Part 4 out of 11
To dwell content amidst my country cave,
Where no ambitious humours shall approach
The quiet silence of my happy sleep:
Where no delicious jouissance or toys
Shall tickle with delight my temper'd ears;
But wearying out the lingering day with toil,
Tiring my veins, and furrowing of my soul,
The silent night, with slumber stealing on,
Shall lock these careful closets of mine eyes.
O, had I known the height of happiness,
Or bent mine eyes upon my mother-earth,
Long since, O Rome, had Sylla with rejoice
Forsaken arms to lead a private life!
FLACCUS. But in this humbleness of mind, my lord,
Whereas experience prov'd and art do meet,
How happy were these fair Italian fields,
If they were graced with so sweet a sun.
Then I for Rome, and Rome with me, requires
That Sylla will abide, and govern Rome.
SYLLA. O Flaccus, if th'Arabian phoenix strive
By nature's warning to renew her kind,
When, soaring nigh the glorious eye of heaven,
She from her cinders doth revive her sex,
Why should not Sylla learn by her to die,
That erst have been the Phoenix of this land?
And drawing near the sunshine of content,
Perish obscure to make your glories grow.
For as the higher trees do shield the shrubs
From posting Phlegon's warmth and breathing fire,
So mighty men obscure each other's fame,
And make the best deservers fortune's game.
But ah, what sudden furies do affright?
What apparitious fantasies are these?
O, let me rest, sweet lords, for why methinks
Some fatal spells are sounded in mine ears.
GENIUS. _Subsequitur tua mors: privari lumine Syllam,
Numina Parcarum jam fera precipiunt
Precipiunt fera jam Parcarum numina Syllam
Lumine privari: mors tua subsequitur.
Elysium petis, o faelix! et fatidici astri
Praescius: Heroes, o, petis innumeros!
Innumeros petis, o, Heroes, praescius astri
Fatidici: et faelix, o, petis Elysium_!
SYLLA. _Ergo-ne post dulces annos properantia fata?
Ergo-ne jam tenebrae praemia lucis erunt?
Attamen, ut vitae fortunam gloria mortis
Vincat, in extremo funere cantet olor_.
POMPEY. How fares my lord? what dreadful thoughts are these?
What doubtful answers on a sudden thus?
SYLLA. Pompey, the man that made the world to stoop,
And fetter'd fortune in the chains of power,
Must droop and draw the chariot of fate
Along the darksome banks of Acheron.
The heavens have warn'd me of my present fall.
O, call Cornelia forth: let Sylla see
His daughter Fulvia, ere his eyes be shut.
[_Exit one for_ CORNELIA.
FLACCUS. Why, Sylla, where is now thy wonted hope
In greatest hazard of unstayed chance.
What, shall a little biting blast of pain
Blemish the blossoms of thy wonted pride?
SYLLA. My Flaccus, worldly joys and pleasures fade;
Inconstant time, like to the fleeting tide,
With endless course man's hopes doth overbear:
Nought now remains that Sylla fain would have,
But lasting fame, when body lies in grave.
_Enter_ CORNELIA, FULVIA.
CORNELIA. How fares my lord? How doth my gentle Sylla.
SYLLA. Ah, my Cornelia! passing happy now:
Free from the world, allied unto the heavens:
Not curious of incertain chances now.
CORNELIA. Words full of woe, still adding to my grief,
A cureless cross of many hundred harms.
O, let not Rome and poor Cornelia lose,
The one her friend, the other her delight.
SYLLA. Cornelia, man hath power by some instinct
And gracious revolution of the stars,
To conquer kingdoms, not to master fate:
For when the course of mortal life is run,
Then Clotho ends the web her sister spun.
Pompey, Lord Flaccus, fellow-senators,
In that I feel the faintful dews of death
Steeping mine eyes within their chilly wet,
The care I have of wife and daughter both,
Must on your wisdom happily rely.
With equal distribution see you part
My lands and goods betwixt these lovely twain:
Only bestow a hundred thousand sesterces
Upon my friends and fellow-soldiers.
Thus, having made my final testament,
Come, Fulvia, let thy father lay his head
Upon thy lovely bosom, and entreat
A virtuous boon and favour at thy hands.
Fair Roman maid, see that thou wed thy fairness
To modest, virtuous, and delightful thoughts:
Let Rome, in viewing thee, behold thy sire.
Honour Cornelia, from whose fruitful womb
Thy plenteous beauties sweetly did appear;
And with this lesson, lovely maid, farewell.
FULVIA. O tedious and unhappy chance for me.
SYLLA. Content thee, Fulvia, for it needs must be.
Cornelia, I must leave thee to the world;
And by those loves that I have lent thee oft,
In mutual wedlock-rites and happy war,
Remember Sylla in my Fulvia still.
Consul, farewell! my Pompey, I must hence:
And farewell, Rome: and, Fortune, now I bless thee,
That both in life and death would'st not oppress me!
CORNELIA. O hideous storms of never-daunted fate!
Now are those eyes, whose sweet reflections cool'd
The smother'd rancours of rebellious thoughts,
Clad with the sable mantles of the night;
And like the tree that, robb'd of sun and showers,
Mourns desolate withouten leaf or sap,
So poor Cornelia, late bereft of love,
Sits sighing, hapless, joyless, and forlorn.
FULVIA. Gone is the flow'r that did adorn our fields;
Fled are those sweet reflections of delight:
Dead is my father! Fulvia, dead is he
In whom thy life, for whom thy death, must be.
FLACCUS. Ladies, to tire the time in restless moan
Were tedious unto friends and nature too.
Sufficeth you, that Sylla so is dead,
As fame shall sing his power, though life be fled.
POMPEY. Then to conclude his happiness, my lords,
Determine where shall be his funeral.
LEPIDUS. Even there where other nobles are interr'd.
POMPEY. Why, Lepidus, what Roman ever was,
That merited so high a name as he?
Then why with simple pomp and funeral
Would you entomb so rare a paragon?
CORNELIA. An urn of gold shall hem his ashes in:
The vestal virgins with their holy notes
Shall sing his famous, though too fatal, death.
I and my Fulvia with dispersed hair
Will wait upon this noble Roman's hearse.
FULVIA. And Fulvia, clad in black and mournful pall,
Will wait upon her father's funeral.
POMPEY. Come, bear we hence this trophy of renown,
Whose life, whose death, was far from fortune's frown.
The funerals of_ SYLLA _in great pomp.
Deo juvante, nil nocet livor malus:
Et non juvante nil juvat labor gravis_.
A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus the kings sonne of Valentia and
Amadine the Kings daughter of Arragon, with the merie conceites of
Mouse. Newly set foorth, as it hath bin sundrie times plaide in the
honorable Cittie of London. Very delectable and full of mirth. London
Printed for William Iones, dwelling at Holborne conduit, at the signe of
the Gunne_. 1598. 4to.
_A Most pleasant Comedie of Mucedorus the Kings sonne of Valentia, and
Amadine the Kings daughter of Aragon. With the merry conceites of Mouse.
Amplified with new additions, as it was acted before the Kings Maiestie
at White-hall on Shroue-Sunday night. By his Highnes Seruants vsually
playing at the Globe. Very delectable, and full of conceited Mirth.
Imprinted at London for William Iones, dwelling neare Holborne Conduit,
at the signe of the Gunne_. 1610. 4to.
An edition of 1606 is mentioned in "Beauclerc's Catalogue," 1781, as
noticed by Hazlitt. There were others in 1613, 1615, 1619, 1668, and
without date, all in 4to.
This drama, at one time conjecturally given to Shakespeare, is now first
reprinted from the original copy of 1598, collated with that of 1610;
and the additions are inserted between brackets. Whether the additions
and corrections were the work of the original writer, or of some one
else, is uncertain; but it does not appear improbable that they were the
From the play of "Mucedorus" was formed a ballad entitled "The Wandering
Prince and Princess, or Mucedorus and Amadine."
Most sacred Majesty, whose great deserts
Thy subject England, nay, the world, admires:
Which heaven grant still increase! O, may your praise
Multiplying with your hours, your fame still raise.
Embrace your Council: love with faith them guide,
That both at one bench, by each other's side.
So may your life pass on, and run so even,
That your firm zeal plant you a throne in heaven,
Where smiling angels shall your guardians be
From blemish'd traitors, stain'd with perjury.
And, as the night's inferior to the day,
So be all earthly regions to your sway!
Be as the sun to day, the day to night,
For from your beams Europe shall borrow light.
Mirth drown your bosom, fair delight your mind,
And may our pastime your contentment find.
_Eight persons may easily play it.
The_ KING _and_ RUMBELO. _For one_.
MUCEDORUS, _the Prince of Valencia. For one_.
AMADINE, _the_ KING'S _daughter of Arragon. For one_.
SEGASTO, _a Nobleman. For one_.
ENVY: TREMELIO, _a Captain. | For one_.
BREMO, _a wild man_. |
COMEDY, _a boy, an old woman. | For one_.
ARIENA, AMADINE'S _maid_. |
COLLEN, _a Councillor, a Messenger. For one_.
MOUSE, _the Clown. For one_.
_Enter_ COMEDY _joyfully, with a garland of bays on her head_.
Why so; thus do I hope to please:
Music revives, and mirth is tolerable,
Comedy, play thy part, and please;
Make merry them that come to joy with thee.
Joy, then, good gentles; I hope to make you laugh.
Sound forth Bellona's silver-tuned strings.
Time fits us well, the day and place is ours.
_Enter_ ENVY, _his arms naked, besmeared with blood_.
ENVY. Nay, stay, minion; there lies a block!
What, all on mirth? I'll interrupt your tale,
And mix your music with a tragic end.
COMEDY. What monstrous ugly hag is this,
That dares control the pleasures of our will?
Vaunt, churlish cur, besmear'd with gory blood,
That seem'st to check the blossoms of delight,
And stifle the sound of sweet Bellona's breath,
Blush, monster, blush, and post away with shame,
That seekest disturbance of a goddess' deeds.
ENVY. Post hence thyself, thou counterchecking trull;
I will possess this habit, spite of thee,
And gain the glory of thy wished port.
I'll thunder music shall appal the nymphs,
And make them shiver their clattering strings:
Flying for succour to their Danish caves.
_Sound drums within, and cry, Stab, stab_!
Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise
Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound,
And thunder music to the gods above:
Mars shall himself breathe down
A peerless crown upon brave Envy's head,
And raise his chival with a lasting fame.
In this brave music Envy takes delight,
Where I may see them wallow in their blood,
To spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off,
And hear the cry of many thousand slain,
How lik'st thou this, my trull? this sport alone for me!
COMEDY. Vaunt, bloody cur, nurs'd up with tigers' sap,
That so dost seek to quail a woman's mind.
Comedy is mild, gentle, willing for to please,
And seeks to gain the love of all estates.
Delighting in mirth, mix'd all with lovely tales,
And bringeth things with treble joy to pass.
Thou bloody envious disdainer of men's joys,
Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems,
Delights in nothing but in spoil and death,
Where thou may'st trample in their lukewarm blood,
And grasp their hearts within thy cursed paws.
Yet veil thy mind; revenge thou not on me;
A silly woman begs it at thy hands.
Give me the leave to utter out my play;
Forbear this place; I humbly crave thee, hence!
And mix not death 'mongst pleasing comedies,
That treat nought else but pleasure and delight.
If any spark of human rests in thee,
Forbear; begone; tender the suit of me.
ENVY. Why, so I will; forbearance shall be such,
As treble death shall cross thee with despite,
And make thee mourn, where most thou joyest,
Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole:
Whirling thy pleasures with a peal of death,
And drench thy methods in a sea of blood.
This will I do; thus shall I bear with thee;
And, more to vex thee with a deeper spite,
I will with threats of blood begin thy play:
Favouring thee with envy and with hate.
COMEDY. Then, ugly monster, do thy worst;
I will defend them in despite of thee:
And though thou think'st with tragic fumes
To brave my play unto my deep disgrace,
I force it not, I scorn what thou canst do;
I'll grace it so, thyself shall it confess,
From tragic stuff to be a pleasant comedy.
ENVY. Why then, Comedy, send thy actors forth,
And I will cross the first steps of their tread,
Making them fear the very dart of death.
COMEDY. And I'll defend them, maugre all thy spite.
So, ugly fiend, farewell, till time shall serve,
That we may meet to parley for the best.
ENVY. Content, Comedy; I'll go spread my branch
And scattered blossoms from mine envious tree,
Shall prove two monsters, spoiling of their joys.
[_Sound.] Enter_ MUCEDORUS _and_ ANSELMO, _his friend_.
ANSELMO. My lord and friend.
MUCEDORUS. True, my Anselmo, both thy lord and friend,
Whose dear affections bosom with my heart,
And keep their domination in one orb.
ANSELMO. Whence ne'er disloyalty shall root it forth,
But faith plant firmer in your choice respect.
MUCEDORUS. Much blame were mine, if I should other deem,
Nor can coy Fortune contrary allow.
But, my Anselmo, loth I am to say,
I must estrange that friendship.
Misconstrue not; 'tis from the realm, not thee:
Though lands part bodies, hearts keep company.
Thou know'st that I imparted often have
Private relations with my royal sire,
Had as concerning beauteous Amadine,
Rich Arragon's blight jewel, whose face (some say)
That blooming lilies never shone so gay,
Excelling, not excell'd: yet, lest report
Does mangle verity, boasting of what is not,
Wing'd with desire, thither I'll straight repair,
And be my fortunes, as my thoughts are, fair!
ANSELMO. Will you forsake Valencia, leave the court,
Absent you from the eye of sovereignty?
Do not, sweet prince, adventure on that task,
Since danger lurks each where; be won from it.
MUCEDORUS. Desist dissuasion,
My resolution brooks no battery,
Therefore, if thou retain thy wonted form,
Assist what I intend.
ANSELMO. Your miss will breed a blemish in the court,
And throw a frosty dew upon that beard,
Whose front Valencia stoops to.
MUCEDORUS. If thou my welfare tender, then no more;
Let love's strong magic charm thy trivial phrase,
Wasted as vainly as to gripe the sun.
Augment not then more answers; lock thy lips,
Unless thy wisdom suit me with disguise,
According to my purpose.
ANSELMO. That action craves no counsel,
Since what you rightly are, will more command,
Than best usurped shape.
MUCEDORUS. Thou still art opposite in disposition;
A more obscure servile habiliment
Beseems this enterprise.
ANSELMO. Then like a Florentine or mountebank!
MUCEDORUS. 'Tis much too tedious; I dislike thy judgment,
My mind is grafted on an humbler stock.
ANSELMO. Within my closet does there hang a cassock--
Though base the weed is, 'twas a shepherd's--
Which I presented in Lord Julio's masque.
MUCEDORUS. That, my Anselmo, and none else but that,
Mask Mucedorus from the vulgar view.
That habit suits my mind; fetch me that weed.
Better than kings have not disdain'd that state,
And much inferior, to obtain their mate.
_Re-enter_ ANSELMO _with a shepherd's coat, which he
gives to_ MUCEDORUS.
MUCEDORUS. So let our respect command thy secrecy.
At once a brief farewell;
Delay to lovers is a second hell.
ANSELMO. Prosperity forerun thee: awkward chance
Never be neighbour to thy wishes' venture:
Content and Fame advance thee: ever thrive,
And glory thy mortality survive!
_Enter_ MOUSE _with a bottle of hay_.
MOUSE. O, horrible, terrible! Was ever poor gentleman so scar'd out of
his seven senses? A bear? Nay, sure it cannot be a bear, but some devil
in a bear's doublet; for a bear could never have had that agility to
have frighted me. Well, I'll see my father hanged before I'll serve his
horse any more. Well, I'll carry home my bottle of hay, and for once
make my father's horse turn Puritan, and observe fasting-days, for he
gets not a bit. But soft! this way she followed me; therefore I'll take
the other path; and because I'll be sure to have an eye on him, I will
take hands with some foolish creditor, and make every step backward.
[_As he goes backwards, the bear comes in, and
he tumbles over her, and runs away, and leaves
his bottle of hay behind him.]
Enter_ SEGASTO _running, and_ AMADINE _after him,
being pursued with a bear_.
SEGASTO. O, fly, madam, fly, or else we are but dead!
AMADINE. Help, Segasto! help, help, sweet Segasto, or else I die!
[SEGASTO _runs away_.
SEGASTO. Alas, madam! there is no way but flight;
Then haste, and save yourself.
AMADINE. Why then I die; ah! help me in distress.
_Enter_ MUCEDORUS _like a shepherd, with a sword
drawn and a bear's head in his hand_.
MUCEDORUS. Stay, lady, stay; and be no more dismay'd;
That cruel beast, most merciless and fell,
Which hath bereaved thousands of their lives,
Affrighted many with his hard pursues,
Prying from place to place to find his prey,
Prolonging thus his life by others' death,
His carcase now lies headless, void of breath.
AMADINE. That foul, deformed monster, is he dead?
MUCEDORUS. Assure yourself thereof--behold his head;
Which, if it please you, lady, to accept,
With willing heart I yield it to your majesty.
AMADINE. Thanks, worthy shepherd, thanks a thousand times;
This gift, assure thyself, contents me more
Than greatest bounty of a mighty prince,
Although he were the monarch of the world.
MUCEDORUS. Most gracious goddess, more than mortal wight--
Your heavenly hue of right imports no less--
Most glad am I, in that it was my chance
To undertake this enterprise in hand,
Which doth so greatly glad your princely mind.
AMADINE. No goddess, shepherd, but a mortal wight--
A mortal wight distressed as thou seest:
My father here is King of Arragon:
I, Amadine, his only daughter am,
And after him sole heir unto the crown.
Now, whereas it is my father's will
To marry me unto Segasto, one,
Whose wealth through father's former usury
Is known to be no less than wonderful,
We both of custom oftentimes did use,
Leaving the court, to walk within the fields
For recreation, especially [in] the spring,
In that it yields great store of rare delights;
And, passing farther than our wonted walks,
Scarce ent'red were within these luckless woods.
But right before us down a steep-fall hill,
A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast
To meet us both--I faint to tell the rest,
Good shepherd--but suppose the ghastly looks,
The hideous fears, the thousand hundred woes,
Which at this instant Amadine sustained.
MUCEDORUS. Yet, worthy princess, let thy sorrow cease,
And let this sight your former joys revive.
AMADINE. Believe me, shepherd, so it doth no less.
MUCEDORUS. Long may they last unto your heart's content.
But tell me, lady, what is become of him,
Segasto call'd, what is become of him?
AMADINE. I know not, I; that know the powers divine;
But God grant this, that sweet Segasto live!
MUCEDORUS. Yet hard-hearted he, in such a case,
So cowardly to save himself by flight,
And leave so brave a princess to the spoil.
AMADINE. Well, shepherd, for thy worthy valour tried,
Endangering thyself to set me free,
Unrecompensed, sure, thou shalt not be.
In court thy courage shall be plainly known;
Throughout the kingdom will I spread thy name.
To thy renown and never-dying fame;
And that thy courage may be better known,
Bear thou the head of this most monstrous beast
In open sight to every courtier's view.
So will the king, my father, thee reward:
Come, let's away and guard me to the court.
[MUCEDORUS. With all my heart.]
Enter_ SEGASTO _solus_.
SEGASTO. When heaps of harms do hover over-head,
'Tis time as then, some say, to look about,
And so [of] ensuing harms to choose the least.
But hard, yea hapless, is that wretch's chance,
Luckless his lot and caitiff-like accurs'd,
At whose proceedings fortune ever frowns--
Myself, I mean, most subject unto thrall;
For I, the more I seek to shun the worst,
The more by proof I find myself accurs't.
Erewhiles assaulted with an ugly bear:
Fair Amadine in company all alone:
Forthwith by flight I thought to save myself,
Leaving my Amadine unto her shifts;
For death it was for to resist the bear,
And death no less of Amadine's harms to hear.
Accursed I in ling'ring life thus long
In living thus, each minute of an hour
Doth pierce my heart with darts of thousand deaths:
If she by flight her fury do escape,
What will she think?
Will she not say--yea, flatly to my face,
Accusing me of mere disloyalty--
A trusty friend is tried in time of need;
But I, when she in danger was of death,
And needed me, and cried, Segasto, help!
I turn'd my back, and quickly ran away,
Unworthy I to bear this vital breath!
But what, what needs these plaints?
If Amadine do live, then happy I.
She will in time forgive, and so forget.
Amadine is merciful, not Juno-like,
In harmful heart to harbour hatred long.
_Enter_ MOUSE _the Clown running, crying, Clubs_!
MOUSE. Clubs, prongs, pitchforks, bills! O help!
A bear, a bear, a bear!
SEGASTO. Still bears, and nothing else but bears?
Tell me, sirrah, where she is.
CLOWN. O sir, she is run down the woods:
I see her white head and her white belly.
SEGASTO. Thou talkest of wonders, to tell me of white bears;
But, sirrah, didst thou ever see any such?
CLOWN. No, faith, I never saw any such;
But I remember my father's words,
He bad me take heed I was not caught with a white bear.
SEGASTO. A lamentable tale, no doubt.
CLOWN. I tell you what, sir; as I was going afield to serve my father's
great horse, and carried a bottle of hay upon my head--now, do you see,
sir?--I, fast hoodwinked, that I could see nothing, perceiving the bear
coming, I threw my hay into the hedge and ran away.
SEGASTO. What, from nothing?
CLOWN. I warrant you, yes; I saw something; for there was two load of
thorns besides my bottle of hay, and that made three.
SEGASTO. But tell me, sirrah; the bear that thou didst see,
Did she not bear a bucket on her arm?
CLOWN. Ha, ha, ha! I never saw bear go a-milking in all my life.
But hark you, sir, I did not look so high as her arm;
I saw nothing but her white head and her white belly.
SEGASTO. But tell me, sirrah, where dost thou dwell?
CLOWN. Why, do you not know me?
SEGASTO. Why, no; how should I know thee?
CLOWN. Why then you know nobody, and you know not me. I tell you,
sir, I am the goodman Rat's son, of the next parish over the hill.
SEGASTO. Goodman Rat's son; why, what's thy name?
CLOWN. Why, I am very near kin unto him.
SEGASTO. I think so; but what's thy name.
CLOWN. My name? I have [a] very pretty name; I'll tell you what my name
is--my name is Mouse.
SEGASTO. What, plain Mouse?
CLOWN. Ay, plain Mouse, without either welt or gard.
But do you hear, sir, I am but a very young Mouse,
For my tail is scarce grown out yet. Look you here else.
SEGASTO. But I pray thee, who gave thee that name?
CLOWN. Faith, sir, I know not that; but if you would fain know, ask
my father's great horse, for he hath been half a year longer with my
father than I have.
SEGASTO. This seems to be a merry fellow;
I care not if I take him home with me.
Mirth is a comfort to a troubled mind,
A merry man a merry master makes. [_Aside_.
How say'st thou, sirrah? wilt thou dwell with me?
CLOWN. Nay, soft, sir, two words to a bargain; pray you, what
occupation are you?
SEGASTO. No occupation; I live upon my lands.
CLOWN. Your lands; away, you are no master for me. Why, do you think
that I am so mad, to go seek my living in the lands amongst the stones,
briars and bushes, and tear my holiday apparel? Not I, by your leave.
SEGASTO. Why, I do not mean thou shalt.
CLOWN. How then?
SEGASTO. Why, thou shalt be my man, and wait upon me at the court.
CLOWN. What's that?
SEGASTO. Where the king lies.
CLOWN. What's that same king--a man or a woman?
SEGASTO. A man, as thou art.
CLOWN. As I am? Hark you, sir; pray you, what kin is he to goodman King
of our parish, the churchwarden?
SEGASTO. No kin to him; he is the king of the whole land.
CLOWN. King of the land? I never see him.
SEGASTO. If thou wilt dwell with me, thou shalt see him every day.
CLOWN. Shall I go home again to be torn in pieces with bears? No, not I;
I will go home and put on a clean shirt, and then go drown myself.
SEGASTO. Thou shalt not need, if thou wilt dwell with me; thou shalt
CLOWN. Shall I not? Then here's my hand: I'll dwell with you. And hark
you, sir! now you have entertained me, I will tell you what I can do.
I can keep my tongue from picking and stealing, and my hands from lying
and slandering, I warrant you, as well as ever you had man, in all your
SEGASTO. Now will I to court with sorrowful heart, rounded with doubts.
If Amadine do live, then happy I: yea, happy I, if Amadine do live!
Enter the_ KING, _with a young Prince prisoner_,
AMADINE, _with_ COLLEN _and Councillors_.
KING. Now, brave lords, [that] our wars are brought to end;
Our foes [have had] the foil, and we in safety rest,
It us behoves to use such clemency
In peace, as valour in the wars. It is
As great honour to be bountiful
At home, as to be conquerors in the field.
Therefore, my lords, the more to my content,
Your liking, and your country's safeguard,
We are dispos'd in marriage for to give
Our daughter to Lord Segasto here,
Who shall succeed the diadem after me,
And reign hereafter as I tofore have done,
Your sole and lawful King of Arragon:
What say you, lordings, like you of my advice?
COLLEN. An't please your majesty, we do not only allow of your
highness's pleasure, but also vow faithfully in what we may to
KING. Thanks, good my lords, if long Adrostus live,
He will at full requite your courtesies.
Tremelio, in recompense of thy late valour done,
Take unto thee the Catalonian prince,
Lately our prisoner taken in the wars.
Be thou his keeper; his ransom shall be thine;
We'll think of it, when leisure shall afford.
Meanwhile, do use him well; his father is a king.
TREMELIO. Thanks to your majesty, his usage shall be such
As he thereat shall think no cause to grutch.
[_Exeunt_ TREMELIO _and Prince_.
KING. Then march we on to court, and rest our wearied limbs.
But, Collen, I have a tale in secret kept for thee:
When thou shalt hear a watchword from thy king,
Think then some weighty matter is at hand,
That highly shall concern our state,
Then, Collen, look thou be not far from me:
And for thy service thou tofore hast done,
Thy truth and valour prov'd in every point,
I shall with bounties thee enlarge therefore:
So guard us to the court.
COLLEN. What so my sovereign doth command me do,
With willing mind I gladly yield consent.
Enter_ SEGASTO _and the_ CLOWN, _with weapons about him_.
SEGASTO. Tell me, sirrah, how do you like your weapons?
CLOWN. O, very well, very well; they keep my sides warm.
SEGASTO. They keep the dogs from your shins very well, do they not?
CLOWN. How, keep the dogs from my shins? I would scorn but my shins
could keep the dogs from them.
SEGASTO. Well, sirrah, leaving idle talk, tell me,
Dost thou know Captain Tremelio's chamber?
CLOWN. Ay, very well, it hath a door.
SEGASTO. I think so; for so hath every chamber.
But dost thou know the man?
CLOWN. Ay forsooth, he hath a nose on his face.
SEGASTO. Why, so hath every one.
CLOWN. That's more than I know.
SEGASTO. But dost thou remember the Captain, that was here with the
King even now, that brought the young prince prisoner?
CLOWN. O, very well.
SEGASTO. Go unto him, and bid him come to me. Tell him I have a matter
in secret to impart to him.
CLOWN. I will, master; master, what's his name?
SEGASTO. Why, Captain Tremelio.
CLOWN. O, the meal-man. I know him very well. He brings meal every
Saturday; but hark you, master, must I bid him come to you, or must
you come to him?
SEGASTO. No, sirrah, he must come to me.
CLOWN. Hark you, master; how, if he be not at home?
What shall I do then?
SEGASTO. Why then, leave word with some of his folks.
CLOWN. How, master, if there be nobody within?
I will leave word with his dog.
SEGASTO. Why, can his dog speak?
CLOWN. I cannot tell; wherefore doth he keep his chamber else?
SEGASTO. To keep out such knaves as thou art.
CLOWN. Nay, by'r Lady, then go yourself.
SEGASTO. You will go, sir, will ye not?
CLOWN. Yes, marry, will I. O, 'tis come to my head;
And a' be not within, I'll bring his chamber to you.
SEGASTO. What, wilt thou pluck down the King's house?
CLOWN. Nay, by'r Lady, I'll know the price of it first.
Master, it is such a hard name, I have forgotten it again. I pray you,
tell me his name.
SEGASTO. I tell thee, Captain Tremelio.
CLOWN. O, Captain Treble-knave, Captain Treble-knave.
TREMELIO. How now, sirrah, dost thou call me?
CLOWN. You must come to my master, Captain Treble-knave.
TREMELIO. My Lord Segasto, did you send for me?
SEGASTO. I did, Tremelio. Sirrah, about your business.
CLOWN. Ay, marry, what's that, can you tell?
SEGASTO. No, not well.
CLOWN. Marry, then, I can; straight to the kitchen-dresser, to John
the cook, and get me a good piece of beef and brewis; and then to the
buttery-hatch, to Thomas the butler for a jack of beer, and there for
an hour I'll so belabour myself; and therefore I pray you call me not
till you think I have done, I pray you, good master.
SEGASTO. Well, sir, away. [_Exit_ MOUSE.
Tremelio, this it is. Thou knowest the valour of Segasto,
Spread through all the kingdom of Arragon,
And such as hath found triumph and favours,
Never daunted at any time? But now a shepherd
[Is] admired at in court for worthiness,
And Segasto's honour [is] laid aside.
My will therefore is this, that thou dost find
Some means to work the shepherd's death; I know
Thy strength sufficient to perform my desire, and thy love no otherwise
than to revenge my injuries.
TREMELIO. It is not the frowns of a shepherd that Tremelio fears,
Therefore account it accomplished, what I take in hand.
SEGASTO. Thanks, good Tremelio, and assure thyself,
What I promise that will I perform.
TREMELIO. Thanks, my good lord, and in good time see where
He cometh. Stand by awhile, and you shall see
Me put in practice your intended drifts.
Have at thee, swain, if that I hit thee right!
MUCEDORUS. Vile coward, so without cause to strike a man--Turn,
coward, turn; now strike, and do thy worst.
[MUCEDORUS _killeth him_.
SEGASTO. Hold, shepherd, hold; spare him, kill him not.
Accursed villain, tell me, what hast thou done?
Ah, Tremelio, trusty Tremelio!
I sorrow for thy death, and since that thou
Living didst prove faithful to Segasto,
So Segasto now living shall honour the dead corpse
Of Tremelio with revenge. Bloodthirsty villain,
Born and bred to merciless murther, tell me
How durst thou be so bold, as once to lay
Thy hands upon the least of mine? Assure thyself
Thou shalt be us'd according to the law.
MUCEDORUS. Segasto, cease; these threats are needless.
But in mine own defence accuse not me
Of murther that have done nothing.
SEGASTO. Nay, shepherd, reason not with me;
I'll manifest the fact unto the King,
Whose doom will be thy death, as thou deserv'st.
What ho, Mouse, come away!
CLOWN. Why, how now, what's the matter?
I thought you would be calling before I had done.
SEGASTO. Come, help, away with my friend.
CLOWN. Why, is he drunk? cannot he stand on his feet?
SEGASTO. No, he is not drunk; he is slain.
CLOWN. Flain! no, by['r] Lady, he is not flain.
SEGASTO. He's killed, I tell thee.
CLOWN. What, do you use to kill your friends?
I will serve you no longer.
SEGASTO. I tell thee the shepherd kill'd him.
CLOWN. O, did a so?
But, master, I will have all his apparel
If I carry him away.
SEGASTO. Why, so thou shalt.
CLOWN. Come, then, I will help; mass, master, I think
His mother sang _looby_ to him, he is so heavy.
MUCEDORUS. Behold the fickle state of man, always mutable;
Never at one.
Sometimes we feed on fancies
With the sweet of our desires: sometimes again
We feel the heat of extreme miseries.
Now am I in favour about the court and country,
To-morrow those favours will turn to frowns,
To-day I live revenged on my foe,
To-morrow I die, my foe revenged on me.
Enter_ BREMO, _a wild man_.
BREMO. No passenger this morning? what, not one?
A chance that seldom doth befall.
What, not one? then lie thou there,
And rest thyself, till I have further need.
[_Lays down his club_.
Now, Bremo, sith thy leisure so affords,
An endless thing. Who knows not Bremo's strength,
Who like a king commands within these woods.
The bear, the boar, dares not abide my sight,
But hastes away to save themselves by flight.
The crystal waters in the bubbling brooks,
When I come by, doth swiftly slide away,
And claps themselves in closets under banks,
Afraid to look bold Bremo in the face:
The aged oaks at Bremo's breath do bow,
And all things else are still at my command,
Else what would I?
Rend them in pieces, and pluck them from the earth,
And each way else I would revenge myself.
Why, who comes here, with whom I dare not fight?
Who fights with me, and doth not die the death?
Not one. What favour shows this sturdy stick to those, that here
Within these woods are combatants with me?
Why, death, and nothing else but present death.
With restless rage I wander through these woods;
No creature here but feareth Bremo's force,
Man, woman, child; beast and bird,
And everything that doth approach my sight,
Are forc'd to fall, if Bremo once do frown.
Come, cudgel, come, my partner in my spoils,
For here I see this day it will not be.
But when it falls, that I encounter any,
One pat sufficeth for to work my will.
What, comes not one? Then let's begone;
A time will serve, when we shall better speed.
Enter the_ KING, SEGASTO, _the_ SHEPHERD, _and the_
CLOWN, _with others_.
Thou hast heard thine accusers. Murther
Is laid to thy charge; what canst thou say?
Thou hast deserved death.
MUCEDORUS. Dread sovereign, I must needs confess
I slew this captain in mine own defence,
Not of any malice, but by chance;
But mine accuser hath a further meaning.
SEGASTO. Words will not here prevail,
I seek for justice, and justice craves his death.
KING. Shepherd, thine own confession hath condemned thee.
Sirrah, take him away, and do him to execution straight.
CLOWN. So he shall, I warrant him. But do you hear, Master King, he is
kin to a monkey; his neck is bigger than his head.
SEGASTO. Sirrah, away with him, and hang him about the middle.
CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, I warrant you. Come on, sir, a so like a
sheep-biter a looks.
_Enter_ AMADINE, _and a boy with a bear's head_.
AMADINE. Dread sovereign and well-beloved sire,
On benden knees I crave the life of this
Condemn'd shepherd, which heretofore preserved
The life of thy sometime distressed daughter.
KING. Preserved the life of my sometime distressed daughter?
How can that be? I never knew the time,
Wherein thou wast distress'd. I never knew the day
But that I have maintained thy estate,
As best beseem'd the daughter of a king:
I never saw the shepherd until now.
How comes it then, that he preserv'd thy life?
AMADINE. Once walking with Segasto in the woods,
Further than our accustom'd manner was,
Right before us down a steep-fall hill,
A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast
To meet us both--now whether this be true,
I refer it to the credit of Segasto.
SEGASTO. Most true, an't like your majesty.
KING. How then?
AMADINE. The bear, being eager to obtain his prey,
Made forward to us with an open mouth,
As if he meant to swallow us both at once.
The sight whereof did make us both to dread,
But specially your daughter Amadine,
Who for I saw no succour incident,
But in Segasto's valour, I grew desperate,
And he most coward-like began to fly.
Left me distress'd to be devour'd of him--
How say you, Segasto? is it not true?
KING. His silence verifies it to be true. What then?
AMADINE. Then I amaz'd, distressed, all alone,
Did hie me fast to 'scape that ugly bear.
But all in vain; for why he reached after me,
And oft I hardly did escape his paws,
Till at the length this shepherd came,
And brought to me his head.
Come hither, boy; lo, here it is,
Which I present unto your majesty.
KING. The slaughter of this bear deserves great fame.
SEGASTO. The slaughter of a man deserves great blame.
KING. Indeed occasion oftentimes so falls out.
SEGASTO. Tremelio in the wars, O King, preserved thee.
AMADINE. The shepherd in the woods, O King, preserved me.
SEGASTO. Tremelio fought, when many men did yield.
AMADINE. So would the shepherd, had he been in field.
CLOWN. So would my master, had he not run away. [_Aside_.
SEGASTO. Tremelio's force saved thousands from the foe.
AMADINE. The shepherd's force hath saved thousands mo.
CLOWN. Ay, shipsticks, nothing else. [_Aside_.
KING. Segasto, cease to accuse the shepherd;
His worthiness deserves a recompense,
All we are bound to do the shepherd good.
It was my sentence thou should'st die,
So shall my sentence stand, for thou shalt die.
SEGASTO. Thanks to your majesty.
KING. But soft, Segasto, not for this offence.
Long may'st thou live; and when the Sisters shall decree
To cut in twain the twisted thread of life,
Then let him die: for this I set him free,
And for thy valour I will honour thee.
MUCEDORUS. Thanks to your majesty.
KING. Come, daughter, let us now depart
To honour the worthy valour of the shepherd
With our rewards.
CLOWN. O master, hear you; you have made a fresh hand now; you would be
slow, you. Why, what will you do now? You have lost me a good occupation
by this means. Faith, master, now I cannot hang the shepherd. I pray you,
let me take the pains to hang you: it is but half an hour's exercise.
SEGASTO. You are still in your knavery; but, sith I cannot have his life,
I will procure his banishment for ever.
Come on, sirrah.
CLOWN. Yes, forsooth, I come.
Laugh at him, I pray you.
Enter_ MUCEDORUS _solus_.
MUCEDORUS. From Amadine, and from her father's court,
With gold and silver, and with rich rewards
Flowing from the banks of golden treasuries.
More may I boast, and say, but I,
Was never shepherd in such dignity.
_Enter the_ MESSENGER _and the_ CLOWN.
MESSENGER. All hail, worthy shepherd!
CLOWN. All rain, lousy shepherd!
MUCEDORUS. Welcome, my friends, from whence come you?
MESSENGER. The King and Amadine greet thee well,
And after greetings done, bids thee depart the court
CLOWN. Shepherd, take law legs; fly away, shepherd.
MUCEDORUS. Whose words are these? Come these from Amadine?
MESSENGER. Ay, from Amadine.
CLOWN. Ay, from Amadine.
MUCEDORUS. Ah! luckless fortune, worse than Phaeton's tale,
My former bliss is now become my bale.
CLOWN. What, wilt thou poison thyself?
MUCEDORUS. My former heaven is now become my hell.
CLOWN. The worst alehouse
That I ever came in in all my life.
MUCEDORUS. What shall I do?
CLOWN. Even go hang thyself half an hour.
MUCEDORUS. Can Amadine so churlishly command,
To banish the shepherd from her father's court?
MESSENGER. What should shepherds do in the court?
CLOWN. What should shepherds do among us?
Have we not lords enough o'er us in the court?
MUCEDORUS. Why, shepherds are men, and kings are no more.
MESSENGER. Shepherds are men, and masters over their flock.
CLOWN. That's a lie; who pays them their wages, then?
MESSENGER. Well, you are always interrupting of me,
But you are best look to him,
Lest you hang for him, when he is gone.
The_ CLOWN _sings_.
CLOWN. _And you shall hang for company,
For leaving me alone_.
Shepherd, stand forth, and hear thy sentence.
Shepherd, begone within three days, in pain of
My displeasure; shepherd, begone; shepherd, begone,
Begone, begone, begone; shepherd, shepherd, shepherd.
MUCEDORUS. And must I go, and must I needs depart?
Ye goodly groves, partakers of my songs,
In time tofore, when fortune did not frown,
Pour forth your plaints, and wail awhile with me.
And thou bright sun, my comfort in the cold,
Hide, hide thy face, and leave me comfortless.
Ye wholesome herbs and sweet-smelling savours--
Yea, each thing else prolonging life of man--
Change, change your wonted course, that I,
Wanting your aid, in woful sort may die.
_Enter_ AMADINE [_and_ ARIENA, _her maid_.]
AMADINE. Ariena, if anybody ask for me,
Make some excuse, till I return.
ARIENA. What, and Segasto call?
AMADINE. Do thou the like to him? I mean not to stay long.
MUCEDORUS. This voice so sweet my pining spirits revives.
AMADINE. Shepherd, well-met; tell me how thou doest.
MUCEDORUS. I linger life, yet wish for speedy death.
AMADINE. Shepherd, although thy banishment
Already be decreed, and all against my will,
MUCEDORUS. Ah, Amadine! to hear
Of banishment is death--ay, double death to me;
But since I must depart, one thing I crave.
AMADINE. Say on, with all my heart.
MUCEDORUS. That in absence either far or near,
You honour me as servant with your name.
AMADINE. Not so.
MUCEDORUS. And why?
AMADINE. I honour thee as sovereign of my heart.
MUCEDORUS. A shepherd and a sovereign nothing like.
AMADINE. Yet like enough, where there is no dislike.
MUCEDORUS. Yet great dislike, or else no banishment.
AMADINE. Shepherd, it is only Segasto that
Procures thy banishment.
MUCEDORUS. Unworthy wights are most in jealousy.
AMADINE. Would God they would
Free thee from banishment, or likewise banish me.
MUCEDORUS. Amen say I, to have your company.
AMADINE. Well, shepherd, sith thou sufferest
This for my sake,
With thee in exile also let me live,
On this condition, shepherd, thou canst love.
MUCEDORUS. No longer love, no longer let me live.
AMADINE. Of late I loved one indeed, now love
I none but only thee.
MUCEDORUS. Thanks, worthy princess:
I burn likewise, yet smother up the blast,
I dare not promise what I may perform.
AMADINE. Well, shepherd, hark what I shall say,
I will return unto my father's court,
There to provide me of such necessaries
As for my journey I shall think most fit.
This being done, I will return to thee. Do thou
Therefore appoint the place, where we may meet.
MUCEDORUS. Down in the valley where I slew the bear;
And there doth grow a fair broad branched beech,
That overshades a well: so who comes first,
Let them abide the happy meeting of
Us both. How like you this?
AMADINE. I like it very well.
MUCEDORUS. Now, if you please, you may appoint the time.
AMADINE. Full three hours hence, God willing, I will return.
MUCEDORUS. The thanks that Paris gave the Grecian queen,
The like doth Mucedorus yield.
AMADINE. Then, Mucedorus, for three hours, farewell.
MUCEDORUS. Your departure, lady, breeds a privy pain.
Enter_ SEGASTO _solus_.
SEGASTO. 'Tis well, Segasto, that thou hast thy will.
Should such a shepherd, such a simple swain,
As he eclipse thy credit, famous through
The court? No, ply, Segasto, ply;
Let it not in Arragon be said,
A shepherd hath Segasto's honour won.
_Enter_ MOUSE, _the Clown, calling his master_.
CLOWN. What ho! master, will you come away?
SEGASTO. Will you come hither, I pray you, what's the matter?
CLOWN. Why, is it not past eleven o'clock?
SEGASTO. How then, sir?
CLOWN. I pray you, come away to dinner.
SEGASTO. I pray you, come hither.
CLOWN. Here's such a-do with you, will you never come?
SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, what news of the message I sent you about?
CLOWN. I tell you, all the messes be on the table already--
(There wants not so much as a mess of mustard) half an hour ago.
SEGASTO. Come, sir, your mind is all upon your belly.
You have forgotten what I did bid you do.
CLOWN. Faith, I know nothing, but you bad me go to breakfast.
SEGASTO. Was that all?
CLOWN. Faith, I have forgotten it, the very scent of the meat made
me forget it quite.
SEGASTO. You have forgotten the errand I bid you do?
CLOWN. What arrant? an arrant knave or an arrant whore?
SEGASTO. Why, thou knave, did I not bid thee banish the shepherd?
CLOWN. O, the shepherd's bastard?
SEGASTO. I tell thee, the shepherd's banishment.
CLOWN. I tell you, the shepherd's bastard shall be well kept; I'll look
to it myself. But I pray you, come away to dinner.
SEGASTO. Then you will not tell me whether you have banished him, or no?
CLOWN. Why, I cannot say _banishment_, and you would give me a thousand
pounds to say so.
SEGASTO. Why, you whoreson slave, have you forgotten that I sent you
and another to drive away the shepherd.
CLOWN. What an ass are you; here's a stir indeed, here's message,
arrant, banishment, and I cannot tell what.
SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, shall I know whether you have drove him away.
CLOWN. Faith, I think I have; and you will not believe me, ask my staff.
SEGASTO. Why, can thy staff tell?
CLOWN. Why, he was with me too.
SEGASTO. Then happy I, that have obtain'd my will.
CLOWN. And happier I, if you would go to dinner.
SEGASTO. Come, sirrah, follow me.
CLOWN. I warrant you, I will not lose an inch of you now you are going
to dinner, I promise you. I thought [it] seven year, before I could get
him away. [_Aside.]
Enter_ AMADINE _sola_
AMADINE. God grant my long delay procures no harm,
Nor this my tarrying frustrate my pretence.
My Mucedorus surely stays for me,
And thinks me over long. At length I come,
My present promise to perform.
Ah, what a thing is firm, unfeigned love!
What is it which true love dares not attempt?
My father he may make, but I must match;
Segasto loves; but Amadine must like,
Where likes her best; compulsion is a thrall.
No, no, the hearty choice is all in all,
The shepherd's virtue Amadine esteems.
But what, methinks my shepherd is not come;
I muse at that, the hour is sure at hand.
Well, here I'll rest, till Mucedorus come.
[_She sits her down.
Enter_ BREMO, _looking about; hastily [he] taketh hold of her_.
BREMO. A happy prey! now, Bremo, feed on flesh:
Dainties, Bremo, dainties, thy hungry paunch to fill:
Now glut thy greedy guts with lukewarm blood.
Come, fight with me; I long to see thee dead.
AMADINE. How can she fight, that weapons cannot wield?
BREMO. What, canst not fight? Then lie thou down and die.
AMADINE. What, must I die?
BREMO. What needs these words? I thirst to suck thy blood.
AMADINE. Yet pity me, and let me live awhile.
BREMO. No pity I; I'll feed upon thy flesh,
I'll tear thy body piecemeal joint from joint.
AMADINE. Ah, how I want my shepherd's company!
BREMO. I'll crush thy bones betwixt two oaken trees.
AMADINE. Haste, shepherd, haste, or else thou com'st too late.
BREMO. I'll suck the sweetness from thy marrow bones.
AMADINE. Ah, spare, ah, spare to shed my guiltless blood!
BREMO. With this my bat will I beat out
Thy brains. Down, down, I say:
Prostrate thyself upon the ground.
AMADINE. Then, Mucedorus, farewell, my hoped joys, farewell!
Yea, farewell life, and welcome present death. [_She kneels_.
To thee, O God, I yield my dying ghost.
BREMO. Now, Bremo, play thy part.
How now, what sudden chance is this?
My limbs do tremble, and my sinews shake;
My unweak'ned arms have lost their former force.
Ah, Bremo, Bremo! what a foil hast thou,
That yet at no time ever wast afraid
To dare the greatest gods to fight with thee, [_He strikes_.
And now want strength for one down-driving blow?
Ah, how my courage fails, when I should strike!
Some new-come spirit abiding in my breast,
Say'th, _Spare her, Bremo; spare her, do not kill_.
Shall I spare her, which never spared any?
To it, Bremo, to it; essay again.
I cannot wield my weapons in my hand;
Methinks I should not strike so fair a one,
I think her beauty hath bewitch'd my force,
Or else within me altered nature's course.
Ay, woman, wilt thou live in woods with me?
AMADINE. Fain would I live, yet loth to live in woods.
BREMO. Thon shalt not choose; it shall be as I say;
And therefore follow me.
Enter_ MUCEDORUS _solus_.
MUCEDORUS. It was my will an hour ago and more,
As was my promise, for to make return;
But other business hind'red my pretence.
It is a world to see, when man appoints,
And purposely one certain thing decrees,
How many things may hinder his intent.
What one would wish, the same is farthest off.
But yet th'appointed time cannot be past,
Nor hath her presence yet prevented me.
Well, here I'll stay, and expect the coming.
[_They cry within, Hold him, stay him, hold_!
MUCEDORUS. Some one or other is pursued, no doubt;
Perhaps some search for me; 'tis good
To doubt the worst, therefore I will be gone.
Cry within, Hold him, hold him! Enter_ MOUSE, _the
Clown, with a pot_.
CLOWN. Hold him, hold him, hold him! here's a stir indeed. Here came
hue after the crier, and I was set close at mother Nip's house, and
there I call'd for three pots of ale, as 'tis the manner of us courtiers.
Now, sirrah, I had taken the maidenhead of two of them--now, as I was
lifting up the third to my mouth, there came, Hold him, hold him! Now I
could not tell whom to catch hold on; but I am sure I caught one,
perchance a may be in this pot. Well, I'll see. Mass, I cannot see him
yet; well, I'll look a little further. Mass, he is a little slave, if a
be here; why here's nobody. All this goes well yet; but if the old trot
should come for her pot?--ay, marry, there's the matter. But I care not;
I'll face her out, and call her old rusty, dusty, musty, fusty, crusty
firebrand, and worse than all that, and so face her out of her pot. But
soft! here she comes.
_Enter the_ OLD WOMAN.
OLD WOMAN. Come on, you knave; where's my pot, you knave?
CLOWN. Go, look your pot; come not to me for your pot, 'twere good
OLD WOMAN. Thou liest, thou knave; thou hast my pot.
CLOWN. You lie, and you say it. I, your pot? I know what I'll say.
OLD WOMAN, Why, what wilt thou say?
CLOWN. But say I have him, and thou dar'st.
OLD WOMAN. Why, thou knave, thou hast not only my pot, but my drink
CLOWN. You lie like an old--I will not say whore.
OLD WOMAN. Dost thou call me whore? I'll cap thee for my pot.
CLOWN. Cap me, and thou darest; search me, whether I have it or no.
[_She searcheth him, and he drinketh over her
head, and casts down the pot. She stumbleth
at it, then they fall together by the ears;
she takes her pot and goes out.
SEGASTO. How now, sirrah, what's the matter?
CLOWN. O, flies, master, flies.
SEGASTO. Flies? where are they?
CLOWN. O, here, master, all about your face.
SEGASTO. Why, thou liest; I think thou art mad.
CLOWN. Why, master, I have kill'd a dungcartful at the least.
SEGASTO. Go to, sirrah. Leaving this idle talk, give ear to me.
CLOWN. How, give you one of my ears? not, and you were ten masters.
SEGASTO. Why, sir, I bad you give ear to my words.
CLOWN. I tell you, I will not be made a curtal for no man's pleasure.
SEGASTO. I tell thee, attend what I say. Go thy ways straight, and rear
the whole town.
CLOWN. How, rear the town? even go yourself; it is more than I can do.
Why, do you think I can rear a town, that can scarce rear a pot of ale
to my head? I should rear a town, should I not!
SEGASTO. Go to the constable, and make a privy search; for the shepherd
is run away with the King's daughter.
CLOWN. How? is the shepherd run away with the King's daughter, or is the
King's daughter run away with the shepherd?
SEGASTO. I cannot tell; but they are both gone together.
CLOWN. What a fool she is to run away with the shepherd! Why, I think I
am a little handsomer man than the shepherd myself; but tell me, master,
must I make a privy search, or search in the privy?
SEGASTO. Why, dost thou think they will be there?
CLOWN. I cannot tell.
SEGASTO. Well, then, search everywhere; leave no place unsearched
CLOWN. O, now am I in office, now will I to that old firebrand's house,
and will not leave one place unsearched. Nay, I'll to her ale-stand,
and drink as long as I can stand; and when I have done, I'll let out
all the rest, to see if he be not hid in the barrel. And I find him not
there, I'll to the cupboard. I'll not leave one corner of her house
unsearched. I'faith, ye old crust, I will be with you now.
Enter the_ KING OF VALENTIA, ANSELMO, RODERIGO,
LORD BORACHIUS, _with others_.
KING OF VALENTIA. Enough of music; it but adds to torment.
Delights to vexed spirits are as dates
Set to a sickly man, which rather cloy than comfort:
Let me entreat you to entreat no more.
RODERIGO. Let yon strings sleep; have done there.
[_Let the music cease_.
KING OF VALENTIA. Mirth to a soul disturb'd is embers turn'd,
Which sudden gleam with molestation,
But sooner lose their sight for it.
'Tis gold bestow'd upon a rioter,
Which not relieves, but murders him:
'Tis a drug given to the healthful,
Which infects, not cures.
How can a father, that hath lost his son:
A prince both wise, virtuous, and valiant,
Take pleasure in the idle acts of time?
No, no; till Mucedorus I shall see again,
All joy is comfortless, all pleasure pain.
ANSELMO. Your son, my lord, is well.
KING OF VALENTIA. I prythee, speak that thrice.
ANSELMO. The prince, your son, is safe.
KING OF VALENTIA. O, where, Anselmo? surfeit me with that.
ANSELMO. In Arragon, my liege; and at his 'parture,
[He] bound my secrecy by his affection's love,
Not to disclose it.
But care of him, and pity of your age,
Makes my tongue blab what my breast vow'd--
KING OF VALENTIA. Thou not deceiv'st me? I ever thought thee
What I find thee now, an upright, loyal man.
But what desire or young-fed humour, nurs'd
Within the brain, drew him so privately
ANSELMO. A forcing adamant:
Love, mix'd with fear and doubtful jealousy:
Whether report gilded a worthless trunk,
Or Amadine deserved her high extolment.
KING OF VALENTIA. See our provision be in readiness,
Collect us followers of the comeliest hue,
For our chief guardians; we will thither wend.
The crystal eyes of heaven shall not thrice wink,
Nor the green flood six times his shoulders turn,
Till we salute the Arragonian king.
Music, speak loudly; now the season's apt,
For former dolors are in pleasure wrapt.
Enter_ MUCEDORUS, _to disguise himself_.
MUCEDORUS. Now, Mucedorus, whither wilt thou go?
Home to thy father to thy native soil,
Or try some long abode within these woods?
Well, I will hence depart, and hie me home.
What, hie me home, said I? that may not be;
In Amadine rests my felicity.
Then, Mucedorus, do as thou didst decree:
Attire thee hermit-like within these groves;
Walk often to the beech, and view the well;
Make settles there, and seat thyself thereon;
And when thou feelest thyself to be athirst,
Then drink a hearty draught to Amadine.
No doubt, she thinks on thee, and will one day
Come pledge thee at this well.
Come, habit, thou art fit for me. [_He disguiseth himself_.
No shepherd now: a hermit I must be.
Methinks this fits me very well.
Now must I learn to bear a walking-staff,
And exercise some gravity withal.
_Enter the_ CLOWN.
CLOWN. Here's through the woods and through the woods, to look out a
shepherd and stray king's daughter. But soft! who have we here? what
MUCEDORUS. I am an hermit.
CLOWN. An emmet? I never saw such a big emmet in all my life before.
MUCEDORUS. I tell you, sir, I am an hermit: one that leads a solitary
life within these woods.
CLOWN. O, I know thee now, thou art he that eats up all the hips
and haws; we could not have one piece of fat bacon for thee all this
MUCEDORUS. Thou dost mistake me; but I pray thee, tell me what dost
thou seek in these woods?
CLOWN. What do I seek? for a stray king's daughter run away with a
MUCEDORUS. A stray king's daughter run away with a shepherd.
Wherefore? canst thou tell?
CLOWN. Yes, that I can; 'tis this. My master and Amadine walking one
day abroad, nearer to these woods than they were used (about what I
cannot tell); but toward them comes running a great bear. Now my master
he played the man, and ran away; and Amadine, crying after him;--now,
sir, comes me a shepherd, and he strikes off the bear's head. Now,
whether the bear were dead before or no, I cannot tell; for bring
twenty bears before me, and bind their hands and feet, and I'll kill
them all. Now, ever since, Amadine hath been in love with the shepherd;
and for goodwill she's even run away with the shepherd.
MUCEDORUS. What manner of man was a? canst describe him unto me?
CLOWN. Scribe him? ay, I warrant you, that I can. A was a little, low,
broad, tall, narrow, big, well-favoured fellow: a jerkin of white cloth,
and buttons of the same cloth.
MUCEDORUS. Thou describest him well; but if I chance to see any such,
pray you, where shall I find you, or what's your name?
CLOWN. My name is called Master Mouse.
MUCEDORUS. O Master Mouse, I pray you, what office might you bear
in the court?
CLOWN. Marry, sir, I am a rusher of the stable.
MUCEDORUS. O, usher of the table.
CLOWN. Nay, I say rusher, and I'll prove my office good. For look, sir,
when any comes from under the sea or so, and a dog chance to blow his
nose backward, then with a whip I give him the good time of the day,
and straw rushes presently. Therefore I am a rusher: a high office,
I promise ye.
MUCEDORUS. But where shall I find you in the court?
CLOWN. Why, where it is best being, either in the kitchen a eating, or
in the buttery drinking. But if you come, I will provide for thee a
piece of beef and brewis knuckle-deep in fat. Pray you, take pains;
remember Master Mouse.
MUCEDORUS. Ay, sir, I warrant I will not forget you.
Ah, Amadine! what should become of thee?
Whither shouldst thou go so long unknown?
With watch and ward each passage is beset,
Doubtless she hath lost herself within these woods,
And wand'ring to and fro she seeks the well,
Which yet she cannot find;
Therefore will I seek her out.
Enter_ BREMO _and_ AMADINE.
How like you Bremo and his woods?
AMADINE. As like the woods of Bremo's cruelty.
Though I were dumb, and could not answer him,
The beasts themselves would with relenting tears
Bewail thy savage and unhuman deeds.
BREMO. My love, why dost thou murmur to thyself?
Speak louder, for thy Bremo hears thee not.
AMADINE. My Bremo? no, the shepherd is my love.
BREMO. Have I not saved thee from sudden death,
Giving thee leave to live, that thou might'st love?
And dost thou whet me on to cruelty?
Come, kiss me (sweet) for all my favours past.
AMADINE. I may not, Bremo, and therefore pardon me.
BREMO. See how she flings away from me;
I will follow and give a rend to her. [_Aside_.
Deny my love; ah, worm of beauty!
I will chastise thee; come, come,
Prepare thy head upon the block.
AMADINE. O, spare me, Bremo! love should limit life,
Not to be made a murderer of himself.
If thou wilt glut thy loving heart with blood,
Encounter with the lion or the bear,
And (like a wolf) prey not upon a lamb.
BREMO. Why, then, dost thou repine at me?
If thou wilt love me, thou shalt be my queen;
I will crown thee with a complet made of ivory,
And make the rose and lily wait on thee.
I'll rend the burly branches from the oak,
To shadow thee from burning sun:
The trees shall spread themselves where thou dost go;
And as they spread, I'll trace along with thee.
AMADINE. You may; for who but you? [_Aside_.
BREMO. Thou shalt be fed with quails and partridges,
With blackbirds, larks, thrushes, and nightingales.
Thy drink shall be goats' milk and crystal water,
Distill'd from the fountains and the clearest springs,
And all the dainties that the woods afford
I'll freely give thee to obtain thy love.
AMADINE. You may; for who but you? [_Aside_.
BREMO. The day I'll spend to recreate my love,
With all the pleasures that I can devise,
And in the night I'll be thy bed-fellow,
And lovingly embrace thee in mine arms.
AMADINE. One may; so may not you. [_Aside_.
BREMO. The satyrs and the wood-nymphs shall attend
On thee, and lull thee asleep with music's sound,
And in the morning, when thou dost awake,
The lark shall sing good morrow to my queen,
And whilst he sings, I'll kiss my Amadine.
AMADINE. You may; for who but you? [_Aside_.
BREMO. When thou art up, the wood-lanes shall be strawed
With violets, cowslips, and sweet marigolds,
For thee to trample and to trace upon;
And I will teach thee how to kill the deer,
To chase the hart, and how to rouse the roe,
If thou wilt live to love and honour me.
AMADINE. You may; for who but you?
BREMO. Welcome, sir, an hour ago I look'd for such a guest.
Be merry, wench, we'll have a frolic feast,
Here's flesh enough for to suffice us both,
Say, sirrah, wilt thou fight, or dost thou yield to die?
MUCEDORUS. I want a weapon; how can I fight?
BREMO. Thou want'st a weapon? why, then thou yield'st to die.
MUCEDORUS. I say not so; I do not yield to die.
BREMO. Thou shalt not choose; I long to see thee dead.
AMADINE. Yet spare him, Bremo, spare him.
BREMO. Away, I say, I will not spare him.
MUCEDORUS. Yet give me leave to speak.
BREMO. Thou shalt not speak.
AMADINE. Yet give him leave to speak for my sake.
BREMO. Speak on; but be not over-long.
MUCEDORUS. In time of yore, when men (like brutish beasts)
Did lead their lives in loathsome cells and woods,
And wholly gave themselves to witless will
(A rude, unruly rout), then man to man became
A present prey: then might prevailed:
The weakest went to wall,
Right was unknown; for wrong was all in all.
As men thus lived in this great outrage,
Behold, one Orpheus came (as poets tell),
And them from rudeness unto reason brought:
Who led by reason, some forsook the woods;
Instead of caves, they built them castles strong;
Cities and towns were founded by them then.
Glad were they, [that] they found such ease,
And in the end they grew to perfect amity.
Weighing their former wickedness,
They term'd the time, wherein they lived then
A golden age, a goodly golden age.
Now, Bremo, for so I hear thee called,
If men which lived tofore, as thou dost now,
Wildly in wood, addicted all to spoil,
Returned were by worthy Orpheus' means,
Let me (like Orpheus) cause thee to return
From murder, bloodshed, and like cruelty.
What, should we fight before we have a cause?
No, let us live and love together faithfully--
I'll fight for thee--
BREMO. Fight for me or die? Or fight, or else thou diest?
AMADINE. Hold, Bremo, hold!
BREMO. Away, I say; thou troublest me.
AMADINE. You promised me to make me your queen.
BREMO. I did; I mean no less.
AMADINE. You promised that I should have my will.
BREMO. I did; I mean no less.
AMADINE. Then save this hermit's life; for he may save us both.
BREMO. At thy request I'll spare him,
But never any after him. Say, hermit,
What canst thou do?
MUCEDORUS. I'll wait on thee; sometime upon thy queen.
Such service shalt thou shortly have as Bremo never had.
Enter_ SEGASTO, _the_ CLOWN, _and_ RUMBELO.
SEGASTO. Come, sirs; what, shall I never have you
Find out Amadine and the shepherd.
CLOWN. And I have been through the woods, and through the woods,
And could see nothing but an emmet.
RUMBELO. Why, I see a thousand emmets; thou meanest a little one?
CLOWN. Nay, that emmet that I saw was bigger than thou art.
RUMBELO. Bigger than I? what a fool have you to your man? I pray you,
master, turn him away.
SEGASTO. But dost thou hear, was he not a man?
CLOWN. I think he was, for he said he did lead a salt-seller's life
about the woods.
SEGASTO. Thou wouldest say, a solitary life about the woods?
CLOWN. I think it was so indeed.
RUMBELO. I thought what a fool thou art.
CLOWN. Thou art a wise man; why, he did nothing but sleep since he went.
SEGASTO. But tell me, Mouse, how did he go?
CLOWN. In a white gown, and a white hat on his head, and a staff
in his hand.
SEGASTO. I thought so; it was a hermit that walked a solitary life
in the woods. Well, get you to dinner; and after never leave seeking,
till you bring some news of them, or I'll hang you both.
CLOWN. How now, Rumbelo, what shall we do now?
RUMBELO. Faith, I'll home to dinner, and afterward to sleep.
CLOWN. Why, then thou wilt be hanged.
RUMBELO. Faith, I care not; for I know I shall never find them.
Well, I'll once more abroad, and if I cannot find them, I'll never
come home again.
CLOWN. I tell thee what, Rumbelo; thou shalt go in at one end of the
wood, and I at the other, and we will meet both together in the midst.
RUMBELO. Content; let's away to dinner.
Enter_ MUCEDORUS _solus_.
MUCEDORUS. Unknown to any here within these woods,
With bloody Bremo do I lead my life.
The monster he doth murther all he meets;
He spareth none, and none doth him escape.
Who would continue--who, but only I--
In such a cruel cutthroat's company?
Yet Amadine is there; how can I choose?
Ah, silly soul! how oftentimes she sits
And sighs, and calls, _Come, shepherd, come;
Sweet Mucedorus, come and set me free_,
When Mucedorus present stands her by!
But here she comes.
What news, fair lady, as you walk these woods?
AMADINE. Ah, hermit! none but bad, and such
As thou knowest.
MUCEDORUS. How do you like
Your Bremo and his woods?
AMADINE. Not my Bremo,
Nor Bremo's woods.
MUCEDORUS. And why not yours?