De. At that weapon?
Sis. This, and no other.
De. Ile rather bleed to death then lift a swordIn my defence, whose inconsiderate brightnesMay fright the Roses from your cheeke and leaveThe Lillies to lament the rude divorce.But were a Man to dare me, and your enemy,My rage more nimble then [the]MedianshaftShould flie into his bosome, and your eyeChange anger into smiles to see me fightAnd cut him into a ragged staffe.
Enter Courtwell.
Cou. I can hold no longer. You have gott a stomack, Sir, with running; ile try how you can eate a sword.
De. Ha you an ambush, Lady? Ile cry out murder. Is two to one faire play?
Cou. Let me cut one legg of, to marre his running.
De. Hold, let me speake.
Cou. What canst thou say for thy baseness?
De. Some men loves wit, and can without dishonourEndure a jeast. Why, do you thinke I know notYou were here, and but obscur'd to see my humour.I came to waite upon you with your sword, I.
Cou. How came you by'te? confesse before this Lady.
De. Dost thinke her witts so limber to believeI could compell it from thee. Twas a trick,A meere conceipt of mirth; thou sha't ha mine.Dost thinke I stand upon a sword? Ile gi' theeA case of Pistolls when we come toLondon;And shoot me when I love thee not. Pox ont,Thou apprehende'st me well enough.
Cou. But I am not Satisfied: do you affect this gentlewoman?
De. Hum.
Cou. You will resolve, sir?
De. As may become a stranger; ile not loose Thy friendship for all woman kind.
Cou. He dares not owne you.
Sis. I easilie forgive him; I should hate My selfe, if I depended on his pitty.
Cou. Th'art a noble wench. Shall we leave of These jigs and speake our harts in earnest? By These twin lips I love thee extreamely.
Sis. Sweare by your owne.
Cou. They shall bee mine. Mounsier, For your penance you shall along and witnes.
Sis. What, I pray?
Cou. The Priest shall tell you; come, we have both dissembled, We do love one another.
Sis. Tis not possible.
Cou. Unless you will denie me i'the church.I ha vou'd to lie with you to night:Device,Amble before and find the parson out;We will bee friends and thou shalt be her father.
De. I must maintaine my humour or be beaten. [Ex.
Cou. Come, weele have no more acquainted.
Sis. Very pretty. —I may deceave you yet for all your confidence.
Cou. If the skie fall weele have the larkes to supper.
[Exeunt.
Enter Ladie, Sir Francis, Dorothy.
La. It was strange neglect, sir.
Fra. I confesse it, And not deserve to live for't; yet if you But knew my sufferings—
La. Let her be Judge.
Fra. By no meanes, Madam.
La. You may trust her knowledge.
Fra. This is worse then a whipping now; these LadiesHave no mercy on a delinquent. I must stand toot.There is no tyrant to a chamberwomanMade judg in such a cause; Ide give a LimbeTo be quit now, but, if she choose, I amA Criple for this world.
Do. Ist possible a man and such a beast?
Fra. So, I must to the shameles.
La. What punishment can be equall to the offence?
Do. He lookes with some compunction for his fault. Troth, Madam, choose an other night and trye Whether he will sleepe agen.
Fra. Mercifull wench! If we peece agen it shall be a good turne in thy way.
La. My husband is this day resolv'd forLondon; It is his humour, or els, worse, suspition. Ther's no pretence for him to stay behind.
Do. You have made ill use of your time, SirFrancis; I know not how to helpe you. Seaven yeare hence You may have such an other oportunitie.
La. Watch if my husband come not this way,Dorothy. —Well, sir, though your transgresse deserve no pardon, Yet I am charitable upon Condition—
Fra. Anything, Madam. This shewes exlent in you;No pennance shall displease so you absolve me.Bid me to clime some Rock or Pyramide,Upon whose narrow spire you have advanc'dMy peace, and I will reach it or else fall,Lost to the world in my attempt.
La. You speakeGloriously; the condition that assuresYour pardon, 's only this—that you concludeHere all your loose desires with a resolveNever to prosecute or hope to enjoy me.
Fra. Call you this Charity? let me rather looseYour pardon then for ever to be thus forfeited;Bind me never to see you (and yet thatWere cruelty) then charme me to forgettThat I am man or have a hart, and youA beauty, which your absence can as wellMake nothing as devide from my adoring.It is not cure but killing to prescribeI never must enjoy you. If you haveResolv'd a Death upon me, let it beeWhen we like Lovers have embrac'd—
La. It is not possible.
Fra. Nothing in loveCan be impossible to willing mindes.Ile tell you, Madam—(sure the Divell hasForsworne the flesh)—there may be a plot. I have it!An exelent rare devise, if you but favour it.Your husband is imediately forLondon,I must in modesty ride with him; youAre left behind.
La. How can that profitt you?
Do.—What a deale of submission these foolish men Trouble us women with, that are more forward To be friends agen then they are!
Fra. I will counterfeit a fall.
La. A fall?
Fra. I, from my horse; observe me, then—
Do.—My confederate, I hope, by this time is at gateEnquiring for SirRichardvery formallyFrom the old knight, his Master, and good Ladie.The fellow has witt to manage it.
Fra. My footman shall pretend himselfe the SurgeonTo attend me; is't not rare?Stand but to'th fate of this, and if it faileI will sitt downe a Convert and renounceAll wanton hope hereafter. Deerest Madam,If you did meane before this honour to me,Let not your loving thoughts freeze in a Minuit.My genius is a prophet.
Do. SirRichard, Madam, Is comeing this way.
Fra. Shall I hope agen?
La. I wo'not say you shall despaire.
Fra. You blesse me. [Exit.
Do. My busines is a foote; your Jewell, Madam, Will credit much the cause.
La. Wee will withdraw And let me know how you have cast the plott.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sir Richard, opening a Letter; a Footman waiting.
Ri. From thy Master? his name?
Foo. SirWalter Littleland.
Ri. I doe not know him.
Foo. His name is well knowne inLincolnsheireneere the fenns: there were his family antient gentlemen before the Conquest; some say ever since the flood.
Ri.Littleland!
Foo. But he has now more land then three of the best in the shire, thanke theDuchmenthat have drunk up all the water.
Ri. They water drinkers?
Foo. Why not, as well as eate dry land? they are lin'd with butter, Sir, and feare no Dropsie.
Sir Richard reades.
She has been absent theis two yeares; the occasion, her dislike and disaffection to a gentleman whome I confesse I did too seveerely urge her to marry. If she have liv'd with you, as my late intelligence hath enformed me, in the nature of a servant, which is beneath my wishes and her condition, I hope upon this knowledge you will with consideration of her quality (she being the onely Child and heire to my fortune) use her like a gentlewoman. And though my yeares have made me unfitt for travell, I do intend, upon returne of your Letters, personally to give you thankes for your respects to my Daughter, whome I shall receave as new blessing from you, and be happie upon any turne presented to expresse my selfe for your favours, your true friend and servantW. Littleland.
My maideDorothya Knights Daughter and heire! Doe you know your yongMistresse.
Foo. I shall be happie to see her and present her with a Letter & some token from her Ladie Mother.
Ri. I pray trust me to deliver it.
Foo. With all my hart, Sir, you may comand.
[Enter Thomas.
Ri.Thomas, pray entertaine this footman in the butterie; let him drinke and refresh himselfe, and set the cold chine of Beefe before him: he has ranne hard.
Tho. That will stay his stomach, indeed, but Claret is your only binder.
Foo. Sack, while you live, after a heat, Sir.
Tho. Please you, my friend, ile shew you the way to be drunke.
[Exit. [Tho. with footman.
Ri. To my loving Daughter. May not this be a trick? By your favour, Madam. [He opens the Letter.
Enter Underwit.
Captaine, gather you the sence of that Letter while I peruse this. You know MistressDorothy.
Un. I have had a great desire to know her, I confess, but she is still like the bottome of the map,terra incognita. I have been a long tyme hovering about theMagellanstreights, but have made no new discoveries.
Ri. Ha! this is not counterfeit, I dare trust my owne Judgment; tis a very rich one. I am confirmed, and will scale them up agen. My Ladies woman SirWalter LittlelandsDaughter and heire! What think you now of MistrisDorothy?
Un. A great deale better than I did; and yet I have lov'd her this halfe yeare in a kind of way. O' my conscience why may not I marry her?
Ri. This Jewell was sent by her mother to her.
Un. Deere Uncle conseale till I have talk'd with her. Oh for some witchcraft to make all sure.
Ri. I like this well; shees here.
Enter Dorothy.
Un. I vow, Mistris Dorothy, if I were immodest twas the meere impudence of my sack and not my owne disposition; but if you please to accept my love now, by the way of Marriage, I will make you satisfaction like a gentleman in the point of honour.
Do. Your birth and estate is to high and unequall for me, sir.
Un. What care I for a portion or a face! She that has good eyes has good——Give me vertue.
Do. You are pleas'd to make your mirth of me.
Un. By this Rubie, nay you shall weare it in the broad eye of the world, dost thinke I am in Jeast.
Do. SirRichard—
Un. And were he ten SirRichards, I am out of my wardship.
Do.—How he flutters in the lime bush! it takes rarely.
Un. What a necessary thing now were a household Chaplaine.
[Ext. [Dorothy & Underwit.
Ri. So, so, the wench inclines. I will hasten my journey that I may appear with more excuse when they are married in my absence.
Enter Captaine and Engine.
Cap. Sir, I heare you are forLondonpresentlie; It will concerne you take this gentleman Along w'ee to bee cur'd.
Ri. Mr.Enginesick!
Cap. Oh, sir,Dangerously; he has purg'd his stomack, but the ill spirittsAre flowne into his head and spoild his eares.He was ever troubled with Devices in his head;I stronglie feare he must have his scull open'd,His brains are very foule within. I knowAnd can direct you to an excle'nt Surgeon.
En. I cannot heare you, Captaine—
Cap. One that has a rare dexteritie at lanceingOr opening of a stomack that has crudities;So neat at separation of a limbeAnd quartering of treason.
Ri. You meane the hangman?
Cap. He has practised late to mend his hand, and now With the very wind and flourish of his instrument He will strike flatt a projector at twelve score.
Ri. Does he not heare you?
Cap. He has lost that sence he saies, unless he counterfeits; It wilbe your securitie to see him Safe in the Surgeons hands. [they whisper.
En.—Into what misery have my Projects flung me!They shanot know I understand 'em. ThatI were quitt with loss of both my eares, althoughI cut my haire like a Lay Elder, too,To shew the naked conyholes! I doe thinkeWhat cursed Balletts will be made upon meAnd sung to divilish tunes at faire and MarkettsTo call in cutpurses. In a puppet play,Were but my storie written by some scholler,Twould put downehocas pocasand the tumblersAnd draw more audience than the MotionOfNinivie[275] or the dainty docile horse[276]That snorts atSpaineby an instinct of Nature.
Cap. Ile leave him to you and seeke out CaptaineUnderwit. [Exit.
Ri. Come, MasterEngine, weele to horse imediately.
[Exeunt.
Enter Courtwell, Sister and Device.
Cou. So, we are fast enough, and now I have theeIle tell thee all the fault I find; thou hastA little too much witt to bee a wife;It could not be too nimble for a Mistresse.—Device, there is a part still of your pennanceBehind. You would pretend to be a Poet;Ile not disgrace the name to call thee one,But let me have rimes against we go to bed,Two Anagrams that weigh an ounce, with coment,And after that in verse your AffidavitThat you do wish us joy, and I discharge you.
De. Tis tyme I were at study then.
Cou. About e'm:Your double congey and depart with silence. [Exit Device.Now prethe tell me who reported IHad wrong'd a Ladie? Wast not thy revengeTo make me angrie?
Sis. Twas, indeed. Now tell me: Why at the first approach seem'd you so modest? You have confidence to spare now.
Cou. Troth I came not With any wooing purpose; only to please My Uncle, and try thy witt; and that converted me.
Enter Thomas.
Tho. Did you see my Master, CaptaineUnderwit?
Cou. Yes, hee's talking with the priest and MistrisDorothy.
Tho. Her fathers footman was here; she is a knights daughter And heire, but she does not know it yet.
Sis. I thinke so.
Cou. Where's my Uncle.
Tho. A mile ons way toLondonby this tyme with SirRichard. I long to see my Master. [Exit.
Cou. Wee shall want companie to dance.
Enter Ladie.
Sis. My Sister.
Cou. If you please, Madam, you may call me Brother:We have been at 'IJohntake theElizabeth'.A possett and foure naked thighes a bedTo night will bid faire earnest for a boy, too.
Sis. Tis even so; Madam, the preist has done it.
La. May then all joyes attend you; if this had Been knowne, it might have staid SirRichardand Your Uncle one day more.
Enter Underwit, Dorothy, Captaine, Thomas.
Un. Come for another Couple.
Tho. In hell[277]; my Master is married.
La. My husband left some letters and a tokenWas sent you MistrisDorothy. You did illTo obscure your selfe so much; you shall not wantHereafter all respects that may become you.
Do. Madam, I know not what you meane.
Cap. She wonot take it upon her yet.
Un. Theres the sport.
Enter Device.
De. Oh, Madam, newes, ill newes, an accident Will blast all your mirth: SirFrancis—
Cou: La. What of him?
De. Has brooke—
Cou. His neck?
De. You guest very neere it, but his shoulder Has sav'd that joynt. A fall from's horse, they say, Hath much endanger'd him.
Cou. My Uncle hurt! [Exit.
La. He has kept his word; now if he but counterfeit handsomely.
Un. MounsierDevice, I must entreat a Courtesie; you have wit, and I would have a Masque to entertaine my new father-in-law SirWalter Littleland. MistresDorothy, now my wife, is his onely Daughter and heire.
Do. Who has guld you thus? I am no knightsDaughter; You may share your poeticall invention, sir.
De. Give you joy, Captaine.
Un. She is still loth to confesse it.
Enter Sir Francis, Lady, Courtwell, Sister, Captaine.
Fra. If you have charity a bone setter.
La. He does counterfeit rarely.—Wheres SirRichard?
Fra. He rid before, but I sent my footman to tell him this misfortune. Oh, Madam!
La.—This is better then the toothack; he carries it excellently.
Fra. Aske me no torturing questions; I desire, Madam, a little conference with you. Ile thanke the rest if they withdraw: oh!
[Cou.[278]] Letts leave him.
Un. Wee'le to my chamber, captaine.
Cap. You have a mind to examine the business privatly?
Do. No, good Captaine, you may be present.
Cou. Come,Thomas, thou shat be witnes, too.
[Ext. all but Sir Francis and Lady.
La. They are gone; they feigne most artificially, Let me embrace you.
Fra. Oh, take heed.
La. What's the matter?
Fra. Tis no dissembling,—Madam; I have hadA fall indeed, a dreadfull fall; I feele it.I thinke my horse saw the Divell in some hedge:Ere I had rid three furlongs, gave a start,Pitcht me of ons back like a barr and brokeA flint with my shoulder, I thinke, which strooke fire too;There was something like it in my eyes, Ime punish'd.
La. But is this serious? are you hurt indeed?
Fra. Hurt? I ha broke my shoulder feelingly,And I am of opinion when I doeEnjoy you, Madam, I shall breake my neck;That will be next. Ile take this for a warningAnd will leave of in tyme.
La. This makes me tremble.
Fra. I will be honest now; and so forgive me. Not the Surgeon come yet?
La. Heaven hath cur'd us both.
Fra. I am not cured yet. Oh for the bone setter! If ere I counterfeit agen.
La. There is a blessing falne upon my blood.Your only charme had power to make my thoughtsWicked, and your conversion disinchants me;May both our lives be such as heaven may notGrieve to have shew'd this bounty.
Enter Courtwell.
Cou. SirRichard, Madam.
La. You may enter now, sir.
Enter the rest and Sir Richard.
Ri. I do not like this stratageme; SirFrancisMust not heere practise his Court tricks; I wo'notEnter Surgeon.Trust my wives surgerie. Hee's come.—How ist,Noble SirFrancis? Best withdraw; ile seeHim drest my selfe. [They lead out Sir Francis.
Enter Underwit, Dorothy, Captaine, Thomas.
Un. Madam and gentlemen, MistrisDorothywo'not acknowledge she is a knight's daughter; she sweares she knows noLittleland.
Do. Till it appeare to whom this gemme was meant, Deare Madame, be you treasurer. I confesse I have wealth enough in such a noble husband.
La. It shall belong to thee; be honest,Dorothy, And use him well.
Do. With my best study, Madam.
La. Where is the footman you talke of?
Tho. He pretended Letters to carry two mile of to a kinsman of his Masters, and returne presently. He dranke three or fower beere glasses of sack, and he ran away so lightlie.
Do. His reward shall overtake him.
Un. Will you have her? she will doe you service, Captaine, in aLow Country[279] Leaguer. Or thou,Thomas? ile give thee a Coppiehold.
Tho. You have one life to come in that lease, yet I thank you: I am free, and that's inheritance; for ought I know she may serve us both.
La. Come you may perswade her to looke high and take it upon her for your credit. The gullery is yet within these walles; let your shame goe no farther. The wench may prove right, she may.
Enter Sir Richard.
La. What news from SirFrancis?
Ri. Wife, I hardly aske thee forgivenes; I had jealous thoughts, but all's right agen.
La. I will deserve your confidence.
Ri. No great danger, his blade bone dislocated; the man has put everything in his right place.
Un. Dee heare, SirRichard? wee are married.
Ri. Tis well done, send you joy; tis to my mind.
Un. Come hither,Dorothy.
Cap. But where's Mr.Engine?
Ri. He rid before.
Cap. If the rascall have any wit left he will ride quite away with himselfe; tis his best course to fly oversea.
Tho. If he were sure to flie, he were sure to escape.
Cap. At the worst, drowning is a most [sic] honourable death then hanging.
Do. My mother died, I have it by tradition,As soone as I was borne; my father (butNo knight) is now i'thIndies, a poore Merchant,That broke for 20,000 pounds.
Ri. The shipps may come home. Hee!
Do. You were best use me well, now we are married.I will be sworne you forc'd me to the ChurchAnd thrice compeld me there to sayI Dorothy.The Parsons oath and mine, for ought I know,May make it halfe a rape.
Ri. There is no remedy;We can prove no conspiracie. And, becauseI have been gulld my selfe, gett her with child,—My Doe is barren,—at birth of her first babyIle give her a hundred peeces.
Un. That's somewhat yet, when charge comes on. Thy hand! a wife can be but a wife: it shall cost me 500 pounds but ile make thee a Ladie in earnest.
Enter Sir Francis and Surgeon.
Ri. How ist, SirFrancis?
Fra. My Surgeon sayes no danger; when you please, I may venture, Sir, toLondon.
Ri. No hast now.
Cou. Not to-night, Sir; wee must have revells and you salute my Bride.
Un. And mine.
Tho. A knights Daughter and heire.
Fra. May all joy thrive upon your Loves. —Then you are cosend of your Mistres, Mounseir?
Do. But your nephew knowes I have met with my match. Some bodie has been put to the sword.
Ri. Come, we loose tyme.
Fra. Preserve your marriage faith: a full increase Of what you wish confirme your happinesse.
[Exeunt.
The folio volume numbered Eg. MS. 1,994 contains 349 leaves. It was purchased by the British Museum, for the very modest sum of thirty-three pounds, at the sale of Lord Charlemont's library on August 6, 1865. Mr. Warner (of the Manuscript Department of the British Museum), to whom the public are indebted for an excellent catalogue of the Dulwich Collection, thinks that the volume originally belonged to Dulwich College. Towards the end of the XVIIth century Cartwright, the actor, bequeathed to the College a number of MS. plays, which the College authorities in the middle of the last century exchanged (horrendum dictu!) for tomes of controversial divinity. Of all the plays left by the actor only one[280]—and that imperfect—remains. The late Lord Charlemont was a friend of Malone, and it is well known that Malone had many of the Dulwich documents in his possession for years. Mr. Warner's theory is that Malone lent the volume to Lord Charlemont, and that it was never returned. The objection that naturally suggests itself is, "How came so acute a scholar as Malone to fail to draw attention to a Collection of such considerable interest?" And I confess that I am not able to offer any satisfactory answer.
The volume contains in all fifteen plays, written in various hands. One piece has the author's initials attached, but the others have neither name nor initials.
First in order, leaves 1-29, stands Fletcher'sElder Brother. I have compared the MS. with Dyce's text, and find the variations to be few and unimportant. In III. 3 Dyce follows the old copies in reading:—
What a noise is in this house! my head is brokenWithin a parenthesis: in every corner,As if the earth were shaken with some strange colic,There are stirs and motions.
As the words "within a parenthesis" were found in all the old copies Dyce did not feel justified in rejecting them, although he had only the most grotesque meaning to assign to them. Theobald rightly saw that "within a parenthesis" was a marginal note, mistaken for a part of the text when the book was sent to press. The MS. gives—
Sweet heart,What noyse is in this house? my head is brokenIn every corner, as the earth were shakenWith some strange Collick: there are stirs and motions:What planet rules this house? Whos there?
In III. 5 the MS. supports Mason's correction "Their blue veinsandblush disclose," where Dyce followed the old reading "inblush."—At the end of the play, after the Epilogue, are written the three following Epigrams:—
A freemans life is like a pilgrimage:What's his life then that lives in mariage?TisSisyphushis toyle that with a stoneDoth doe what surely for ease must be done.His labours journey's endles; 'tis no riddle,Since he's but halfe on's way that stands inth' middle.
Ad Janum.
Take comfort,Janus; never feare thy headWhich to the quick belongs, not to the dead.Thy wife did lye with one; thou, being dead drunke,Then art no Cuckold though she bee a Punke.
Tis not the state nor soveraintie ofJoveCould draw thy pure affections from my love:Nor is there anyVenusin the skyesCould from thy lookes withdraw my greedy eyes.
Leaves 30-51 are taken up withDick of Devonshire. Then follows an unnamed play (leaves 52-73), written in a villainous hand. If I succeed in transcribing this play I shall print it in the third volume, for it seems to be an unpublished play of Heywood's. The next piece, entitledCalisto(leaves 74-95), which is written in the same hand, consists of scenes from Heywood'sGolden AgeandSilver Age. There are many variations from the printed copies, showing that the most active of the old playwrights found time to revise his works. Here is a song that was omitted in the printed copy. Its proper place in Pearson'sReprintof Heywood is vol. iii. p. 67:—
Whether they be awake or sleepe,With what greate Care ought Virgins keepe,With what art and indevor,The Jewell which they ought to pryseAbove the ritchest marchandise,—And once lost lost for ever!
Virginity is a rare gem,Rated above a diadem,And was despised never:'Tis that at which the most men aymeAnd being gott they count their gameAnd once lost lost for ever.
Of the charming song "Haile beauteousDian, Queene of Shades" the MS. gives a far inferior version:—
ThouTrivia, dost alone excell,In heaven when thou dost please to dwellCaldCynthia, Proserpinein Hell:But when thou theair art fyredAnd takest thy bugle and thy bowe,To chase on Earth the hart or doe,Thee forDianaall men knowe,Who art mongst us admired:PanandPomonaboath rejoyce,So swaynes and nimphes with pipe and voyce.
Off all chast vestalls thou art queeneWhich are, which heretofore have been;The fawnes and satyres cladd in greeneOn earth wayte to attend thee;And when that thou on huntinge goest,In which thou art delighted moest,They off their active swiftnes boast,For which we all comend thee.PanandPomonaboath rejoyce,So swaynes and nimphes with pipe and voyce.
We come now to a chronicle play (leaves 97-118),Edmond Ironside: The English King. This piece had a second title—A trew Chronicle History called War hath made all friends. It must be confessed that this old play is a tedious business, sadly wanting in life and movement. The following extract will give a taste of the author's quality:—
Enter Canutus, Edricus with other Lords and souldiers.
Canutus. A plague upon you all for arrant cowards!Looke how a dunghill cocke not rightly bredDoth come into the pitt with greater grace,Brislinge his feathers, settinge upp his plumes,Clappinge his winges and crowinge lowder outThen doth a cocke of game that meanes to fight;Yett after, when he feeles the spurres to pricke,Crakes like a Craven and bewrayes himself:Even soe my bigbondDaines, adrest to fightAs though they meant to scale the Cope of heaven,(And like the Giants graple with the gods)At first encounter rush uppon theire foesBut straight retire: retire? nay, run awayeAs men distraught with lightninge from aboveOr dastards feared with a sodaine fraye.
Edricus. Renowned Soveraigne, doe not fret your self.Fortune in turninge will exalt your stateAnd change the Countenaunce of her cloudy browe,Now you must hope for better still and betterAndEdmondmust expect still worse and worse,A lowringe morning proves a fayer daye,Fortunes ilfavord frowne shewes shee will smileOn you and frowne onIronside.
Canutus. What telst thou mee of fortune and her frownes,Of her sower visage and her rowling stone?Thy tongue rowles headlong into flattery.Now by theis heavens above our wretched headesYe are but cowards every one of you!Edmondis blest: oh, had I but his men,I would not doute to conquer all the worldIn shorter time the [then]Alexanderdid.But all myDainesare BraggadochiosAnd I accurst to bee the generallOf such a stocke of fearefull runawaies.
South. Remember you have lost Ten Thousand men,AllEnglishborne except a ThousandDaines.Your pensive lookes will kill them that surviveIf thus to Choller you give libertie.
Canutus. It weare no matter if they all weare slaine,Then they should neaver runne awaye againe.
Uska. My noble lord, our Cuntrymen are safe:In all their broylesEnglishgainstEnglishfight;TheDainesor none or very few are slaine.
Canutus. It was a signe yee fledd and did not fight.[turns towards Uskatant.Ist not a dishonour unto youTo see a foraingne nation fight for meeWhenas my homebred Cuntrymen doe runne,Leaving theire king amongest his enimies?
Edricus. Give not such scoope to humerous discontent,Wee all are partners of your privat greefes.Kinges are the heads, and yf the head but acheThe little finger is distempered.Wee greeve to se you greeved, which hurteth usAnd yet availes not to asswage your greefe.You are the Sunne, my lo:, wee Marigolds;Whenas you shine wee spred our selves abroadAnd take our glory from your influence;And when you hide your face or darken ytWith th'least incounter of a clowdy looke,Wee close our eies as partners of your woes,Droopinge our heades as grasse downe waid with due.Then cheere ye upp, my lord, and cheere upp us,For now our valours are extinguishedAnd all our force lyes drownd in brinish teares,As Jewells in the bottome of the sea.—I doe beseech your grace to heare mee speake.[Edricus talks to him.
The next piece (leaves 119-135), which is without a title, is founded on the Charlemagne romances. My friend, Mr. S.L. Lee, editor ofHuon of Bordeaux, in answer to my inquiries writes as follows: "Almost all the characters in this play are the traditional heroes of the French Charlemagne romances, and stand in the same relation to one another as in theLyf of Charles the Greteand theFour Sons of Aymon, both of which were first printed by Caxton, and secured through later editions a wide popularity in England during the XVIth century. I believe, however, that the story of the magic ring is drawn from another source. It is unknown to the Charlemagne romances of France and England, but it appears in several German legends of the Emperor, and is said to be still a living tradition at Aix-la-Chapelle, where the episode is usually localised (cf. Gaston, Paris,Histoire Poétique de Charlemagne, p. 383). Petrarch has given a succinct account of it in a letter written from Cologne, in which he states that he learnt it from the priests of the city, and it is through his narrative that the legend appears to have reached England. John Skelton in his poem 'Why come ye not to court?' quotes the story, and refers to the Italian poet as his authority (cf. Dyce's Skelton, II. 48 and 364, where the letter is printed at length). Southey has also made the tradition the subject of a ballad entitledKing Charlemainto which he has prefixed a French translation of the passage of Petrarch. In 1589 George Peele in aFarewelladdressed to Morris and Drake on setting out with the English forces for Spain tells them to
Bid theatres and proud tragedians,Bid Mahomet, Scipio, & mighty Tamburlaine,KingCharlemagne, Tom Stukeley and the restAdieu.
Dyce, in a note on this passage (Dyce's Peele, II. 88) writes: 'No drama calledCharlemagnehas come down to us, nor am I acquainted with any old play in which that monarch figures.' But we know from Henslowe's diary that in at least two plays that were dramatised from Charlemagne romances the Emperor must have taken a part." Mr. Lee concludes his most interesting note by suggesting that the present play may be the one to which Peele alludes; but he will at once perceive from my extracts that the date 1589 is much too early. Here is a passage that might have been written by Cyril Tourneur:—
[GanelonstabsRichard, his dearest friend, suspecting him of treachery.]
Rich. O you've slayne me! tell me, cruell sir,Why you have doone thys, that myne innocent souleMay teache repentance to you—dies.
Gan. Speake it out,—What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe?You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so:You have the trycke of mightie men in courteTo speake at leasure and pretend imployment.Well, take your tyme; tys not materyallWhether you speake the resydue behyndeNow or at doomes day. If thy common senceBe not yet parted from thee, understandI doe not misse thee dyinge because onceI loved thee dearlye; and collect by thatThere is no Devyll in me nor in hellThat could have flesht me to this violent deatheHadst thou beene false to all the world but me.
The concentrated bitterness of those lines is surpassed by nothing in theRevenger's Tragedy. Indeed, I am inclined to believe that the whole play, which is very unskilfully constructed, is by Tourneur, or perhaps by the author[281] of theSecond Maiden's Tragedy. All the figures are shrouded in a blank starless gloom; to read the play is to watch the riot of devils. Here is an extract from the scene whereOrlando, returning from the wars, hears thatCharlemagne, his uncle, has marriedGanelon'sniece, and that his own hopes of succession have been ruined by the birth of a son:—
Orl[ando.]I am the verye foote-ball of the starres,Th'anottomye of fortune whom she dyssectsWith all the poysons & sharpe corrosyvesStylld in the lymbecke of damde pollycie.My starres, my starres!O that my breath could plucke theym from theire sphearesSo with theire ruyns to conclude my feares.
Enter La Buffe.
Rei[naldo.]Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne—A propertie oth court, that least his owneIll manners should be noted thyeks it fyttIn pollycie to scoffe at other mens.He will taxe all degrees & thynke that thatKeepes hym secure from all taxation.
Orl. Y'are deceyvd; it is a noble gentyllmanAnd hated of hys father for hys vertues.
Buf. Healthe and all blessinge wherewith heauen and eartheMay comforte man, wayte on your excellence!
Orl. Although I know no mans good wyshe or prayrsCan ere be heard to my desyred good,I am not so voyde of humanytieBut I will thancke your loue.
Rei. Pray, Sir, what newseHath the courte latterly beene deliverd of?
Buf. Such as the gallymaufry that is fowndIn her large wombe may promise: he that hasThe fayrest vertues weares the foulest shyrteAnd knowes no shyfte for't: none but journeymen preistsInvay agaynst plurallytie of liueingeAnd they grow hoarse ithe cause, yet are withoutThe remedye of sugar candye for't.Offices are like huntinge breakfasts gottHurlye burlye, snatcht with like greedynes,I & allmost disjested too assoone.
Oli[ver]. I, but in sober sadnes whatts doone there?
Buf. Faythe, very littill, Sir, in sober sadnes,For there disorder hurryes perfect thyngsTo mere confussyon; nothing there hath formeBut that which spoyles all forme, & to be shorteVice only thrives & merrytt starves in courte.
Rei. What of the maryadge of your noble aunteOure fayre eied royall empresse?
Buf. Trothe I wonderd, Sir,You spooke of that no sooner, yet I hopeNone here are jealyous that I brought one sparkeTo kyndell that ill flame.
Orl. No, of my trothe,I knowe thee much too honest; but how faresThe Empresse now, my dear exequetresse?
Buf. Sir, as a woman in her casse may doe;Shee's broughte [to] bedd.
Rei. What, has she a chylde then?
Buf. I, my Lord.
Orl. A Sonne?
Buf. Mys-fortune hathe inspyrd you, Sir; tys true.
Orl. Nay when my fortune faylls me at a pynche I will thynke blasphemy a deede of merrytt. —O harte, will nothing breake the?
Rei. Tis most straunge.
Orl. Straunge? not a whytt. Why, if she had beene spaydAnd all mankynd made Euenucks, yet in spyghtMy ill fate would have gotten her with chylde—Of a son too. Hencefourthe let no manThat hathe a projecte he dothe wishe to thryveEre let me knowe it. My mere knowledge in'tWould tourne the hope't successe to an eventThat would fryghte nature, & make patyence brauleWith the most pleasinge obiecte.
Buf. Sir, be at peace;Much may be found by observatyon.
Orl. Th'arte bothe unfriendlie & uncharytable.Thys observation thou advysest toWould ryvett so my thoughts uppon my fateThat I should be distrackt. I can observeNaughte but varyetye of mysseriesCrossynge my byrthe, my blood and best endevours.I neare did good for any but greatCharles,And the meare doing that hath still brought fourthTo me some plague too heavye to be borne,But that I am reserud onlye to teachThe studyed envye of mallignant starrs.If fortune be blynde, as the poetts houlde,It is with studyinge myne afflictions:But, for her standing on a roullinge stone,Theare learninge faylls theym, for she fixed standsAnd onlye against me.
I may perhaps be tempted to print this play in full. The MS. has suffered somewhat, many lines having been cut away at the foot of some of the pages. Although the first scene is markedAct 2, Scene 2,[282] the play seemed to me to be complete. On the last leaf is written "Nella [Greek: phdphnr] la B." Some name is possibly concealed under these enigmatic letters; but the riddle would defy an Oedipus.
The next play (leaves 136-160) is entitledThe fatal Maryage, or a second Lucreatya.Galeas, on returning from the wars, crowned with praises, is requested by his widowed mother to make a journey into the province ofParmato receive moneys owed by SignorJouanny. On his arrival he falls in love withJouanny'sdaughter,Lucretia, runs away with her, and secretly marries her.Galeas'mother, angered at the match, practises to conveyLucretiato a nunnery and get her son married to an earl's daughter; butGaleasdefeats his mother's machinations by killing himself andLucretia. There is a second plot to this odd play, but enough has been said. The meeting betweenGaleasandJouannyis the best thing in the play:—
Enter Galeas & Jacomo.
Ga. You spake with him as I comanded you?
Jac. And had his promise to meet you presently.
Ga. I have heard much fame of him since my arrive,His generall nature, hospitable love;His [He's?] good to all men, enemy to none.Indeed he has that perfect characterBefore I see him I'm in love with him.
Jac. Hee has the fame few Cittizens deserve.
Ga. Why, sir, few Cittizens?
Jac. His words his bond, and does not break that bond To bankrupt others; he makes you not a library Of large monopolie to cosen all men:Subintelligitur, he hates to deale With such portentious othes as furr his mouth In the deliverance.
Enter Jouanny.
Ga. Hee comes himselfe.
Jou. SirGaleas, if I mistake not?
Ga. I weare my fathers name, sir.
Jou. And tis a dignity to weare that name. Whatts your affairs inParma?
Ga. To visit you, sir.
Jou. Gladness nor sorrow never paid mans debts.—Your pleasure, sir?
Ga. The livery of my griefe: my fathers deadAnd mee hath made his poore executor.
Jou. What? ought hee ten thousand duckets?Thy fathers face fixt in thy frontShould be the paymaster tho from my hand.
Ga. I doe not come to borrow: please yee read.
Jou. Read? and with good regard, for sorrow paies noe debts.
Ga. The summes soe great I feare, once read by him, My seeming frend will prove my enemy.
Jac. Faith, if he doe, hee proves like your French galloshes that promise faire to the feet, yet twice a day leave a man in the durt.
Jou. Was this your fathers pleasure?
Ga. It was his hand.
Jou. It was his writing, I know it as my owne, Wherein hee has wronged mee beyond measure?
Ga. How? my father wrongd yee? I'm his sonn.
Jou. Wert thou his father I'm wrongd,—Iniurd, calumniated, baffled to my teeth;And were it not that these gray haires of mineWere priviledgd ane enemy to vallour,I have a heart could see your fathers wrong—
Ga. What? raile you, sir?
Jac. Challenge a half pint pot.
Jou. There in a sawpitt, knave, to quitt my self Of such an inury.—Hee writes mee here That I should pay to you tenn thousand crownes.
Ga. As being due to him.
Jou. But thatts not my quarrell, sir; for I did owe to himMillions of Crownes, millions of my love;—And but to send a note here for his owne!Ist not a quarrell for an honest man?
Jac. With very few, I thinke.
Jou. Why, looke yee, sir:When after many a storme and dreadfull blowStrooke from fire-belching clouds, bankrupt of lifeI have home return'd; when all my frends denideTheir thresholds to mee, and my creditorsDesir'd to sinke mee in a prisoners grave,Hee gave mee dying life, his helpefull handSent mee to sea and kept mee safe on land.Ist not a quarrell then to seeke butts owne?
Ga. Oh, pray, sir—
Jou. When all the talents of oppressionOf usurers, lawyers and my creditorsHad fangd upon my wife and family,Hee gave mee dying life, his helpfull handSent mee to sea and kept mee safe on land.Ist not a quarrell then to seeke but's owne?
Ga. Good sir—
Jou. Come in, sir, where I will pay all that you can demand:Noe other quarrell, sir, shall passe your hand.
Ga. If every [one] should pay as well as youThe world were good, wee should have bankrupts few.
Jac. I'm of your mind for that. [Exeunt.
We now come to a play (leaves 161-185), without title, and wanting some leaves at the end, on the subject of Richard the Second. I think with Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, who printed eleven copies of this piece, that it is anterior to Shakespeare's play. There is less extravagance of language than in most of the plays belonging to that early date (circ. 1593?); and the blank verse, though it is monotonous enough, has perhaps rather more variety than we should expect to find. Much of the play is taken up withGreeneandBaggott; but the playwright has chiefly exerted himself in representing the murder ofWoodstockat Calais. Before the murder,Woodstockfalls asleep, and there appears to him the ghost of theBlack Prince:
… Oh I am nought but ayre:Had I the vigour of my former strengthWhen thou beheldst me fight atCressyfeild,Wher hand to hand I tooke KingJohnofFranceAnd his bould sonns my captive prisoners,Ide shake these stiff supporters of thy bedAnd dragg thee from this dull securyty.Oh yett for pittye wake; prevent thy doome;Thy blood upon my sonne will surely come:For which, deere brotherWoodstocke, haste and fly,Prevent his ruein and thy tragedy. [Exit Ghoste.
Undisturbed by this appeal,Woodstockslumbers on. Then enters the ghost ofEdward the Third. His speech is worthy of Robert Greene:—
Sleepst thou so soundly and pale death so nye?ThomasofWoodstocke, wake my sone and fly.Thy wrongs have roused thy royall fathers ghost,And from his quiat grave kingEdwardscomeTo guard thy innocent life, my princely sonne.Behould me heere, sometymes faireEnglandslord:(7) warlicke sonnes I left, yett being goneNo one succeeded in my kingly throne, &c.
I will not inflict more of this stuff on the reader. Suffice it to say thatWoodstockwakes in terror and calls aloud.Lapoole, the governor of the city, who is close at hand with two murderers, enters and comforts him. Here the playwright shows a touch of pathos:—
Good nyght,Lapoole, and pardon me, I prethee,That my sadd feare made question of thy faith.My state is fearefull and my mynd was troubledEven at thy entrance with most fearefull vissionsWhich made my passiones more extreame and hastye.Out of my better judgment I repent ittAnd will reward thy love: once more, good nyght.
Now follows theLady Mother(leaves 186-211), which I have proved to be a play of Glapthorne's. No doubt it is the same piece as theNoble Trial, entered on the Stationers' Registers, June 29, 1660, but not printed.
Then we have a masque (leaves 212-223). On the first page are given thenomina actorum, and underneath is written "August 5th, 1643." I was surprised to find in this masque a long passage that occurs also in Chapman'sByron's Tragedie(ed. Pearson, ii. 262). Ben Jonson said (to Drummond of Hawthornden) that only he and Chapman knew how to write a masque. The remark has always puzzled me, and certainly I should never have thought of Chapman's name in connexion with this masque. Here is an extract, containing the passage fromByron's Tragedie:—
Love. For thy sake, Will, I feathered all my thoughtsAnd in a bird's shape flew in to her bosome,The bosome ofDesert, thy beautious Mistris,As if I had been driven by the haukeIn that sweet sanctuary to save my liffe.She smild on me, cald me her prety bird,And for her sport she tyed my little legsIn her faire haire. Proud of my golden fettersI chirped for Joy; she confident of my lameness,Soon disintangled me & then she percht meUpon her naked breast. There being ravishdI sung with all my cheere and best of skill.She answered note for note, relish for relish,And ran division with such art and easeThat she exceeded me.
Judgment. There was rare musicke.
Love. In this swete strife, forgetting where I stood.I trod so hard in straining of my voiceThat with my claw I rent her tender skin;Which as she felt and saw vermillion followStayning the cullor ofAdonisbleedingInVenuslap, with indignationShe cast me from her.
Will. That fortune be to all that injure her.
Love. Then I put on this shepheards shape you see;I tooke my bow and quiver as in revengeAgainst the birds, shooting and following themFrom tre to tre. She passing by beheldAnd liked the sport. I offerrd her my prey,Which she receved and asked to feele my bowe;Which when she handled and beheld the beautyOf my bright arrowes, she began to beg em.I answered they were all my riches, yetI was content to hazard all and stake emDowne to a kiss at a game at chess with her."Wanton," quoth she, being privy to her skill,"A match!" Then she with that dexterryteyAnswered my challenge that I lost my weapons:NowCupidesshaffts are headed with her lookes.My mother soone perceiving my disgrace,My Arms beinge lost and gon which made me a terrorTo all the world, she tooke away my wings,Renouncd me for her child and cast me from her;And more, to be revengd uponDesert,ComandedDangerto be her strong keeper,That should she empt my quiver at the heartsOf men they might not dare to court her, fearingThat horrid mischiefe that attends [on] her.On this I threw me headlong on the seaTo sleepe my tyme out in the bottome off it;Whence you have puld me up to be a scorneTo all the World.
Will. Not so, my prety boy, Ill arme the againe;My breast shall be thy quiver, my sighes thy shaffts:And heres an opportunytey to be wingd againe;Se here the wings ofFortune.
Love.FortuneswingsAre full of giddy feathers to unsureFor me to fly with all, but I will stay with you,I like so well this aire; onely you mustProvide to keepe me from the hands ofDangerThat wayts uponDessert.
Will. Our selfes and allArcadiashall be your guard and wherLovepasses and recides he shall be allwayesArmd and attended by a band of lovers,Such faithfull ones as if that uglyDangerWereLuciferhimselfe, they should defend you.
Next on our List (leaves 224-244) is theTwo Noble Ladyes, or the Converted Conjurer. This "Tragicomicall Historie often tymes acted with approbation at theRed Bullin St.John'sStreete by the company of the Revells," is a coarse noisy play. The comic part consists of the most absurd buffoonery, and the rest is very stilted. But there is one scene—and one only—which shows genuine poetic power. It is whereCyprian, the sorcerer, having by his magical arts savedJustina, a Christian maiden, tries to gain her love:—
Enter Cyprian and Justina.
Cyprian. Doe not disdayne, faire peece of Natures pride,To heare him plead for love that sav'd thy life.It was my pow'rfull arte produc'd those monstersTo drowne those monstrous executionersThat should have wrought your wracke.
Justina. Sir, I am sorryHell had a hand in my delivery:That action cannot merrit my affection.
Cyprian. I not alleadge it for desert of graceBut argument of mercie: pitty himThat in distresse so lately pitty'd you.
Justina. I am the troth-plight wife ofClitophon,The Prince ofBabylon; hee has my hart,And theres no share for others.
Cyprian. That high stateIs now at a low ebbe: destructionHangs like a threatning Commet ore the wallsOfBabilon. Then fix thy love on himThat can more then the greatest prince on earth.Love mee, and princes shall thy pages bee;Monarchs shall lay their crownes and royaltiesAs presents at thy feet; theIndianmynesShall be thy ioyntures; all the worldes rich marchantsShall bring their pearles and pretious stones to thee,Sweet gums and spices ofArabia,FineMedianlinnen and Barbarian silkes;The earth shall beare no fruit of raritieBut thou shalt taste it. Weele transforme ourselvesIn quaintest shapes to vary our delights.And in a chariot wrought out of a cloud,Studded with starres, drawne through the subtle aireBy birds of paradise, wee'll ride togetherTo fruitfullThessalie, where in fairTempe(The only pleasant place of all the earth)Wee'll sport us under a pavilionOfTyrianscarlet.
Justina. Should these rarities(Faithlesse as are your wondrous promises)Lead me into the hazard of my souleAnd losse of such ay-lasting happinesseAs all earths glories are but shaddows to?
Cyprian. Thincke you this rare pile of perfection.Wherein Love reads a lecture of delight,Ows not it's use to Nature? There is loveIn every thing that lives: the very sunneDoes burne in love while we partake his heate;The clyming ivy with her loving twinesClips the strong oake. No skill of surgerieCan heale the wounds, nor oceans quench the flamesMade by all pow'rfull love. Witnesse myselfe:Since first the booke of your perfectionsWas brought so neare than I might read it ore,I have read in it charmes to countermandAll my enchantments and enforce mee stoopTo begge your love.
Justina. How ere you please to styleA lustfull appetite, it takes not mee.Heav'n has my bow my life shall never beeElder then my unstain'd virginitie.
Cyprian. Virginitie! prize you so dearely thatWhich common things cast of? Marke but the flow'rsThat now as morning fresh, fragrant and faire,Lay ope their beautys to the courting sunne,And amongst all the modest mayden rose:These wanton with the aire until unleavdThey die and so loose their virginitie.
Justina. InIndiathere is a flow'r (they say)Which, if a man come neare it, turnes away:By that I learne this lesson, to descrieCorrupt temptations and the tempter flie.
Leaves 245-267 are taken up with theTragedy of Nero, which was printed in 1624. Then comes [Daborne's]Poore Man's Comfort(268-292), an inferior play printed in 1655. Afterwards follows a dull play (leaves 293-316),Loves Changlelings Changed, founded on Sidney'sArcadia. The last piece in the book (leaves 317-349) isThe lancheinge of the May, Written by W.M. Gent in his return fromEast India, A.D. 1632. There is a second title,The Seamans honest wife, to this extraordinary piece. On the last leaf is a note by Sir Henry Herbert:—"This Play called yeSeamans honest wife, all ye Oaths left out in ye action as they are crost in ye booke & all other Reformations strictly observed, may bee acted, not otherwise. This 27th June, 1633. HENRY HERBERT.