Chapter XVII: Act VI: Scene Last (1)

NUNTIUS. O joyful news which I report, and bring into your ears! Philologus, that would have hanged himself with cord, Is now converted unto God with many bitter tears: By godly counsel he was won, all praise be to the Lord. His errors all he did renounce, his blasphemies he abhorr'd, And being converted left his life, exhorting foe and friend, That do profess the faith of Christ, to be constant to the end. Full thirty weeks in woful wise afflicted he had been, All which long time he took no food, but forc'd against his will Even with a spoon to pour some broth his teeth between: And though they sought by force this wise to feed him still, He always strove with all his might the same on ground to spill; So that no sustenance he receiv'd, no sleep could he attain, And now the Lord in mercy great hath eas'd him of his pain.

THE RARE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE AND FORTUNE.

EDITION.

_The Rare Triumphes of Love and Fortune, Plaide before the Queenes most excellent Maiestie: wherin are manye fine Conceites with great delight. At London, Printed by E.A. for Edward White, and are to be solde at the little North doore of S. Paules Church at the signe of the Gunne_. 1589. 4 deg. Black letter.

THE RARE TRIUMPHS OF LOVE AND FORTUNE.

THE FIRST ACT.

_Enter_ MERCURY: _then riseth a Fury: then enter the assembly
of the gods_, JUPITER _with_ JUNO, APOLLO _with_ MINERVA, MARS
_and_ SATURN, _after_ VULCAN _with_ VENUS: _the Fury sets debate
amongst them, and after_ JUPITER speaks as followeth_.

JUPITER. Ye gods and goddesses, whence springs this strife of late? Who are the authors of this mutiny? Or whence hath sprung this civil discord here. Which on the sudden struck us in this fear? If gods that reign in skies do fall at war, No marvel, then, though mortal men do jar. But now I see the cause: thou Fury fell, Bred in the dungeon of the deepest hell, Who causeth thee to show thyself in light? And what thy message is, I charge thee tell upright?

TISIPHONE. O Jupiter, thou dreadful king of gods, and men the father high, To whose command the heavens, the earth, and lowest hell obey, Tisiphone, the daughter of eternal night, Bred in the bottom of the deepest pit of hell, Brought up in blood, and cherish'd with scrawling snakes, Tormenting therewithal the damned souls of them Here upon earth, that careless live of thy commandment; I am the same-- I am the same whom both my loathsome sisters hate, Whom hell itself complains to keep within her race, Whom every fearful soul detesteth with a curse, Whom earth and seas defy, heavens loathing to behold; I am the same-- I am the same sent from thy brother Pluto now, Thy brother Pluto, king of hell and golden mines; Sent unto thee and these thy fellow-gods I am, From him to thee, from him by me, to tell thee to thy face He hath been lately rubb'd, and touch'd perhaps too near; Which he ne can or will put up without revenge, If thou or any god the quarrel dare defend. And this it is-- Thy daughter Venus, thy proud daughter Venus here, Blabs it abroad, and beareth all the world in hand,[62] She must be thought the only goddess in the world, Exalting and suppressing whom she likes best, Defacing altogether Lady Fortune's grace; Breaking her altars[63] down, dishonouring her name, Whose government thyself, thyself dost know. How say'st thou? dost thou not?-- Her father, therefore, thy brother Pluto, sends By me, the messenger of discord and debate, Commanding or desiring--choose thou whether of both-- Her honour still entire[64] she may maintain; Else on thy daughter Venus, that lascivious dame, Himself will wreak his high despite on her.

JUPITER. Depart, foul fiend, unto thy loathsome cell, Where thou lamenting makes continual moan! Go tell my brother, were it not for him, Thou shouldst have rued thy bold presumption. Say thou thy message hath been largely heard, And bid him send his daughter Fortune, now, Whilst we are here, the matter may have end. Despatch.

TISIPHONE. I go-- Give place, thou air; open, thou earth; gape, hollow hell, below; And unto all that live and breathe I wish a world of woe. [_Exit_ TISIPHONE.

JUPITER. Ye powers divine, be reconcil'd again; Depart from discord and extreme debate: Within your breasts let love and peace remain, A perfect pattern of your heavenly state, Whilome ago[65] to hell condemning hate. Thus, when the higher powers is in one,[66] Men upon earth will fly contention.

MERCURY. Great god and father mine, your care and fear Of us, and eke of all the world beside, That restless rolls in his continual sphere, Whereby all things in perfect course abide, As one arrays[67] another forth to slide: And this example may prevail for all, To work our wills according to your call. And I dare say, presuming on the rest, The poison of this rancour is suppress'd.

VULCAN. How ye agree, my masters, I cannot tell; [_To Venus_.] But, were we a-bed, we two could agree well.

JUPITER. Gramercy, Mercury; I know thy will Is ever prest to further my desire: In sign whereof, to quiet all things well, And to suppress betimes the secret fire, That I perceive would break and mount up higher: This to prevent, content ye here to stay, To mark awhile what for themselves they say. And, Venus, here I charge thee on my grace, Not that I found thee heretofore untrue, But for thine adversary is not yet in place, Thou tell uprightly whence your quarrel grew; What words betwixt you thereof did ensue. Say, lovely daughter; tell us flat thy mind: They shall be blamed on whom the fault we find.

VENUS. O thou, that governest everything, that gods and men attempt, And with thy fearful thunderbolt their doings dost prevent, What hath thy daughter so deserved? what doth she, silly dame, Before ye thus to be abused with undeserved blame? Surely, but that my[68] duty commands me now to speak, For such a trifling cause this way my wrath I would not wreak. But she--no marvel though she seek my seat thus to stain, When otherways she cannot tell advantage how to gain. But thence this hot despite: _Hinc illae lacrimae_, Because, I say, she could not prove herself of power with me. For, all you godheads know, she pains but such as pleasure knew: She never grieves the groaning mind, where gladness never grew. She never overthrows but at the top of joy; For they that never tasted bliss mislike not their annoy. But I torment the mind that never felt relief; I plague the wretch that never thought on comfort in his grief, That never had the hope of any happy chance, That never once so much as deem'd I would his state advance. Think, then, which of us both are of the greater power: Once in his life, or not at all, to grant a light'ning hour? I need not stand to make rehearsal here at all, For gods and ghosts, yea, men and beasts, unto my power are thrall. I dare appeal to you, if I should look awry-- Say, father, with your leave, in heaven who dares my word deny? And if I please to smile, who will not laugh outright? Whereby my great omnipotence is known to every wight. I make the noble love the bastard in degree; I tame and temper all the tongues that rail and scoff at me. What bird, what beast, what worm, but feeleth my delight? What lives or draweth breath, but[69] I can pleasure or despite? Yet divers things there be that Fortune cannot tame; As are the riches of the mind, or else an honest name, Or a contented heart, still free from Fortune's power: But such as climb, before they crawl, must drink the sweet with sour. Thyself, O Jupiter, didst grant sometimes to me, Of all things here beneath the moon I should the ruler be: Thou say'st I did deserve the honour of that praise; Thyself didst once devise whereby my glory first to raise. Is this my sovereignty? is this so glorious? Is this becoming thy renown, to quit thy daughter thus?

JUPITER. Fear not, fair Venus, neither be dismay'd; Repose thee on the warrant of my word. What I have promis'd, doubt not to be performed; The spareless destinies my will afford: Let this defend thee, like a trusty sword. But Lady Fortune cometh, now I see. Welcome, fair dame; what is thy will with me?

[_Enter_ FORTUNE.]

FORTUNE. Ye sacred powers divine, how should I now begin, Or which way should I couch my words, your favours for to win? I may pour out my plaint, but thou may'st it redress. My father humbly prayeth you to give me leave to speak, And pardon him that in his wrath he did your quietness break. I cannot but confess, dread gods, I am not she, That seeks with Venus to compare in her supremacy. I am not of that power, yet am I of some might, Which she (usurping) challengeth to keep me from my right. I grant she may do much with her alluring smiles, But soon your godheads can perceive her words be full of wiles. What be the tragedies, the terrors, that she makes? Let's see the mighty monarchs, the kingdoms that she shakes. Poor soul, she soundly lives with wanton sug'red joys, Triumphing in her own delight upon her foolish toys. Sometimes she flattereth it in pleasure mix'd with pain, Like to a fair sunshine day overcast with clouds of rain. But should I reckon up what things I can confound, What is it then, or what hath been, or shall for aye be found? Is not the wonder of the world a work that soon decays? Therefore, ye see all earthly things are wearing out always; As brittle as the glass, unconstant like the mind, As fickle as the whirling wheel, as wavering as the wind. Lo, such I am that overthrows the highest-reared tower, That changeth and supplanteth[70] realms in twinkling of an hour, And send them hasty smart whom I devise to spoil, Not threat'ning or forewarning them, but at a smile. Where joy doth most abound, there I do sorrow place, And them I chiefly persecute that pleasure did embrace. What greater grief can fall to man in all his life, Than after sweet to taste the sour, in peace to be at strife? It is a biting thought that fretteth on the heart, To say, the time was when I joy'd, though now oppress'd with smart. If ever mighty king did 'scape untouch'd of me, If ever year, or month, or day, or if an hour might be, Wherein I have not us'd to practise some exchange, Perhaps for this authority I might be thought to range Too far beyond my right; but even the very stars, The heavens, the planets, and the seas, bear witness of my scars.

VENUS. No more of that, good dame; you run too far at roam: I'll take the pains to keep you short, and call you nearer home. I pray you, what's your might, when all are well belov'd?

FORTUNE. The sweetest lovers in distress the sharper storms have prov'd.

VENUS. Perhaps for want of wealth; but if their riches slack?

FORTUNE. They are the very instrument, whereby I work their woe.

VENUS. What, if their friends abound, then can they never lack?

FORTUNE. The dearest friends are scattered, when Fortune turns her toe.

VENUS. If they be noble born, or of a princely blood?

FORTUNE. When Fortune frowns, that may procure more harm than do them good.

VENUS. But wise men evermore upon a rock are set.

FORTUNE. Yet can they not escape a scourge, for Fortune hath a net.

JUPITER. I will not in, till things be well discern'd: Affection shall not mar a lawful cause. By examples this may best be learn'd, In elder ages led within your laws. Therefore, a while hereof I mean to pause; And bring in, Mercury, in open view The ghosts of them that Love and Fortune slew.

MERCURY. Thy word my will-- Thou triple-headed Cerberus, give place; And I command thee, Charon, with thy ferryboat Transport the souls of such as may report Fortune and Love, and not in open sort. Let them appear to us in silent show, To manifest a truth that we must know. [_Strikes with his rod three times_.

VULCAN. Are ye mad, my masters? what a stir have we here. Lord, have mercy upon us! must the devil appear? Come away, wife; when I pray thee, come away. Down on your knees, my masters, and pray.

[_Music_.

_Enter the show of Troilus and Cressida_.

MERCURY. Behold, how Troilus and Cressida Cries out on Love, that framed their decay.

VULCAN. That was like the old wife, when her ale would not come, Thrust a firebrand in the grout, and scratch'd her bum.

[_Music_.

_Enter the[71] show of Alexander_.

MERCURY. Alexander the Great, that all the world subdu'd, Curseth fell Fortune, that did him delude.

VULCAN. 'Tis an honest, grim sire at his first coming out, believe me; And ye had stood in the wind, ye might have smelt me.

[_Music_.

_Enter the show of Queen Dido_.

MERCURY. Queen Dido, that Aeneas could not move, Stabbed herself, and yielded unto Love.

VULCAN. The more fool she, and she were my own brother? If my wife would not love me, must not I love another?

[_Music_.

_Enter the show of Pompey and Caesar_.

MERCURY. Pompey and Caesar, the wonders of their time, By froward Fortune spoiled in their prime.

VULCAN. They were served well enough, why could not they be content With a roach and a red herring in the holy time of Lent?

[_Music_.

_Enter the show of Leander and Hero_.

MERCURY. [Hero and] Leander presents them very loth, That felt the force of Love and Fortune both.

FORTUNE. Upon him I my sovereignty did show.

VENUS. And think you, dame, my power she did not know?

FORTUNE. But it was I that dashed their delight.

VENUS. After that I had proved my open might.

VULCAN. What a scolding is here! shall it even thus be? You look like an honest man in the parish; I pray you, make them agree.

JUPITER. Content ye both: I'll hear no more of this. And, Mercury, surcease; call out no more. I have bethought me how to work their wish, As you have often prov'd it heretofore. Here in this land, within that princely bower, There is a Prince beloved of his love, On whom I mean your sovereignties to prove. Venus, for that th[e]y love thy sweet delight, Thou shalt endeavour to increase their joy: And, Fortune, thou to manifest thy might, Their pleasures and their pastimes shalt[72] destroy, Overthwarting them with news of fresh annoy; And she that most can please them or despite, I will confirm to be of greatest might.

VENUS. Your godhead hath devis'd, as I desire, And I am gladly therewithal content.

FORTUNE. And I am prest to do as you require; Now shall you see the proof of my intent.

[JUPITER.] Take up your places here to work your will: When you have done, the rest I shall fulfil.

VULCAN. They are set sunning like a crow in a gutter. What, are they gone? And you will be quiet, sirs, they will make you good sport with their scolding anon. Are not these a sort of good, mannerly gods to get them thus away? I must take the pains to overtake them, for I see they will not stay.

[_Exeunt omnes_.

_The end of the first Act_.

THE SECOND ACT.

_Enter_ HERMIONE _and_ FIDELIA.

HERMIONE. Why then, my dear, what is the greatest prize in love?

FIDELIA. Absence of other griefs, the greatest that loving hearts can prove.

HERMIONE. But absence cannot minish love, or make it less in ought.

FIDELIA. Yet nevertheless it leaves a doubt within the other's thought.

HERMIONE. And what is that?--

FIDELIA. Lest change of air should change the absent mind.

HERMIONE. That fault is proper but to them whom jealousy makes blind.

FIDELIA. O, pardon it, for that the cause from whence it springs is such.

HERMIONE. From whence is that?

FIDELIA. My mother says, from loving over-much.

HERMIONE. Your author I will not admit; that rests us[73] it to prove.

FIDELIA. Be sure it is, that jealousy proceeds of fervent love.

HERMIONE. Can that be fervent love, wherein suspicion leads the mind?

FIDELIA. Most fervent love, where so much love doth make the fancy blind.

HERMIONE. But faithful love can never be, wherein suspect doth dwell.

FIDELIA. The faithful lovers do suspect, because they love so well.

HERMIONE. My dear Fidelia, as I think, thy love is such to me, So fervent, faithful and unstain'd, as purer none can be, Admit occasions fall out, then, that I must part from thee, Tell me, wilt thou mean space suspect inconstancy in me?

FIDELIA. If so I do, impute it to the force of lovers' laws, That oftentimes are touch'd with fear, whereas there is no cause.

[ARMENIO _listening_.

ARMENIO. What have I heard? what do mine eyes behold? Dishonour to the house from whence I came! Unshamefast girl, forgetful, all too bold: And thou, false traitor, author of the same. Sufferest not, for guerdon of thy due, The king my father's gracious countenance, But must thou climb, ungrateful and untrue, These steps at first thine honour to advance? Hath Fortune promised so much hope at first, To make thy conquest of a prince's child? And should I stand to question, how thou durst To leave to think she might be so beguil'd? But words may not suffice to wreak this wrong, Hid under cloak of over-hardy[74] love. Thou[75] upstart fondling, and forborne too long, To give such cause thy prince's ire to move.

FIDELIA. Nay, my good brother, take it not so whot: The fault is mine, and I will bear the blame. And to return you an answer, well I wot How to defend the honour of my name. But for my love, I am resolved in this, However you account of his defaults, With vowed affection wholly to be his, As one in whom I spy more special parts, Than fall in fondlings of the baser kind. To have a word not squaring with the place, But measure men by their unstained minds, Let fortune be to virtue no disgrace; For fortune, when and where it likes her majesty, With clouds can cover birth and highest degree.

ARMENIO. What, dame, and are you shameless in your shame? No, mistress, no: it will not be let past; But, wilful wench, this new-attempted game, Ere it be won, will ask another cast. And, lady, cloak his virtues as you will, He'll be but as I said, a fondling still.

HERMIONE. Erst had I thought, my lord, a man so wise as you, Son to a prince, scholar to him that depth of learning knew, Among many lessons one,[76] this rule could wisely find, To have the government of wrath and rancour of your mind. What high offence is given unto your father's grace? I take it nothing needful here to reason of the case: But stand he less content, or pleased herewithal, My lord, that thus you should mislike the cause is very small. The unremoved love I bear my lady here, Whose countenance my comfort is, that holds my love as dear, Commands me to digest such hard and bitter words, As not with credit of your state your honour here affords. Else, prince, persuade thyself, my mind were not so base To pocket, but for such respects, so hard and foul disgrace. And this,[77] lady--Hermione, for ought that men do know, By birth may be as nobly born as Prince Armenio.

ARMENIO. Traitor, thou shalt not joy that proud comparison.

FIDELIA. My good Hermione, come hence; let him alone.

ARMENIO. Nay, dame; it likes me not that you should go.

HERMIONE. Whether thou wilt, Armenio, she shall, though thou say no.

ARMENIO. What, shall she, villain?

FIDELIA. Help, help! alas!

_Enter_ PHIZANTIES [_the prince], a_ LORD, _and_
PENULO [_a parasite_].

PHIZANTIES. What stir is here? what means this broil begun? Give me to know th'occasion of this strife? How falls it out? Armenio, my son, Hath wound receiv'd by stroke of naked knife. Say to me straight, what one hath done this deed? His blows are big that makes a prince to bleed.

FIDELIA. My sovereign father, pardon his offence,[78] Whose grief of mind is greater than his wound. My rightful quarrel yields me safe defence, And here they stand that guilty must be found.

ARMENIO. Traitor, O king, unto your majesty, Whose proud attempt doth touch your grace so near, As what may be the greatest villainy Upon recital shall be opened here. My sister and your far unworthy child, Forgetting love and fear of gods and thee, And honour of her name, is thus beguil'd To love this gentleman, whom here you see-- Hermione, whom for a jewel of some price Old Hermet gave[79] your highness long ago. And for I gave rebuke to her[80] device, In gallant thought he would not take it so; But, as it seems, to do my body good-- I thank him--deign'd himself to let me blood.

PHIZANTIES. Hermione, and hast thou done this deed? And couldst thou shrine such treason in thy thought? Armenio, jest not with thy hurt: take heed. And thou, fond girl, whose stained blood hath wrought, How hath mine age and honour been abus'd, My princely care, Hermione, of thee? The fault so great it cannot be excus'd, And you enforc'd the shame thereof to see. But far we fear some farther ill may fall, Through love and hate of one and of the other: Her foolish love, I mean; and therewithal The hot disdain and stomach of her brother. Hermione, weigh what our pleasure is. Whilome, thou knowest, we entertained[81] thee willingly; Now, seeing thou hast done so far amiss To reach above thy reach unorderly, In milder words, because we love thee well, Lo, we discharge thee of our princely court: Thou mayest no longer with Fidelia dwell, Forbidden to her presence to resort. Behold my 'ward,[82] that am no bitter judge, And wend thy way, where'er thou likest to go: This only way I take to end the grudge, And stop the love that each to other owe. Among such haps as might my mind content, Whereof the gracious gods have given me store, I count this one, if thus I might prevent The furthest outrage of the swelling sore.

HERMIONE. Alas! now have I lived too long, I see, Confounded so to yield to fortune's will: My sovereign prince offended thus with me, And I adjudg'd to death, though living still. Ah, my good lord! whom I have honoured long, Long may your highness joy this highest place: Thyself the root and cause of mine own wrong. But must I leave to view my lady's face, And, banish'd from my prince's royal court, Wander,[83] as erst the unhappy Oedipus, Whose pain my foes will make their chiefest sport-- My most unhappy chance will have it thus.

ARMENIO. No force forsooth: unpitied might he die, That to his sovereign means such villainy.

HERMIONE. Such villainy! who ever meant more good?

ARMENIO. The venom of thy villainy withstood.

HERMIONE. Armenio, I forbear thee here for reverence; Yet, by my prince's leave, in my defence I may allege I lov'd thy sister here; Which love though I am like to buy full dear; Yet is her love more precious than the price. But since hard hap prevents our late device, Long live my lord, long live my lady's grace: God send them friends as loyal in my place; And, trust me, then their fortune shall be such, As not thy love shall ever prove so much.

PHIZANTIES. Hermione, give me thy hand: adieu: Think this is done t'avoid a further ill, And double mischief that might else ensue. For my sake cease to love Fidelia still: Unequal love is enemy to rest. She is too young to love thee as she should-- And thou, Hermione, canst conceive the rest. My meaning is, she loves not as we would. Time may afford to both your hearts' desires New choice to cool these newly-kindled fires.

FIDELIA. Never, alas! never will be the day, That I shall leave to love Hermione. Sooner shall nature's course quite altered be, Than I shall leave, dear knight, to honour thee. Good father, let him stay, who, if he part, 'Gainst law is like to steal away my heart.

ARMENIO. May it please your grace to keep the body here, It's like enough the heart will hover[84] near.

HERMIONE. My lord, laugh not oppressed souls to scorn. Losers, they say, may easily be forborne.

PHIZANTIES. Forbear these words; and thou, Fidelia, These misbeseeming foolish fashions stay. Let it suffice that thou shalt live in court, Where, if among the jolly brave resort Of sundry knights of noble personage, Worthy thy love for gifts and parentage, Thou shalt espy one[85] such as we do like, Our favours shall not be too far to seek.

FIDELIA. Ah, my Hermione!

HERMIONE. Sweet lady mine, farewell.[86] Farewell, the courteous't dame that on earth do dwell.

ARMENIO. Sir, now you are packing, let me know your walk, For I have that may not be past without some talk: Nor stands it with mine honour to let thee bear it clear, But I will make thee know Armenio's blood is dear.

HERMIONE. My lord, I make no challenge with offence; But first I will prepare for my defence.

ARMENIO. So, sir, you are aforehand: keep you so, And reckon of Armenio for thy vowed foe. Go, wend thy ways obscurer than the night, And Fortune for revenge plague thee with spite. [_Exit_.

HERMIONE. Farewell, my cruel foe; not thou nor Fortune may Add more unto the miseries that I have felt to-day; Nor but by safe return[87] unto this happy place, Can gods or Fortune make amends in this distressed case. Then cease, Hermione, to utter speech of this; Words not suffice this endless woe, but death, i-wis: And part thou from the place a dead and liveless man, Robb'd of thy senses and thy joy, since first this stir began.

PENULO. Ah, good my lord, my good lord Hermione!

HERMIONE. I am, indeed, as thou dost say, Hermione; For that I am Hermione, I am The unhappiest wight that ever hither came.

PENULO. Ah, my good lord! would God, poor Penulo Might any way but mitigate this woe. And pleaseth it your honour to command My service, or the help of head or hand, Penulo, my worthy lord, would prove as just, As he whom best your honour likes to trust. Say what it is, wherein my secrecy May aid your lordship in this extremity?

HERMIONE. Penulo, since thou so friendly here dost proffer me The uttermost of aid that lies in thee, I do remember that which, brought to pass, Would make me half so happy as I was.

PENULO. Say it, my lord, and constantly I vow it, It shall go hard, but Penulo will do it.

HERMIONE. Gramercy, gentle friend: then, thus it is:-- The lady of my life Fidelia is; Of whom I am, I know, belov'd no less Than she of me, my gracious mistress, Sever'd by Fortune and our cruel foe, My lord her brother, Prince Armenio. Now could'st thou, Penulo, thyself behave On trust to bring my lady to the cave, Where whilome (lovers) we were wont to meet, In secret sort each other for to greet. She wots it well, and every corner knows, And every uncouth[88] step that thither goes: For what is not sharpsighted lovers see? This is the sum of my desire to thee. Accomplish this, and, this in silence done, My happiness will be again begun.

PENULO. My lord, I see whereunto this talk doth tend: I have this lesson at my finger-end. No more ado; betake you to your flight: We'll make a plaister for the sore ere night. [_Aside_.] But such an one as, if it be applied, Shall do more grief than ease, when it is tried.

HERMIONE. Penulo, I yield my life into thy hands.

PENULO. Ye do, sir, as now the matter stands. [_Aside_.

HERMIONE. Hold, Penulo, and I will look for thee.

PENULO. You will not look for them that come with me. [_Aside_.

HERMIONE. I will be gone, and live to see my dear. [_Exit_.

PENULO. Do so, sir, and perchance be never the near. This is a step that first we use to climb: We that, forsooth, take hold on every time. Men of all hours, whose credit such as spites, In heat forsooth hath call'd us parasites. But let them spite, and we will bite as fast. But, Penulo, thou spendest words in waste. A fool, Hermione, that for hurting thee On[89] slender trust will give a knave his fee. [_Exit_.

_Strike up_ FORTUNE'S _triumphs with drums and trumpets_.

FORTUNE. Behold what Fortune, if she list, can do, High mistress of the rolling wheel of chance, To overturn, and who can do thereto, Or graciously, when please her, to advance. Lo, lordings, this is Fortune's impery, And in her pleasure to be changing still: Herein consisteth Fortune's sovereignty; That Fortune can on earth do what she will. When men have builded on the surest grounds, Their strong devices Fortune's power confounds.

_Enter_ VENUS.

VENUS. Not all in haste; you do not so intend: You have begun, but I must make an end.

THE THIRD ACT.

_Enter_ BOMELIO _solus, like an_ HERMIT.

BOMELIO. He that hath lost his hope, and yet desires to live, He that is overwhelm'd with woe, and yet would counsel give; He that delights to sigh, to walk abroad alone, To drive away the weary time with his lamenting moan; He that in his distress despaireth of relief, Let him begin to tell his tale, to rip up all his grief, And if that wretched man can more than I recite Of fickle Fortune's froward check and her continual spite, Of her inconstant change, of her discourtesy, I will be partner with that man to live in misery. When first my flow'ring years began to bud their prime, Even in the April of mine age and May-month of my time; When, like the tender kid new-weaned from the teat, In every pleasant springing mead I took my choice of meat; When simple youth devis'd to length[en] his delight, Even then, not dreaming I on her, she poured out her spite: Even then she took her key, and tuned[90] all her strings To sing my woe: list, lordings, now my tragedy begins. Behold me, wretched man, that serv'd his prince with pain, That in the honour of his praise esteem'd my greatest gain: Behold me, wretched man, that for his public weal Refused not with thousand foes in bloody wars to deal: Behold me, wretched man, whose travail, pain, and toil Was ever prest to save my friends from force of foreign spoil; And see my just reward, look on my recompense: Behold by this for labours past what guerdon cometh thence! Not by my fiercest foes in doubtful fight with us, But by my fawning friend[91] I was confounded thus. One word of his despite in question call'd my name; Two words of his untrusty tongue brought me to open shame. Then was I banished the city, court and town; Then every hand that held me up began to pull me down. O, that the righteous gods should ever grant the power, That smoothest sands and greenest bogs should soonest me devour. Yet that I might descry the better their device, Here have I liv'd almost five years, disguis'd in secret wise: And now somewhat it is, but what I cannot tell, Provokes me forward more than wont to leave my darksome cell, And in my crooked age, instead of mirth and joy, With broken sighs in doleful tunes to sing of mine annoy.

[_Song_.

Go walk the path of plaint, go wander, wretched, now
In uncouth ways, blind corners fit for such a wretch as thou.
There feed upon thy woe; fresh[92] thoughts shall be thy fare,
Musing shall be thy waiting-maid, thy carver shall be care;
Thy dainty dish shall be of fretting melancholy,
And broken sobs with hollow sighs thy savoury sauce shall be.
But further ere I walk, my servant I will send
Into the town to buy such things as now he can intend.

What, Lentulo! [_To_ LENTULO _within_.

LENTULO. Anon, forsooth.

BOMELIO. What, Lentulo, come forth.

LENTULO. Anon, forsooth.

BOMELIO. Why, when? I say!

LENTULO. Anon, forsooth.

BOMELIO. You naughty lout; come out, sir knave, come away.

LENTULO. Will you not give one leave to pull down his points? what, an a should his breeches beray?

[_Enter_ LENTULO.]

BOMELIO. Get you to the market, and buy such things as needful are for us.

LENTULO. Such things as needful are for us! and what are those, I pray? First, there is needful for us a pot of porridge, for I had none this many a day; And then, there are needful for us a feather-bed, for I lie on a bottle of hay; And then there is most needful for us a pretty proper wench for to laugh and play.

BOMELIO. Go, buy us some victuals, and hie thee home. [_Exit_.

LENTULO. Now, farewell, master mine, good gentle master mome. Have you seen such a logger-headed fool, to say: Go, go, good Lentulo, to buy my victuals so, and give me money?--no! But for the name's sake, swounds, I were as good serve a master of clouts. He'll do nothing all day long but sit on his arse, as my mother did when she made pouts: And then a' looks a' this fashion, and thus and thus again; and then, what do ye? By my troth, I stand even thus at him, and laugh at his simplismity. Hath the best manners in the world to bid a man fall to his meat, And then I say: I thank you forsooth, master, and I could tell what to eat. We two, look you--that's I and he--can lie a-bed a whole night and a day, And we eat, and we had it: it vattens a man; look on my cheeks, else, are they not fall'n away? Well, I must jog to the town, and I'll tell you what shift I make there. Marry, ye shall promise me not to steal it away. When I come to a rich man's gate, I make a low leg, and then I knock there; And then I begin to cry in at the keyhole, that I may be sure they shall hear: God save my good master and my good mistress, a poor boy, a piece of bread and meat for God's sake!

_Enter_ PENULO.

Heigh! merrily trick'd! am I not a knave for the nonce, That can despatch two errands at once? I have both told her even as I should do, And told my young master to meet with him too. Now he, like a gentleman, for the valour of his mind Hath sworn by his honour not to stay long behind. The desire of revenge pricketh him forward so, That I am sure he'll not let but to go, And that with all haste possible he may. Then, tantara-tara, we shall have good play. I like such a knave so can tickle them all, To set noblemen at brabble and brawl.

LENTULO. Save you, sir, young master, and you be a gentleman?

PENULO. Whoreson peasant, seest thou not what I am?

LENTULO. Troth, sir, I see you have a good doublet and a pair of hose; But now-a-days there is so many goes So like gentlemen, that such a poor fellow as I Know not how a gentleman from a knave to spy.

PENULO. Thou may'st perceive I am no such companion:[93] I am a gentleman, a courtier, and a merry frank franion.[94]

LENTULO. Then, thou merry companion, thou whoreson frank franion, Why hast thou abused the law? What, good skipjack, in faith with thwick-thwack your bones I will claw. Come about, sir knave.

PENULO. Cot's my passion, what a merry mate have we here?

LENTULO. Give me your hand, sir: faith, I was bold to brush the dust out of your gear. Pray, sir, tell me: they say in the country 'tis a common guise, That gentlemen now-a-days cannot see with both eyes.

PENULO. It's a lie, knave: I know[95] few gentlemen blind.

LENTULO. No, sir? what will you lay, and I can find One with a wet finger[96], that is stark blind?

PENULO. It may be so, but I think thou canst not.

LENTULO. Will you lay? do wager on it.

PENULO. What should I lay? Thou hast no money, I am sure, to pay.

LENTULO. No, faith, sir; but I'll tell you what our wager shall be; Because I am not able to lay any money, I'll lay three round raps on the ribs with my cudgel here.

PENULO. Soft, let me look first if there be no blind man near. Content, i'faith: that bargain shall stand.

LENTULO. Then, sir, I must be so bold as to search your purse out of hand.

PENULO. My purse, sir? wherefore?

LENTULO. By my troth, sir, no more but to try, If you be not as blind a gentleman in the purse as I.

PENULO. I use not to carry my money in a purse.

LENTULO. All in a pocket? well, never a whit the worse; I must search your pocket.

PENULO. What, if it be elsewhere?

LENTULO. Wheresoever it is, I must seek out this gear, I'll not lose my wager, that's certain. Very well, sir; will you put me to pain?

PENULO. Have I never a weapon?--I'll look--I pray thee, be content.

LENTULO. You shall have your wager, sir, as it was meant.

PENULO. Hold thy hands, good fellow: I'll do anything for thee. I perceive a wise man of a fool overtaken may be.

LENTULO. Thou blind gentleman! unless it be for my commodiosity, I'll teach thee to be blind, and go so bravely.

PENULO. I'll do anything for thee, if thou strike me no more, Because I perceive thou art almost as poor As myself am, and yet there is somewhat in thee: I'll prefer thee to a service in the Court presently.

LENTULO. Ha! wilt thou do so?

PENULO. That I will.

LENTULO. Wilt thou do so, indeed? Swear to me by thy ten commandments in thy creed.

PENULO. I do so.

LENTULO. Troth, then, we are friends: say nothing, I pray, And you shall see me prove a rank runaway. Why, when a man may be a courtier, and live at ease, Should a' not leave his old master to please? Sirrah blind gentleman, we two blind gentlemen, and [you] do as thou promis'd here, Perhaps I may be as good to thee as two pots of beer. I'll go with thee, i'faith; gaw, let's be gone.

PENULO. Soft; tarry a while: I'll go with thee anon.

_Enter_ ARMENIO.

ARMENIO. How thinkest thou, Penulo, am I not provided now?

LENTULO. I warrant, sir, a' shall have a cold pull of you, And a' begin to make another brawl.

ARMENIO. Farewell, when thou wilt; I trust I shall Meet with him: am I not almost at the tree?

PENULO. That same is it, sir.

LENTULO. Sirrah, what's he?

PENULO. What car'st thou I come, go thou with me. Why, I shall have but an ill-favoured courtier of ye.

LENTULO. Now, for a runaway, God send us good chance. Then, maids, at your marriage I mean me to dance. [_Exit_.

ARMENIO. Now serves the time to wreak me of my foe-- My bastard foe--that to dishonour me In privy corners seeks to shame me so, That my discredit might his credit be. And hath my father from his tender youth Vouchsaf'd to bring thee up? did I therefore Believe so earnestly thy perjur'd truth, Advancing still thine honour evermore, That, not contented with a common wrack, Thou shouldst intend the ruin of us all; And when thou seemd'st afraid to turn thy back, To make a glory of our greater fall? Before thou triumph in thy treachery, Before thou 'scape untouched for thy sin, Let never Fates nor Fortune favour me, But wretched let me live and die therein. Few words shall serve, my deeds shall prove it now That, ere I sleep, I mean to meet with you. [_Exit_. _Enter_ FIDELIA.

FIDELIA. Behold the shifts that faithful love can make; See what I dare adventure for thy sake. In case extreme make virtue of a need, But hence the grief which maketh my heart to bleed. My love and life, wherever that thou be, I am in dole constrain'd to follow thee: Hence sprung the hell of my tormented mind, The fear of some misfortune yet behind. If thou escape the peril of distress, My fear and care is twenty times more less. No reason 'tis that I should live in joy, When thou art wrapt in fetters of annoy; Nor to that end I swear to be thy wife, To live in peace with thee and state of life; But as to dwell at ease in pleasure's lap, Even so to bear some part of thy mishap, And so to draw in equal portion still Of both our fortunes, either good or ill. And sith the lots of our unconstant fate Have turn'd our former bliss to wretched state, I am content to tread the woful dance, That sounds the measure of our hapless chance. I'll wait thy coming; long thou wilt not stay: High Jove defend and keep thee in the way!

_Enter_ BOMELIO.

BOMELIO. Now weary lay thee down, thy fortune to fulfil: Go, yield thee captive to thy care, to save thy life or spill. The pleasures of the field, the prospect of delight, The blooming trees, the chirping birds, are grievous to thy sight. The hollow, craggy rock, the shrieking owl to see, To hear the noise of serpent's hiss, that is thy harmony. For as unto the sick all pleasure is in vain, So mirth unto the wounded mind increaseth but his pain. But, heavens! what do I see? thou nymph or lady fair, Or else thou goddess of the grove, what mak'st thee to repair To this unhaunted place, thy presence here unfit?

FIDELIA. Ancient father, let it not offend thee any whit, To find me here alone. I am no goddess, I, But a mortal maid, subject to misery. And better that I might lament my heavy moan, I secret came abroad to recreate myself awhile alone.

BOMELIO. Take comfort, daughter mine, for thou hast found him then, That is of others all that live the most accursed'st man. O, I have heard it said, our sorrows are the less, If in our anguish we may find a partner in distress.

FIDELIA. O father! but my grief relieved cannot be: My hope is fled, my help in vain, my hurt my death must be. Yet not the common death of life that here is led, But such a death as ever kills, and yet is never dead.

BOMELIO. Fair maid, I have been well acquainted with that fit: Sometime injured with the like, I learn to comfort it. Come, rest thee here with me, with[in] this hollow cave; There will I reckon up at large the horrors that I have.

FIDELIA. I thank you, father; but I must needs walk another way.

BOMELIO. Nay, gentle damsel, be content a while with me to stay.

FIDELIA. The longer that I stay with you, the greater is my grief.

BOMELIO. The longer that you stay with me, the sooner is relief.

FIDELIA. I am provided other ways; good father, let me go.

BOMELIO. To him that off'reth thee no wrong, be not uncourteous so.

FIDELIA. Perhaps another time I'll come, and visit thee.

BOMELIO. Both then and now, if so you please, you shall right welcome be.

[_Enter_ ARMENIO.

ARMENIO. Shall she be welcome unto thee, old wretch, indeed? I'll welcome both of you: come, maid, away with speed.

FIDELIA. O brother!

ARMENIO. Brother! Peace!

FIDELIA. Good father, help me now.

BOMELIO. Have I no weapons, wretch that I am? Well, youth, I'll meet with you.

ARMENIO. Must you be gone? is this your meeting-place? Come, get you home; and pack you, sir, apace. Were't not for reverence of thine age, I swear, Thou should'st accurse the time I met thee here. But, i'faith, sister, my father shall welcome you.

BOMELIO. Go tell thine errand, if thou canst.

FIDELIA. Hermione, adieu; Ten times adieu: farewell for ever now.

ARMENIO. I thank thee. Fortune, that thou didst this deed allow. [_Exeunt_.

BOMELIO. Thou heaven and earth, and ye eternal lamps That restless keep his course in order due; Thou, Phoebe bright, that scatterest the damps Of darksome night, I make my plaints to you. And thou, Alecto, hearken to my call; Let fall a serpent from thy snaky hair; Tisiphone, be swift to plague them all, That make a pastime of my care and fear! And thou, O Jove, that by thy great foresight Rulest the earth and reign'st above the skies; That wreak'st the wrongs of them that master right Against the wretches that thy name despise. And Rhadamanth, thou judge of hateful hell, Where damned ghosts continual moaning make, Send forth a fury that may further well The just revenge that here I undertake. Henceforth accursed be thou evermore, Accursed all thou tak'st in hand to do, The time, the day, accursed be the hour, The earth, the air, and all that 'long thereto! Dole and despair henceforth be thy delight, Wrapped now in present and woes to come, To wail the day and weep the weary night; And from this time henceforth I strike thee dumb. Think'st thou I knew thee not? Yes, well, i-wis, And that thy sister, daughter to my prince. Now brag abroad what thou hast got by this: So live thou dumb: that be thy recompense; And when thy ghost forsakes thy body quite, Vengeance I wish upon thy soul to light.

_Enter_ HERMIONE.

HERMIONE. Good even, good father: pardon my rudeness here.

BOMELIO. O joy and grief! I will dissemble yet my cheer. [_Aside_.

HERMIONE. Good sir, methought I heard you speak of one right now, Daughter unto a prince: that made me bold to trouble you.

BOMELIO. I spake of such an one indeed.

HERMIONE. Why, do you know her name?

BOMELIO. Fidelia. Why do you ask? What, do you know the same?

HERMIONE. Yea, father, that I do: I know, and knew her well. But did you wish those plagues to light on her, I pray you tell?

BOMELIO. On her! the gods forbid; but on that wretched wight Her brother, that from hence right now perforce convey'd her quite.

HERMIONE. Alas! what do I hear? Good father, tell me true, Hath she been here?

BOMELIO. She was.

HERMIONE. She was! Where is she now?

BOMELIO. Gone back again.

HERMIONE. Gone back! With whom?

BOMELIO. Her brother.

HERMIONE. Her brother! How?

BOMELIO. He secret watched here; and when she should have stay'd Awhile with me, he rushed out and her from hence convey'd.

HERMIONE. Confounded in my grief! And can it suff'red be? And shall he make a brag at home of his despite to me? First let me die a thousand deaths; draw, run and meet with him.

BOMELIO. Tarry, my son; it is in vain: they are now[97] at home, I ween. Let him alone; he will not make great reck'ning of his gain.

HERMIONE. Wretch that thou art for lingering! everlasting shall be thy pain; Continual thy complaint, aye-during still thy woe, Why mad'st thou not more haste to come, and first of all to know?

BOMELIO. Content thyself, my son; torment not so thy mind: Assuage the sorrows of thy heart, in hope some help to find.

HERMIONE. Some help! O father, no; all help comes too late. I am the man of all alive[98] the most unfortunate.

BOMELIO. I[99] see thy loyalty, I see thy faithful love, Else never durst thou this attempt adventured to prove. Take comfort thereby, my son.

HERMIONE. I am the man, I say, That Love and Fortune once advanc'd, but now have cast away. The joy, the sweet delight, the rest I had before, Fell to my lot that now the loss, my plague, might be the more. O Fortune! froward dame, wilt thou be never sure? Most constant in inconstancy I see thou wilt endure.

BOMELIO. Accuse not Fortune, son, but blame thy love therefor; For I perceive thou art in love, and then[ce] thy trouble is more.

HERMIONE. Father, if this be love: to lead a life in thrall, To think the rankest poison sweet, to feed on honey-gall; To be at war and peace, to be in joy and grief, Then farthest from the hope of help, where nearest is relief; To live and die, to freeze and sweat, to melt and not to move; If it be this to live in love, father, I am in love.

BOMELIO. Why did you not possess your lady then at home?

HERMIONE. At home! where is it, sir? alas! for I have none. Brought up I know not how, and born I know not where, When I was in my childhood given unto my prince, then here, Of[100] whom I cannot tell, wherefore I little know. But now cast out to seek my fate, unhappy where I go. Then dare I not be seen; here must I not abide. Did ever more calamities unto a man betide?

BOMELIO. My heart will burst, if I forbear amidst this misery. Behold, thy father thou hast found, my son Hermione! Thy father thou hast found, thy father--I am he.

HERMIONE. But is it possible my father you should be?

BOMELIO. Even from my first exile here have I liv'd forlorn, And once I gave thee to my prince, for thou wast noble-born; And now he gives me thee, and welcome home again!

HERMIONE. This is my recompense for all my former pain. Dear father, glad I am to find you here alive: By your example I may learn with froward chance to strive.

BOMELIO. Come, son, content thee now within a cave to dwell. I will provide for thy redress, and all things shall be well. A darksome den must be thy lofty lodging now.

HERMIONE. Father, I am well content to take such part as you. Here is a breathing-fit[101] after hard mischance. O gracious Venus! once vouchsafe thy servants to advance.

_Strike up a noise of viols_: VENUS' _triumph_.

[_Enter_ VENUS.]

VENUS. Behold what Love can work for their delight That put affiance in her deity. Though heaven and earth against them bend their might, Yet in the end theirs is the victory: I will in them, and they triumph in me. Let Fortune frown, I will uphold their state, Yea, seem they never so unfortunate.

FORTUNE. Brag not too much: what, think'st thou I have done? Nay, soft, not yet: my sport is not begun.

[_Music, Music_.

THE FOURTH ACT.

_Enter_ PENULO _and_ LENTULO.

PENULO. Come away with thy basket, thou loggerheaded jack. I think thy basket be cloven to thy back.

LENTULO. My back and my basket; look, dost thou not see, When my basket is on my back, then my back is under me? And, O this basket, wott'st thou wherefore I keep it so close? For all the love of my heart within this basket goes.

PENULO. Thy love, with a wanion![102] are you in love, sir, then, with your leave?

LENTULO. What an ass art thou: couldst thou not all this time perceive, That I never sleep but when I am not awake, And I eat and I eat till my belly would ache? And I fall away like a gammon of bacon. Am I not in love when I am in this tacon?[103] Call'st thou this the court? would I had ne'er come thither To be caught in Cupido. I faint, I faint! O, gather me, gather me! [_Pretends to swoon_.

PENULO. Come up, and be hang'd. Alack, poor Lentulo! [_Aside_. Tell me with whom thou art in love so.

LENTULO. You kill me, and you make me tell her name. No, no. O terrible torments, that trounce in my toe! Love, my masters, is a parlous matter! how it runs out of my nose! It's now in my back, now in my belly; O, now in the bottom of my hose.

PENULO. The pestilence! there, what is she, my boy? I'll make her love thee again, be she never so coy.

LENTULO. Wilt thou so? O gods of love! that word plucks up my heart, I'll tell thee, sirrah--even as we two at the court-gate did wait, Did'st thou not mark a goodly lady, O lady, lady![104] Why should not I as well as he, my dear lady? Did'st thou not see her come in with a golden lock? She had a fine gown on her back, and a passing nether-stock.