THE MISFORTUNES OF ARTHUR.

With courageous hearts, O king, we will obey.

King.

Then come, my lords, let us depart away.

Both the Lords.

With heavy hearts we will do all your grace doth say.[ExeuntKingandLords.

With heavy hearts we will do all your grace doth say.

[ExeuntKingandLords.

Cruelty.

Come, lady and queen, now are you in our handling:In faith, with you we will use no dandling:

Come, lady and queen, now are you in our handling:

In faith, with you we will use no dandling:

Murder.

With all expedition, I Murder will take place,Though thou be a queen, ye be under my grace.

With all expedition, I Murder will take place,

Though thou be a queen, ye be under my grace.

Queen.

With patience I will you both obey.

Cruelty.

No more words, but go with us away.

Queen.

Yet, before I die, some psalm to God let me sing.

Both.

We be content to permit you that thing.

Queen.

Farewell, you ladies of the court,With all your masking hue:I do forsake these broder’d guards,And all the fashions new,The court and all the courtly train,Wherein I had delight;I banished am from happy sport,And all by spiteful spite.Yet with a joyful heart to GodA psalm I mean to sing,Forgiving all, and the king,Of each kind of thing.[Sing and Exeunt.

Farewell, you ladies of the court,

With all your masking hue:

I do forsake these broder’d guards,

And all the fashions new,

The court and all the courtly train,

Wherein I had delight;

I banished am from happy sport,

And all by spiteful spite.

Yet with a joyful heart to God

A psalm I mean to sing,

Forgiving all, and the king,

Of each kind of thing.

[Sing and Exeunt.

EnterAmbidexterweeping.

Ambidexter.

Ah, ah, ah, ah! I cannot choose but weep for the queen:Nothing but mourning now at the court there is seen.O, O, my heart, my heart; O, my bum will break:Very grief so torments me that scarce I can speak.Who could but weep for the loss of such a lady?That cannot I do, I swear by mine honesty.But, Lord! so the ladies mourn crying, alack!Nothing is worn now but only black;I believe all [the] cloth in Watling Street to make gowns would not serve:[248]If I make a lie, the devil let me starve!All ladies mourn both young and old;There is not one that weareth a point’s worth of gold.There is a sort for fear of the king do pray,That would have him dead, by the mass I dare say.What a king was he that hath used such tyranny?He was akin to Bishop Bonner,[249]I think verily;For both their delights was to shed blood,But never intended to do any good.Cambyses put a judge to death; that was a good deed;But to kill the young child was worse to proceed;To murder his brother, and then his own wife!So help me God and halidom, it is pity of his life,Hear ye? I will lay twenty thousand pound,That the king himself doth die by some wound;He hath shed so much blood, that his will be shed:If it come so to pass, in faith, then he is sped.

Ah, ah, ah, ah! I cannot choose but weep for the queen:

Nothing but mourning now at the court there is seen.

O, O, my heart, my heart; O, my bum will break:

Very grief so torments me that scarce I can speak.

Who could but weep for the loss of such a lady?

That cannot I do, I swear by mine honesty.

But, Lord! so the ladies mourn crying, alack!

Nothing is worn now but only black;

I believe all [the] cloth in Watling Street to make gowns would not serve:[248]

If I make a lie, the devil let me starve!

All ladies mourn both young and old;

There is not one that weareth a point’s worth of gold.

There is a sort for fear of the king do pray,

That would have him dead, by the mass I dare say.

What a king was he that hath used such tyranny?

He was akin to Bishop Bonner,[249]I think verily;

For both their delights was to shed blood,

But never intended to do any good.

Cambyses put a judge to death; that was a good deed;

But to kill the young child was worse to proceed;

To murder his brother, and then his own wife!

So help me God and halidom, it is pity of his life,

Hear ye? I will lay twenty thousand pound,

That the king himself doth die by some wound;

He hath shed so much blood, that his will be shed:

If it come so to pass, in faith, then he is sped.

Enter theKingwithout a gown, a sword thrust up into his side bleeding.

King.

Out alas? what shall I do? my life is finished;Wounded I am by sudden chance, my blood is minished:Gog’s heart, what means might I make my life to preserve?Is there nought to be my help? nor is there nought to serve?Out upon the court, and lords that there remain!To help my grief in this my case will none of them take pain?Who but I in such a wise his death’s wound could have got?As I on horse-back up did leap, my sword from scabbard shot,And run me thus into the side, as you right well may see.A marvell’s chance unfortunate, that in this wise should be.I feel myself a-dying now, of life bereft am I:And death hath caught me with his dart, for want of blood I spy.Thus gasping here on ground I lie, for nothing I do care;A just reward for my misdeeds my death doth plain declare.[Here let him quake and stir.

Out alas? what shall I do? my life is finished;

Wounded I am by sudden chance, my blood is minished:

Gog’s heart, what means might I make my life to preserve?

Is there nought to be my help? nor is there nought to serve?

Out upon the court, and lords that there remain!

To help my grief in this my case will none of them take pain?

Who but I in such a wise his death’s wound could have got?

As I on horse-back up did leap, my sword from scabbard shot,

And run me thus into the side, as you right well may see.

A marvell’s chance unfortunate, that in this wise should be.

I feel myself a-dying now, of life bereft am I:

And death hath caught me with his dart, for want of blood I spy.

Thus gasping here on ground I lie, for nothing I do care;

A just reward for my misdeeds my death doth plain declare.

[Here let him quake and stir.

Ambidexter.

How now, noble king? pluck up your heart;What, will you die, and from us depart?Speak to me, and you be alive:He cannot speak; but behold now with death he doth strive!Alas, good king: alas, he is gone!The devil take me, if for him I make any moan.I did prognosticate of his end, by the mass;Like as I did say, so is it come to pass.I will be gone; if I should be found here,That I should kill him it would appear:For fear with his death they do me charge,Farewell, my masters, I will go take barge:I mean to be packing, now is the tide:Farewell, my masters, I will no longer abide.[ExitAmbidexter.

How now, noble king? pluck up your heart;

What, will you die, and from us depart?

Speak to me, and you be alive:

He cannot speak; but behold now with death he doth strive!

Alas, good king: alas, he is gone!

The devil take me, if for him I make any moan.

I did prognosticate of his end, by the mass;

Like as I did say, so is it come to pass.

I will be gone; if I should be found here,

That I should kill him it would appear:

For fear with his death they do me charge,

Farewell, my masters, I will go take barge:

I mean to be packing, now is the tide:

Farewell, my masters, I will no longer abide.

[ExitAmbidexter.

Enter threeLords.

First Lord.

Behold, my lords, it is even so,As he to us did tell;His grace is dead upon the ground,By dent of sword most fell.

Behold, my lords, it is even so,

As he to us did tell;

His grace is dead upon the ground,

By dent of sword most fell.

Second Lord.

As he in saddle would have leapt,His sword from sheath did go,Goring him up into the side;His life was ended so.

As he in saddle would have leapt,

His sword from sheath did go,

Goring him up into the side;

His life was ended so.

Third Lord.

His blood so fast did issue out,That nought could him prolong:Yet before he yielded up the ghost,His heart was very strong.

His blood so fast did issue out,

That nought could him prolong:

Yet before he yielded up the ghost,

His heart was very strong.

First Lord.

A just reward for his misdeedsThe God above hath wrought;For certainly the life he ledWas to be counted nought.

A just reward for his misdeeds

The God above hath wrought;

For certainly the life he led

Was to be counted nought.

Second Lord.

Yet a princely burial he shall have,According his estate;And more of him here at his timeWe have not to dilate.

Yet a princely burial he shall have,

According his estate;

And more of him here at his time

We have not to dilate.

Third Lord.

My lords, let us take him up,To carry him away.

My lords, let us take him up,

To carry him away.

Both.

Content we are, with one accord,To do as you do say.[Exeunt all.

Content we are, with one accord,

To do as you do say.

[Exeunt all.

EPILOGUS.

Right gentle audience, here have you perusedThe tragical history of this wicked king;According to our duty, we have not refused,But to our best intent express’d everything:We trust none is offended for this our doing.Our author craves likewise, if he have squared amiss,By gentle admonition to know where the fault is.His good will shall not be neglected to amend the same;Praying all to bear therefore with his simple deed,Until the time serve a better he may frame:Thus yielding you thanks, to end we decreedThat you so gently have suffered us to proceed,In such patient wise as to hear and see:We can but thank you therefore, we can do no more, we.As duty binds us, for our noble queen let us pray,And for her honourable council, the truth that they may use,To practise justice, and defend her grace each day;To maintain God’s word they may not refuse,To correct all those, that would her grace and grace’s laws abuse;Beseeching God over us she may reign long,To be guided by truth, and defended from wrong.

Right gentle audience, here have you perused

The tragical history of this wicked king;

According to our duty, we have not refused,

But to our best intent express’d everything:

We trust none is offended for this our doing.

Our author craves likewise, if he have squared amiss,

By gentle admonition to know where the fault is.

His good will shall not be neglected to amend the same;Praying all to bear therefore with his simple deed,Until the time serve a better he may frame:Thus yielding you thanks, to end we decreedThat you so gently have suffered us to proceed,In such patient wise as to hear and see:We can but thank you therefore, we can do no more, we.

His good will shall not be neglected to amend the same;

Praying all to bear therefore with his simple deed,

Until the time serve a better he may frame:

Thus yielding you thanks, to end we decreed

That you so gently have suffered us to proceed,

In such patient wise as to hear and see:

We can but thank you therefore, we can do no more, we.

As duty binds us, for our noble queen let us pray,And for her honourable council, the truth that they may use,To practise justice, and defend her grace each day;To maintain God’s word they may not refuse,To correct all those, that would her grace and grace’s laws abuse;Beseeching God over us she may reign long,To be guided by truth, and defended from wrong.

As duty binds us, for our noble queen let us pray,

And for her honourable council, the truth that they may use,

To practise justice, and defend her grace each day;

To maintain God’s word they may not refuse,

To correct all those, that would her grace and grace’s laws abuse;

Beseeching God over us she may reign long,

To be guided by truth, and defended from wrong.

[228][Like “King Darius’ doleful strain,” in allusion to the old interlude on that subject.][229][The play was licenced to John Allde in 1569-70. See Collier’s “Extracts,”i.205. As that printer continued in business till 1584, and the earliest dated piece with the younger Allde’s name bears the same date, “Cambyses” may have been republished about 1585; but it does not seem to have been licenced.][230]Shakespeare’s Clowns are genuine successors of the old Vice; and, as an editor of that poet has well observed, Punch still exhibits the entire character.[231][One of them is printed by Collier.][232][Might not this incident have suggested to Shakespeare the leading one in “Measure for Measure”?][233][This incident was no doubt suggested by a well-known passage in the earlier play of “Thersites.”][234]Here is evidently a line omitted, which it is impossible to supply by conjecture.[235][Old copy,the.][236][Old copy,of.][237][Old copy,the.][238][Greediness or greed.][239][Old copy,want.][240][Old copy,taste it still.][241][Intention.][242][By our lady.][243][By my faith; and a little further on we havebum troth—by my troth.][244][Old copy,do.][245][Old copy,in.][246][Old copy,beautie.][247][Forget. A very rare word.][248][This reference to Watling Street as an early emporium for cloth is interesting, and does not seem to have been noticed.][249][Here Preston makes Ambidexter refer to Bonner as dead, an event which happened in 1569, and as this play was licenced in 1569-70, it must have been written immediately prior to its entry at Stationers’ Hall.]

[228][Like “King Darius’ doleful strain,” in allusion to the old interlude on that subject.]

[229][The play was licenced to John Allde in 1569-70. See Collier’s “Extracts,”i.205. As that printer continued in business till 1584, and the earliest dated piece with the younger Allde’s name bears the same date, “Cambyses” may have been republished about 1585; but it does not seem to have been licenced.]

[230]Shakespeare’s Clowns are genuine successors of the old Vice; and, as an editor of that poet has well observed, Punch still exhibits the entire character.

[231][One of them is printed by Collier.]

[232][Might not this incident have suggested to Shakespeare the leading one in “Measure for Measure”?]

[233][This incident was no doubt suggested by a well-known passage in the earlier play of “Thersites.”]

[234]Here is evidently a line omitted, which it is impossible to supply by conjecture.

[235][Old copy,the.]

[236][Old copy,of.]

[237][Old copy,the.]

[238][Greediness or greed.]

[239][Old copy,want.]

[240][Old copy,taste it still.]

[241][Intention.]

[242][By our lady.]

[243][By my faith; and a little further on we havebum troth—by my troth.]

[244][Old copy,do.]

[245][Old copy,in.]

[246][Old copy,beautie.]

[247][Forget. A very rare word.]

[248][This reference to Watling Street as an early emporium for cloth is interesting, and does not seem to have been noticed.]

[249][Here Preston makes Ambidexter refer to Bonner as dead, an event which happened in 1569, and as this play was licenced in 1569-70, it must have been written immediately prior to its entry at Stationers’ Hall.]

EDITION.

Certaine Devises and shewes presented to her Majestie by the Gentlemen of Grayes-Inne, at her Highnesse Court in Greenewich, the twenty eighth day of Februarie in the thirtieth yeare of her Majesties most happy Raigne. At London. Printed by Robert Robinson. 1587.8o. Black-letter.

MR COLLIER’S PREFACE.

It appears that eight persons, members of the Society of Gray’s Inn, were engaged in the production of “The Misfortunes of Arthur,” for the entertainment of Queen Elizabeth, at Greenwich, on the 8th February 1587-8,viz., Thomas Hughes, the author of the whole body of the tragedy; William Fulbecke, who wrote two speeches substituted on the representation and appended to the old printed copy; Nicholas Trotte, who furnished the introduction; Francis Flower, who penned choruses for the first and second acts; Christopher Yelverton, Francis Bacon, and John Lancaster, who devised the dumb-shows, then usually accompanying such performances; and a person of the name of Penruddock, who, assisted by Flower and Lancaster, “directed the proceedings at court.”

Regarding Hughes and Trotte no information has survived. Fulbecke was born in 1566; became, as we are told, an eminent writer on the law, and in the year when this tragedy was brought out, published a work called “Christian Ethics.” The “Maister Francis Bacon,” spoken of at the conclusion of the piece, was,of course, no other than [the great] Bacon; and it is a new feature in his biography, though not perhaps very prominent nor important, that he was so nearly concerned in the preparation of a play at court. In February 1587-8, he had just commenced his twenty-eighth year. Christopher Yelverton, as early as 1566, had written the epilogue to Gascoigne’s “Jocasta,” and on the present occasion was probably resorted to for his experience in such undertakings. Regarding Flower, Lancaster, and Penruddock we have nothing to communicate.

“The Misfortunes of Arthur” is a dramatic composition only known to exist in the Garrick Collection.[250]Judging from internal evidence, it seems to have been printed with unusual care under the superintendence of the principal author. In the course of it, some lines and words were cancelled, and those which were substituted were pasted over the objectionable passages. In the notes we have given both versions, and the whole is reprinted as nearly as possible in its original shape. The mere rarity of this unique drama would not have recommended it to our notice; but it is not likely that such a man as Bacon would have lent his aid to the production of a piece which was not intrinsically good, and unless we much mistake, there is a richer and a nobler vein of poetry running through it than is to be found in any previous work of the kind. The blank verse is generally free and flowing, although now and then deformed by alliteration, andrendered somewhat monotonous by the want of that variety of rhythm, which Marlowe may be said to have introduced, and which Shakespeare scarcely exceeded.

Most of the characters, and particularly those of Arthur and Mordred, are drawn with distinctness and vigour: the fiery and reckless ambition of the son is excellently contrasted with the cool determination and natural affection of the father. As an illustration of the former we may refer to many passages, but especially to several in the third scene of the second act; while the character and disposition of the latter are depicted in a masterly manner both before and after the final battle. This catastrophe, as far as relates to the death of Mordred, is mentioned by Dante in cantoxxxii.of his “Inferno”—

“Non quelli a cui fu rotto il petto e l’ombra.Con esso un colpo per la man d’Artu.”

“Non quelli a cui fu rotto il petto e l’ombra.

Con esso un colpo per la man d’Artu.”

The substance of the story is to be found in the “Morte Arthur.” The action is one, but the unities of time and place are disregarded; and although the tragedy in many respects is conducted upon the plan of the ancients, there are in it evident approaches to the irregularity of our romantic drama. It forms a sort of connecting link between such pieces of unimpassioned formality as “Ferrex and Porrex,” and rule-rejecting historical plays, as Shakespeare found them and left them.

THE NAMES OF THE SPEAKERS.

An introduction, penned by Nicholas Trotte, Gentleman, one of the Society of Gray’s Inn, which was pronounced in manner following:—viz.,Three Muses came on the stage apparelled accordingly, bringing five Gentlemen Students with them, attired in their usual garments, whom one of the Muses presented to Her Majesty as captives. The cause whereof she delivered by speech as followeth:—

Of conquest (gracious queen) the signs and fruits,Achieved ’gainst such as wrongfully withheldThe service by choice wits to Muses due,In humblest wise these captives we present.And lest your highness might suspect the gift,As spoil of war that justice might impeach,Hear and discern how just our quarrel was,Avouched (as you see) by good success.A dame there is, whom men Astrœa term,She that pronounceth oracles of laws,Who to prepare fit servants for her train,As by commission, takes up flow’ring wits,Whom first she schooleth to forget and scornThe noble skills of language and of arts,The wisdom which discourse of stories teach:The ornaments which various knowledge yields.But poesy she hath in most disdain,And marshals it next Folly’s scorned place.Then, when she hath these worthy prints defac’dOut of the minds that can endure her hand.What doth she then supply instead of these?Forsooth, some old reports of altered laws,Clamours of courts, and cavils upon words,Grounds without ground, supported by conceit,And reasons of more subtlety than sense.What shall I say of moot points strange, and doubtsStill argued, but never yet agreed?And she that doth deride the poet’s law,Because he must his words in order place,Forgets her forms of pleading, more precise—More bound to words than is the poet’s lore:And for these fine conceits she fitly choseA tongue that barbarism itself doth use.We, noting all these wrongs, did long expectTheir hard condition would have made them wise,To offer us their service, plac’d so ill;But finding them addicted to their choice,And specially desirous to presentYour Majesty with fruits of province new,Now did resolve to double force and skill,And found and us’d the vantage of the time,Surpris’d their fort, and took them captives all.So now submiss, as to their state belongs,They gladly yield their homage long withdrawn,And Poetry, which they did most contemn,They glory now her favours for to wear.My sisters laugh’d to see them take the pen,And lose their wits all in unwonted walks:But to your highness that delight we leave,To see these poets new their style advance.Such as they are, or nought or little worth,Deign to accept, and therewith we beseech,That novelty give price to worthless things.

Of conquest (gracious queen) the signs and fruits,

Achieved ’gainst such as wrongfully withheld

The service by choice wits to Muses due,

In humblest wise these captives we present.

And lest your highness might suspect the gift,

As spoil of war that justice might impeach,

Hear and discern how just our quarrel was,

Avouched (as you see) by good success.

A dame there is, whom men Astrœa term,

She that pronounceth oracles of laws,

Who to prepare fit servants for her train,

As by commission, takes up flow’ring wits,

Whom first she schooleth to forget and scorn

The noble skills of language and of arts,

The wisdom which discourse of stories teach:

The ornaments which various knowledge yields.

But poesy she hath in most disdain,

And marshals it next Folly’s scorned place.

Then, when she hath these worthy prints defac’d

Out of the minds that can endure her hand.

What doth she then supply instead of these?

Forsooth, some old reports of altered laws,

Clamours of courts, and cavils upon words,

Grounds without ground, supported by conceit,

And reasons of more subtlety than sense.

What shall I say of moot points strange, and doubts

Still argued, but never yet agreed?

And she that doth deride the poet’s law,

Because he must his words in order place,

Forgets her forms of pleading, more precise—

More bound to words than is the poet’s lore:

And for these fine conceits she fitly chose

A tongue that barbarism itself doth use.

We, noting all these wrongs, did long expect

Their hard condition would have made them wise,

To offer us their service, plac’d so ill;

But finding them addicted to their choice,

And specially desirous to present

Your Majesty with fruits of province new,

Now did resolve to double force and skill,

And found and us’d the vantage of the time,

Surpris’d their fort, and took them captives all.

So now submiss, as to their state belongs,

They gladly yield their homage long withdrawn,

And Poetry, which they did most contemn,

They glory now her favours for to wear.

My sisters laugh’d to see them take the pen,

And lose their wits all in unwonted walks:

But to your highness that delight we leave,

To see these poets new their style advance.

Such as they are, or nought or little worth,

Deign to accept, and therewith we beseech,

That novelty give price to worthless things.

Unto this speech one of the Gentlemen answered as followeth:

Good ladies, unacquaint with cunning reach,And eas’ly led to glory in your pow’r,Hear now abash’d our late dissembled minds.Nor now the first time, as yourselves best know,Ye Muses sought our service to command:Oft have ye wandered from Parnassus Hill,And showed yourselves with sweet and tempting grace,But yet return’d, your train increas’d with few.This resolution doth continue still:Unto Astrea’s name we honour bear,Whose sound perfections we do more admireThan all the vaunted store of Muses’ gifts,Let this be one (which last you put in ureIn well depraving that deserveth praise)No eloquence, disguising reason’s shape,Nor poetry, each vain affection’s nurse,No various history, that doth lead the mindAbroad to ancient tales from instant use,Nor these, nor other mo, too long to note,Can win Astrea’s servants to removeTheir service once devote to better things.They, with attentive minds and serious wits,Revolve records of deep judicial acts;They weigh with steady and indifferent handEach word of law, each circumstance of right:They hold the grounds which time and use hath sooth’d,[251]Though shallow sense conceive them as conceits—Presumptuous sense, whose ignorance dare judgeOf things remov’d by reason from her reach.One doubt, in moots by argument increas’d,Clears many doubts experience doth object.The language she first chose, and still retains,Exhibits naked truth in aptest terms.Our industry maintaineth unimpeach’d:Prerogative of prince, respect to peers,The Commons’ liberty and each man’s right;Suppresseth mutin force and practice fraud,Things that for worth our studious care deserve:Yet never did we banish nor rejectThose ornaments of knowledge nor of tongues:That slander envious ignorance did raise.With Muses still we intercourse allow,T’enrich our state with all their foreign freight;But never homage nor acknowledgment,Such as of subjects allegiance doth require.Now hear the cause of your late conquest won.We had discovered your intent to be(And, sure, ye ladies are not secret all;Speech and not silence is the Muse’s grace)We well perceiv’d (I say) your mind to beT’ employ such prisoners, as themselves did yield,To serve a Queen, for whom her purest goldNature refin’d, that she might therein setBoth private and imperial virtues all.Thus (Sovereign Lady of our laws and us)Zeal may transform us into any shape.We, which with trembling hand the pen did guide,Never well pleas’d, all for desire to please;For still your rare perfections did occur,Which are admir’d of Muses and of men.O, with how steady hand and heart assur’d,Should we take up the warlike lance or sword,With mind resolv’d to spend our loyal bloodYour least command with speed to execute!O, that before our time the fleeting shipNe’er wandered had in watery wilderness,That we might first that venture undertakeIn strange attempt t’ approve our loyal hearts!Be it soldiers, seamen, poets, or what else,In service once enjoin’d, to ready mindsOur want of use should our devoir increase.Now since instead of art we bring but zeal,Instead of praise we humbly pardon crave.The matter which we purpose to present,Since straights of time our liberty controls,In tragic notes the plagues of vice recounts.How suits a tragedy for such a time?Thus—for that since your sacred MajestyIn gracious hands the regal sceptre held,All tragedies are fled from State to stage.Nicholas Trotte.

Good ladies, unacquaint with cunning reach,

And eas’ly led to glory in your pow’r,

Hear now abash’d our late dissembled minds.

Nor now the first time, as yourselves best know,

Ye Muses sought our service to command:

Oft have ye wandered from Parnassus Hill,

And showed yourselves with sweet and tempting grace,

But yet return’d, your train increas’d with few.

This resolution doth continue still:

Unto Astrea’s name we honour bear,

Whose sound perfections we do more admire

Than all the vaunted store of Muses’ gifts,

Let this be one (which last you put in ure

In well depraving that deserveth praise)

No eloquence, disguising reason’s shape,

Nor poetry, each vain affection’s nurse,

No various history, that doth lead the mind

Abroad to ancient tales from instant use,

Nor these, nor other mo, too long to note,

Can win Astrea’s servants to remove

Their service once devote to better things.

They, with attentive minds and serious wits,

Revolve records of deep judicial acts;

They weigh with steady and indifferent hand

Each word of law, each circumstance of right:

They hold the grounds which time and use hath sooth’d,[251]

Though shallow sense conceive them as conceits—

Presumptuous sense, whose ignorance dare judge

Of things remov’d by reason from her reach.

One doubt, in moots by argument increas’d,

Clears many doubts experience doth object.

The language she first chose, and still retains,

Exhibits naked truth in aptest terms.

Our industry maintaineth unimpeach’d:

Prerogative of prince, respect to peers,

The Commons’ liberty and each man’s right;

Suppresseth mutin force and practice fraud,

Things that for worth our studious care deserve:

Yet never did we banish nor reject

Those ornaments of knowledge nor of tongues:

That slander envious ignorance did raise.

With Muses still we intercourse allow,

T’enrich our state with all their foreign freight;

But never homage nor acknowledgment,

Such as of subjects allegiance doth require.

Now hear the cause of your late conquest won.

We had discovered your intent to be

(And, sure, ye ladies are not secret all;

Speech and not silence is the Muse’s grace)

We well perceiv’d (I say) your mind to be

T’ employ such prisoners, as themselves did yield,

To serve a Queen, for whom her purest gold

Nature refin’d, that she might therein set

Both private and imperial virtues all.

Thus (Sovereign Lady of our laws and us)

Zeal may transform us into any shape.

We, which with trembling hand the pen did guide,

Never well pleas’d, all for desire to please;

For still your rare perfections did occur,

Which are admir’d of Muses and of men.

O, with how steady hand and heart assur’d,

Should we take up the warlike lance or sword,

With mind resolv’d to spend our loyal blood

Your least command with speed to execute!

O, that before our time the fleeting ship

Ne’er wandered had in watery wilderness,

That we might first that venture undertake

In strange attempt t’ approve our loyal hearts!

Be it soldiers, seamen, poets, or what else,

In service once enjoin’d, to ready minds

Our want of use should our devoir increase.

Now since instead of art we bring but zeal,

Instead of praise we humbly pardon crave.

The matter which we purpose to present,

Since straights of time our liberty controls,

In tragic notes the plagues of vice recounts.

How suits a tragedy for such a time?

Thus—for that since your sacred Majesty

In gracious hands the regal sceptre held,

All tragedies are fled from State to stage.

Nicholas Trotte.

The misfortunes of Arthur (Uther Pendragon’s son) reduced into tragical notes by Thomas Hughes, one of the society of Gray’s Inn, and here set down as it passed from under his hands, and as it was presented, excepting certain words and lines, where some of the actors either helped their memories by brief omission, or fitted their acting by some alteration; with a note in the end of such speeches as were penned by others, in lieu of some of these hereafter following.

The Argument of the Tragedy.

At a banquet made by Uther Pendragon for the solemnising of his conquest against the Saxons, he fell enamoured of Igerna, wife to Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall who, perceiving the king’s passion, departed with his wife and prepared wars at Cornwall, where also, in a stronghold beyond him, he placed her. Then the king levied an army to suppress him, but waxing impatient of his desire to Igerna, transformed himself, by Merlin his cunning, into the likeness of Gorlois, and after his acceptance with Igerna he returned to his siege, where he slew Gorlois. Igerna was delivered of Arthur and Anne, twins of the same birth. Uther Pendragon, fifteen years after, pursuing the Saxons, was by them poisoned. Arthur delighted in his sister Anne, who made him father of Mordred. Seventeen years after, Lucius Tiberius of Rome demanded a tribute, due by conquest of Cæsar. Arthur gathered his powers of thirteen kings besides his own, and leaving his queen Guenevera in the tuition of Mordred, to whom likewise he committed the kingdom in his absence, arrived at France where, after nine years’ wars, he sent the slain body of Tiberius unto Rome for the tribute. During this absence, Mordred grew ambitious, for th’ effecting whereof he made love to Guenevera, who gave ear unto him. Then by th’ assistance of Gilla, a British lord, he usurped, and for maintenance entertained with large promises the Saxons, Irish, Picts, and Normans. Guenevera hearing that Arthur was already embarked for return, through despair purposing diversely, sometimes to kill her husband, sometimes to kill herself, at last resolved to enter into religion. Arthur at his landing was resisted on the strands of Dover,where he put Mordred to flight. The last field was fought at Cornwall where, after the death of one hundred and twenty thousand, saving on either side twenty, Mordred received his death, and Arthur his deadly wound.

The Argument and Manner of the First Dumb-Show.

Sounding the music, there rose three furies from under the stage, apparelled accordingly with snakes and flames about their black hair and garments. The first with a snake in the right hand, and a cup of wine, with a snake athwart the cup, in the left hand. The second with a firebrand in the right hand, and a Cupid in the left. The third with a whip in the right hand and a Pegasus in the left. While they went masking about the stage, there came from another place three nuns, which walked by themselves. Then after a full sight given to the beholders, they all parted, the furies to Mordred’s house, the nuns to the cloister. By the first fury with the snake and cup was signified the banquet of Uther Pendragon, and afterward his death, which ensued by the poisoned cup. The second fury, with her firebrand and Cupid, represented Uther’s unlawful heat and love conceived at the banquet, which never ceased in his posterity. By the third, with her whip and Pegasus, was prefigured the cruelty and ambition which thence ensued and continued to th’ effecting of this tragedy. By the nuns was signified the remorse and despair of Guenevera that, wanting other hope, took a nunnery for her refuge. After their departure, the four which represented the Chorus took their places.

The Argument of the First Act.

1. In the first scene the spirit of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, the man first and most wronged in this history, being despoil’d both of wife, dukedom, and life, craveth revenge for these injuries, denouncing the whole misfortune ensuing.

2. In the second scene Guenevera, hearing that Arthur was on the seas returning desperately, menaceth his death, from which intent she is dissuaded by Fronia, a lady of her court, and privy to her secrets.

3. In the third scene Guenevera perplexedly mindeth her own death, whence being dissuaded by her sister, she resolveth to enter into religion.

4. In the fourth scene Mordred goeth about to persuade Guenevera to persist in her love, but misseth thereof; and then is exhorted by Conan (a nobleman of Britain) to reconcile himself to his father at his coming, but refuseth so to do, and resolveth to keep him from landing by battle.

THE MISFORTUNES OF ARTHUR.

THE FIRST ACT AND FIRST SCENE.

Gorlois.[252]

Since thus through channels black of Limbo lake,And deep infernal flood of Stygian pool,The ghastly Charon’s boat transported backThy ghost from Pluto’s pits and glooming shadeTo former light, once lost by dest’ny’s doom,Where proud Pendragon, broil’d with shameful lust,Despoil’d thee erst of wife, of land and life,Now, Gorlois, work thy wish, cast here thy gall:Glut on revenge! thy wrath abhors delays.What though (besides Pendragon’s poisoned end)The vile reproach he wrought thee by thy pheer,[253]Through deep increase of crimes alike is plagu’d;And that the shame thou sufered’st for his lusts,Reboundeth back and stifleth in his stock,Yet is not mischief’s measure all fulfill’d,Nor wreak sufficient wrought. Thy murdered corpseAnd dukedom reft for heavier vengeance cries.Come, therefore, blooms of settled mischief’s root:Come, each thing else what fury can invent,Wreak all at once! infect the air with plagues,Till bad to worse, till worse to worse be turn’d!Let mischiefs know no mean, nor plagues an end!Let th’ offspring’s sin exceed the former stock!Let none have time to hate his former fault,But still with fresh supply let punish’d crimeIncrease, till time it make a complete sin!Go to: some fact, which no age shall allowNor yet conceal—some fact must needs be dur’d,That for the horror great and outrage fellThereof may well beseem Pendragon’s brood.And first, while Arthur’s navies homeward float,Triumphantly bedeck’d with Roman spoils,Let Guenevera express what frantic moodsDistract a wife, when wronging wedlock’s rights,Both fond and fell, she loves and loathes at once.Let deep despair pursue till, loathing life,Her hateful head in cowl and cloister lurk.Let traitorous Mordred keep his sire from shore;Let Britain rest a prey for foreign powers;Let sword and fire, still fed with mutual strife,Turn all the kings to ghosts: let civil warsAnd discord swell, till all the realm be torn!Even in that soil whereof myself was Duke,Where first my spouse Igerna brake her vow,Where this ungracious offspring was begot:In Cornwall—there let Mordred’s death declare,Let Arthur’s fatal wound bewray, the wrong,The murder vile, the rape of wife and weal,Wherewith their sire incens’d both Gods and man.Thus, thus Pendragon’s seed, so sown and reap’d,Thus cursed imps, ill-born and worse consum’d,Shall render just revenge for parents’ crimes,And penance do, t’ assuage my swelling wrath.The whiles, O Cassiopœa, gem-bright sign,Most sacred sight and sweet celestial star,This climate’s joy, plac’d in imperial throne,With fragrant olive-branch portending peace;And whosoe’er besides, ye heavenly powers,(Her stately train with influence divine,And mild aspect all prone to Britain’s good)Foresee what present plagues do threat this isle,Prevent not this my wreak. For you there restsA happier age, a thousand years to come;An age for peace, religion, wealth, and ease,When all the world shall wonder at your bliss:That, that is yours! Leave this to Gorlois’ ghost.And see where comes one engine of my hate,With moods and manners fit for my revenge.[Exit.

Since thus through channels black of Limbo lake,

And deep infernal flood of Stygian pool,

The ghastly Charon’s boat transported back

Thy ghost from Pluto’s pits and glooming shade

To former light, once lost by dest’ny’s doom,

Where proud Pendragon, broil’d with shameful lust,

Despoil’d thee erst of wife, of land and life,

Now, Gorlois, work thy wish, cast here thy gall:

Glut on revenge! thy wrath abhors delays.

What though (besides Pendragon’s poisoned end)

The vile reproach he wrought thee by thy pheer,[253]

Through deep increase of crimes alike is plagu’d;

And that the shame thou sufered’st for his lusts,

Reboundeth back and stifleth in his stock,

Yet is not mischief’s measure all fulfill’d,

Nor wreak sufficient wrought. Thy murdered corpse

And dukedom reft for heavier vengeance cries.

Come, therefore, blooms of settled mischief’s root:

Come, each thing else what fury can invent,

Wreak all at once! infect the air with plagues,

Till bad to worse, till worse to worse be turn’d!

Let mischiefs know no mean, nor plagues an end!

Let th’ offspring’s sin exceed the former stock!

Let none have time to hate his former fault,

But still with fresh supply let punish’d crime

Increase, till time it make a complete sin!

Go to: some fact, which no age shall allow

Nor yet conceal—some fact must needs be dur’d,

That for the horror great and outrage fell

Thereof may well beseem Pendragon’s brood.

And first, while Arthur’s navies homeward float,

Triumphantly bedeck’d with Roman spoils,

Let Guenevera express what frantic moods

Distract a wife, when wronging wedlock’s rights,

Both fond and fell, she loves and loathes at once.

Let deep despair pursue till, loathing life,

Her hateful head in cowl and cloister lurk.

Let traitorous Mordred keep his sire from shore;

Let Britain rest a prey for foreign powers;

Let sword and fire, still fed with mutual strife,

Turn all the kings to ghosts: let civil wars

And discord swell, till all the realm be torn!

Even in that soil whereof myself was Duke,

Where first my spouse Igerna brake her vow,

Where this ungracious offspring was begot:

In Cornwall—there let Mordred’s death declare,

Let Arthur’s fatal wound bewray, the wrong,

The murder vile, the rape of wife and weal,

Wherewith their sire incens’d both Gods and man.

Thus, thus Pendragon’s seed, so sown and reap’d,

Thus cursed imps, ill-born and worse consum’d,

Shall render just revenge for parents’ crimes,

And penance do, t’ assuage my swelling wrath.

The whiles, O Cassiopœa, gem-bright sign,

Most sacred sight and sweet celestial star,

This climate’s joy, plac’d in imperial throne,

With fragrant olive-branch portending peace;

And whosoe’er besides, ye heavenly powers,

(Her stately train with influence divine,

And mild aspect all prone to Britain’s good)

Foresee what present plagues do threat this isle,

Prevent not this my wreak. For you there rests

A happier age, a thousand years to come;

An age for peace, religion, wealth, and ease,

When all the world shall wonder at your bliss:

That, that is yours! Leave this to Gorlois’ ghost.

And see where comes one engine of my hate,

With moods and manners fit for my revenge.

[Exit.

THE SECOND SCENE.

Guenevera, Fronia.

Guenevera.And dares he after nine years’ space return,And see her face, whom he so long disdain’d?Was I then chose and wedded for his stale,To look and gape for his retireless sails,Puff’d back and flittering spread to every wind?O wrong, content with no revenge, seek outUndared plagues: teach Mordred how to rage:Attempt some bloody, dreadful, irksome fact,And such as Mordred would were rather his.Why stayest? It must he done! let bridle go:Frame out some trap beyond all vulgar guile,Beyond Medea’s wiles: attempt some fact,That any wight unwieldy[254]of herself,That any spouse unfaithful to her pheer,Durst e’er attempt in most despair of weal.Spare no revenge, b’ it poison, knife, or fire!Fronia.Good madam, temper these outrageous moods,And let not will usurp, where wit should rule.Guenevera.The wrath that breatheth blood doth loathe to lurk:What reason most withholds, rage wrings perforce.I am disdain’d: so will I not be long.That very hour that he shall first arrive,Shall be the last that shall afford him life.Though neither seas, nor lands, nor wars abroadSufficed for thy foil, yet shalt thou findFar worse at home—thy deep-displeased spouse.Whate’er thou hast subdu’d in all thy stayThis hand shall now subdue; then stay thy fill.What’s this? my mind recoils and irks these threats:Anger delays, my grief gins to assuage,My fury faints, and sacred wedlock’s faithPresents itself. Why shunn’st thou fearful wrath?Add coals afresh: preserve me to this venge,At least exile thyself to realms unknown,And steal his wealth to help thy banish’d state;For flight is best. O base and heartless fear!Theft? Exile? Flight? all these may fortune sendUnsought; but thee beseems more high revenge.Come, spiteful fiends, come, heaps of furies fell,Not one by one, but all at once! my breastRaves not enough: it likes me to be fill’dWith greater monsters yet. My heart doth throb,My liver boils: somewhat my mind portends,Uncertain what; but whatsoever, it’s huge.So it exceed, be what it will, it’s well.Omit no plague, and none will be enough:Wrong cannot be reveng’d but by excess.Fronia.O, spare this heat! you yield too much to rage:Y’ are too unjust. Is there no mean in wrong?Guenevera.Wrong claims a mean, when first you offer wrong:The mean is vain when wrong is in revenge.Great harms cannot be hid: the grief is small,That can receive advice, or rule itself.Fronia.Hatred conceal’d doth often hap to hurt,But once profess’d, it oft’ner fails revenge.How better tho’ wert to repress your ire:A lady’s best revenge is to forgive.What mean is in your hate? how much soe’erYou can invent or dare, so much you hate.Guenevera.And would you know what mean there is in hate?Call love to mind, and see what mean is there!My love, redoubled love, and constant faithEngaged unto Mordred works so deep,That both my heart and marrow quite be burnt,And sinews dried with force of wontless flames.Desire to joy him still torments my mind:Fear of his want doth add a double grief.Lo, here the love that stirs this meanless hate!Fronia.Eschew it far: such love impugns the laws.Guenevera.Unlawful love doth like, when lawful loathes.Fronia.And is your love of husband quite extinct?Guenevera.The greater flame must needs delay the less:Besides, his sore revenge I greatly fear.Fronia.How can you then attempt a fresh offence?Guenevera.Who can appoint a stint to her offence?Fronia.But here the greatness of the fact should move.Guenevera.The greater it, the fitter for my grief.Fronia.To kill your spouse?Guenevera.A stranger and a foe.Fronia.Your liege and king.Guenevera.He wants both realm and crown.Fronia.Nature affords not to your sex such strength.Guenevera.Love, anguish, wrath, will soon afford enough.Fronia.What rage is this?Guenevera.Such as himself shall rue.Fronia.Whom Gods do press enough, will you annoy?Guenevera.Whom Gods do press, they bend; whom man annoys,He breaks.Fronia.Your grief is more than his deserts.Each fault requires an equal hate: be not severe,Where crimes be light. As you have felt, so grieve.Guenevera.And seems it light to want him nine year spaceThen to be spoil’d of one I hold more dear?Think all too much, b’it ne’er so just, that feedsContinual grief: the lasting woe is worst.Fronia.Yet let your highness shun these desperate moods:Cast off this rage and fell-disposed mind.Put not shame quite to flight: have some regardBoth of your sex and future fame of life.Use no such cruel thoughts, as far exceedA manly mind, much more a woman’s heart.Guenevera.Well, shame is not so quite exil’d, but thatI can and will respect your sage advice.Your counsel I accept: give leave a while,Till fiery wrath may slake, and rage relent.[Exit Fronia.

Guenevera.And dares he after nine years’ space return,

And see her face, whom he so long disdain’d?

Was I then chose and wedded for his stale,

To look and gape for his retireless sails,

Puff’d back and flittering spread to every wind?

O wrong, content with no revenge, seek out

Undared plagues: teach Mordred how to rage:

Attempt some bloody, dreadful, irksome fact,

And such as Mordred would were rather his.

Why stayest? It must he done! let bridle go:

Frame out some trap beyond all vulgar guile,

Beyond Medea’s wiles: attempt some fact,

That any wight unwieldy[254]of herself,

That any spouse unfaithful to her pheer,

Durst e’er attempt in most despair of weal.

Spare no revenge, b’ it poison, knife, or fire!

Fronia.Good madam, temper these outrageous moods,And let not will usurp, where wit should rule.

Fronia.Good madam, temper these outrageous moods,

And let not will usurp, where wit should rule.

Guenevera.The wrath that breatheth blood doth loathe to lurk:What reason most withholds, rage wrings perforce.I am disdain’d: so will I not be long.That very hour that he shall first arrive,Shall be the last that shall afford him life.Though neither seas, nor lands, nor wars abroadSufficed for thy foil, yet shalt thou findFar worse at home—thy deep-displeased spouse.Whate’er thou hast subdu’d in all thy stayThis hand shall now subdue; then stay thy fill.What’s this? my mind recoils and irks these threats:Anger delays, my grief gins to assuage,My fury faints, and sacred wedlock’s faithPresents itself. Why shunn’st thou fearful wrath?Add coals afresh: preserve me to this venge,At least exile thyself to realms unknown,And steal his wealth to help thy banish’d state;For flight is best. O base and heartless fear!Theft? Exile? Flight? all these may fortune sendUnsought; but thee beseems more high revenge.Come, spiteful fiends, come, heaps of furies fell,Not one by one, but all at once! my breastRaves not enough: it likes me to be fill’dWith greater monsters yet. My heart doth throb,My liver boils: somewhat my mind portends,Uncertain what; but whatsoever, it’s huge.So it exceed, be what it will, it’s well.Omit no plague, and none will be enough:Wrong cannot be reveng’d but by excess.

Guenevera.The wrath that breatheth blood doth loathe to lurk:

What reason most withholds, rage wrings perforce.

I am disdain’d: so will I not be long.

That very hour that he shall first arrive,

Shall be the last that shall afford him life.

Though neither seas, nor lands, nor wars abroad

Sufficed for thy foil, yet shalt thou find

Far worse at home—thy deep-displeased spouse.

Whate’er thou hast subdu’d in all thy stay

This hand shall now subdue; then stay thy fill.

What’s this? my mind recoils and irks these threats:

Anger delays, my grief gins to assuage,

My fury faints, and sacred wedlock’s faith

Presents itself. Why shunn’st thou fearful wrath?

Add coals afresh: preserve me to this venge,

At least exile thyself to realms unknown,

And steal his wealth to help thy banish’d state;

For flight is best. O base and heartless fear!

Theft? Exile? Flight? all these may fortune send

Unsought; but thee beseems more high revenge.

Come, spiteful fiends, come, heaps of furies fell,

Not one by one, but all at once! my breast

Raves not enough: it likes me to be fill’d

With greater monsters yet. My heart doth throb,

My liver boils: somewhat my mind portends,

Uncertain what; but whatsoever, it’s huge.

So it exceed, be what it will, it’s well.

Omit no plague, and none will be enough:

Wrong cannot be reveng’d but by excess.

Fronia.O, spare this heat! you yield too much to rage:Y’ are too unjust. Is there no mean in wrong?

Fronia.O, spare this heat! you yield too much to rage:

Y’ are too unjust. Is there no mean in wrong?

Guenevera.Wrong claims a mean, when first you offer wrong:The mean is vain when wrong is in revenge.Great harms cannot be hid: the grief is small,That can receive advice, or rule itself.

Guenevera.Wrong claims a mean, when first you offer wrong:

The mean is vain when wrong is in revenge.

Great harms cannot be hid: the grief is small,

That can receive advice, or rule itself.

Fronia.Hatred conceal’d doth often hap to hurt,But once profess’d, it oft’ner fails revenge.How better tho’ wert to repress your ire:A lady’s best revenge is to forgive.What mean is in your hate? how much soe’erYou can invent or dare, so much you hate.

Fronia.Hatred conceal’d doth often hap to hurt,

But once profess’d, it oft’ner fails revenge.

How better tho’ wert to repress your ire:

A lady’s best revenge is to forgive.

What mean is in your hate? how much soe’er

You can invent or dare, so much you hate.

Guenevera.And would you know what mean there is in hate?Call love to mind, and see what mean is there!My love, redoubled love, and constant faithEngaged unto Mordred works so deep,That both my heart and marrow quite be burnt,And sinews dried with force of wontless flames.Desire to joy him still torments my mind:Fear of his want doth add a double grief.Lo, here the love that stirs this meanless hate!

Guenevera.And would you know what mean there is in hate?

Call love to mind, and see what mean is there!

My love, redoubled love, and constant faith

Engaged unto Mordred works so deep,

That both my heart and marrow quite be burnt,

And sinews dried with force of wontless flames.

Desire to joy him still torments my mind:

Fear of his want doth add a double grief.

Lo, here the love that stirs this meanless hate!

Fronia.Eschew it far: such love impugns the laws.

Guenevera.Unlawful love doth like, when lawful loathes.

Fronia.And is your love of husband quite extinct?

Guenevera.The greater flame must needs delay the less:Besides, his sore revenge I greatly fear.

Guenevera.The greater flame must needs delay the less:

Besides, his sore revenge I greatly fear.

Fronia.How can you then attempt a fresh offence?

Guenevera.Who can appoint a stint to her offence?

Fronia.But here the greatness of the fact should move.

Guenevera.The greater it, the fitter for my grief.

Fronia.To kill your spouse?

Guenevera.A stranger and a foe.

Fronia.Your liege and king.

Guenevera.He wants both realm and crown.

Fronia.Nature affords not to your sex such strength.

Guenevera.Love, anguish, wrath, will soon afford enough.

Fronia.What rage is this?

Guenevera.Such as himself shall rue.

Fronia.Whom Gods do press enough, will you annoy?

Guenevera.Whom Gods do press, they bend; whom man annoys,He breaks.

Guenevera.Whom Gods do press, they bend; whom man annoys,

He breaks.

Fronia.Your grief is more than his deserts.Each fault requires an equal hate: be not severe,Where crimes be light. As you have felt, so grieve.

Fronia.Your grief is more than his deserts.

Each fault requires an equal hate: be not severe,

Where crimes be light. As you have felt, so grieve.

Guenevera.And seems it light to want him nine year spaceThen to be spoil’d of one I hold more dear?Think all too much, b’it ne’er so just, that feedsContinual grief: the lasting woe is worst.

Guenevera.And seems it light to want him nine year space

Then to be spoil’d of one I hold more dear?

Think all too much, b’it ne’er so just, that feeds

Continual grief: the lasting woe is worst.

Fronia.Yet let your highness shun these desperate moods:Cast off this rage and fell-disposed mind.Put not shame quite to flight: have some regardBoth of your sex and future fame of life.Use no such cruel thoughts, as far exceedA manly mind, much more a woman’s heart.

Fronia.Yet let your highness shun these desperate moods:

Cast off this rage and fell-disposed mind.

Put not shame quite to flight: have some regard

Both of your sex and future fame of life.

Use no such cruel thoughts, as far exceed

A manly mind, much more a woman’s heart.

Guenevera.Well, shame is not so quite exil’d, but thatI can and will respect your sage advice.Your counsel I accept: give leave a while,Till fiery wrath may slake, and rage relent.[Exit Fronia.

Guenevera.Well, shame is not so quite exil’d, but that

I can and will respect your sage advice.

Your counsel I accept: give leave a while,

Till fiery wrath may slake, and rage relent.

[Exit Fronia.

THE THIRD SCENE.

Guenevera, Angharat.

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