spend their love, where they no love can find,
Well may I plain, since fortune haleth[64] me
To this torment of far more grievous kind;
Wherein I feel as much extremity,
As may be felt in body or in mind.
For by that sight, which should recure my pain,
My sorrows are redoubled all in vain.
Now I perceive that only I alone
Am her belov'd, her looks assure me so:
The thought thereof provokes me to bemoan
Her heavy plight that grieveth at my woe.
This intercourse of our affections—
I her to serve, she thus to honour me—
Bewrays the truth of our elections,
Delighting in this mutual sympathy.
Thus love for love entreat's the queen of love,
That with her help Love's solace we may prove.
I see my mistress seeks as well as I
To stay the strife of her perplexed mind:
Full fain she would our secret company,
If she the wished way thereof might find.
Heavens, have ye seen, or hath the age of man
Recorded such a miracle as this—
In equal love two noble hearts to frame,
That never spake one with another's bliss?
I am assured that she doth assent
To my relief, that I should reap the same,
If she could frame the means of my content,
Keeping herself from danger of defame.
In happy hour right now I did receive
This cane from her; which gift though it be small,
Receiving it, what joys I did conceive
Within my fainting spirits therewithal!
Who knoweth love aright, may well conceive
By like adventures that to them befall.
"For needs the lover must esteem that well,
Which comes from her, with whom his heart doth dwell."
Assuredly it is not without cause
She gave me this; something she meant thereby:
For therewithal I might perceive her pause
Awhile, as though some weighty thing did lie
Upon her heart, which she concealed, because
The standers-by should not our loves descry:
This clift bewrays that it hath been disclos'd;
Perhaps herein she hath something inclos'd: [He breaks it.
O thou great thunderer! who would not serve,
Where wit with beauty chosen have their place?
Who could devise more wisely to conserve
Things from suspect? O Venus, for this grace
That deigns me, all unworthy, to deserve
So rare a love, in heaven I should thee place.
This sweet letter some joyful news contains,
1 hope it brings recure to both our pains.
[He reads it.
Mine own, as I am yours, whose heart, I know,
No less than mine, for lingering help of woe
Doth long too long: love, tendering your case
And mine, hath taught recure of both our pain.
My chamber-floor doth hide a cave, where was
An old vault's mouth: the other in the plain
Doth rise southward, a furlong from the wall.
Descend you there. This shall suffice. And so
I yield myself, mine honour, life, and all,
To you. Use you the same, as there may grow
Your bliss and mine, mine earl, and that the same
Free may abide from danger of defame.
Farewell; and fare so well, as that your joy,
Which only can, may comfort mine annoy.
Yours more than her own,
GISMUND.
O blissful chance my sorrows to assuage!
Wonder of nature, marvel of our age!
Comes this from Gismund? did she thus enfold
This letter in the cane? may it be so?
It were too sweet a joy; I am deceiv'd.
Why shall I doubt, did she not give it me?
Therewith she smil'd, she joy'd, she raught[65] the cane,
And with her own sweet hand she gave it me:
And as we danc'd, she dallied with the cane,
And sweetly whisper'd I should be her king,
And with this cane, the sceptre of our rule,
Command the sweets of her surprised heart.
Therewith she raught from her alluring locks
This golden tress, the favour of her grace,
And with her own sweet hand she gave it me:
O peerless queen, my joy, my heart's decree!
And, thou fair letter, how shall I welcome thee?
Both hand and pen, wherewith thou written wert,
Blest may ye be, such solace that impart!
And blessed be this cane, and he that taught
Thee to descry the hidden entry thus:
Not only through a dark and dreadful vault,
But fire and sword, and through whatever be,
Mistress of my desires, I come to thee.