A Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. III - Various
_Bow_. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armes
to stay him.
_Clow_. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady
may give you thanks.
_Bow_. My name's Dick Bowyer.
_Clow_. Then, master Dicke Bowyer, after my heartie commendations, adue!
but as for the rest I shall, I say no more, I shall. [_Exit_.
_Bow_. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling when you
should stand Sentinel?
_Core_. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I was
passing dry.
_Bow_. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like the
burning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence has
sav'd you from the boults. How now? what Water-Spanyell have we heere?
_Enter Nod_.
_Core_. Tis Lieutenant Nod.
_Nod_. Captayne, deride me not. I protest I came by this mischaunce by
good service, by following a spy that came to discover our army.
_Bow_. O notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleepe and threw thee into
a ditch?
_Nod_. Was't you? by this light, I took you for a spy.
_Bow_. Yet saw me not no more then a Molewarp. This is an egregious
Rogue.
_Nod_. Yes, I saw you well ynough and I did but try how you would
use me.
_Bow_. By this flesh and bloud many one that lyes in his grave was not
halfe so sencelesse. But the Watch breakes up: every one to his quarter,
away!
[_Exeunt_.
[SCENE 2.]
_Enter Clowne_.
_Clow_. Tis true, they are gone together, and I am sent to watch Prince
Ferdinand and the Earle of Pembrooke. This way they went, but they are
got out of sight. I were very bad to be a hound, that have no better a
sent. If they were hares as they are men, I should think them squatted.
But, husht! here comes one of them.
_Enter Ferdinand_.
_Ferd_. The morne lookes red, red mornes doe threat a storme;
That storme shall light on Pembrooke or my selfe.
This is our meeting place; here runnes the streame
That parts our camps; the time consorts the place;
And (Pembrooke) if thy reputation hold,
It is thy q. to enter.
_Enter Pembrooke_.
_Clow_. Heere comes the tother; this is lucke upon lucke. Now will I run
and fetch my mistris the Lady Katharine to part their fray. [_Exit_.
_Pem_. Good end succeed my early heavynesse!
Three times my feet, as loth to guide me hither,
Have stumbled in a playne and even way.
My sword forsooke his scabbard once or twice;
Bloud from my nostrills thrice hath spowted forth,
And such a dymnesse overrunnes my sight
That I have tane a tree to bee a man
And question'd with it about serious things.
This is the place where I must meet my friend:
Yonder he stands.--Good morrow, Ferdinand.
_Ferd_. Good morrow to thy death. Draw, Pembrooke, draw,
The ground thou treadst upon must be thy grave.
_Pem_. Draw upon Ferdinand?
_Ferd_. I, upon me.
Dally not, Pembrooke; I am bent to fight
And that with thee for the best blood thou bearst.
_Pem_. You have some reason for this resolution.
_Ferd_. My will.
_Pem_. A sorry argument to kill your friend.
I must have better reason then your will
Or Ile not draw upon my Ferdinand.
Our love is older then of one dayes growth;
A yeres continuance hath united us.
Have we not made an enterchange of othes,
Sworne love to one another twenty times,
Confirmd that friendship by society,
Encreasde it with the simpathy of mind,
Making one pleasure pleasure unto both?
And shall this bond be broken upon will?
_Ferd_. Then youle not draw?
_Pem_. Yes, neerer to thy person
In friendly sort to embrace thee, Ferdinand.
_Ferd_. Thou art a coward and thou dar'st not fight.
_Pem_. Thou knowst the contrary, for we have fought
At every weapon to approve our skill.
_Ferd_. Goe to, you are a villayne and a coward,
And by the royall bloud that gave me life
Ile kill thee, Pembrooke, though thou do not draw.
_Pem_. Kill me? thou wilt not wrong thine honour so?
_Ferd_. Zounds but I will; &, traitor, take thou that.
[_Wounds him_.
_Pem_. Wound me so desperately? nay, then, Ile draw,
Not to offend but to defend my selfe.
Now I perceyve it is my blood thou seekst.
Witnesse, you heavens and all you gracious powers
That stand auspicious to this enterprise,
That Pembrooke drawes forth an unwilling sword.
_Ferd_. Why, so; now manfully defend thy selfe.
_Pem_. Another wound? then Pembrook, rowse thy spirit
And beare no longer with this haire-braynd man.
Yet (Ferdinand) resolve me of the cause
That moves thee to this unkind enterprise,
And if I satisfie thee not in words
This double wound shall please thee with my bloud;
Nay, with my sword Ile make a score of wounds
Rather then want of bloud divorce thy love.
_Ferd_. I hate thee deadly and I seeke thy life:
What other reason, Pembrook, wouldst thou have?
Prepare, prepare, in this conflict to show
Thou art a knight and canst o'recome thy foe.
_Pem_. And if I spare thee not, impute the cause
To thine owne rashnes and mine aking wounds.
_Fight, and hurt eche other; both fall downe as dead_.
_Ferd_. I hope I have slayne thee.
_Pem_. Oh I feare thy life.
How fares my Ferdinand?
_Ferd_. What? liv'st thou yet?
Then my fare is ill.
_Pem_. I am markt for death,
I feele a generall fayntnesse through my lymmes;
Expence of bloud will soone expend my life.
_Ferd_. The like debility my joynts doe feele.
_Pem_. Then we must both dye. In the latest of death
Tell me, oh tell me, whence proceeds this hate?
_Ferd_. I feare not (Pembrooke) to discover now.
Thou wert my Spokes-man unto Katherine
And treacherously thou stol'st away her heart.
Oh I can say no more, my spirits doe faynt:
Pembrooke, farewell; I have reveng'd my wrong.
_Pem_. O yet a little longer, gracious time,
Detayne his princely spirit in his brest
That I may tell him he is misse-inform'd
And purge my selfe unto my dying friend.
But death hath layd his num-cold hand upon me:
I am arrested to depart this life.
Deare Ferdinand, although thou be my death,
On thee Ile friendly breathe my latest breath.
_Enter Forrester_.
_For_. How full of pleasure is this Forrest life!
My Parke I liken to a Common wealth
In which my Bucks and Does are Citizens;
The Hunters Lodge the Court from whence is sent
Sentence of life or death as please the King;
Onely our government's a tyranny[135]
In that wee kill our subjects upon sport.
But stay; what Gentlemen do heere lye slayne?
If any sparke of life doe yet remayne
Ile helpe to fanne it with a nymble hand.
The organ of his hand doth play apace;
He is not so far spent but that with helpe
He may recover to his former state.
How is the other? I doe feel soft breath
Breake from between his lips. Oh for some ayd
To beare them to the Forrest to my Lodge,
But as I am Ile try my utmost strength
To save their lives. First seene shall be the first:
Patience and Ile returne and fetch the other.
[_Exit_.
_Enter Fisherman_.
_Fisher_. My angle-rod is broke, my sport is done,
But I will fetch my net to catch some fish;
To lose both fish and pleasure is too much.
Oh what contentment lives there in the brooke!
What pretty traines are made by cunning hands
To intrap the wily watry Citizens[136]!
But what art thou that lyest on the ground?
Sleepst thou or art thou slaine? hath breath his last?
No sparke of life appeares, yet from his eye
Me thinks I see a glymmering light breake forth,
Which, wanting strength, is like a twilight glimse.
If there be any hope to save his life
Ile try my utmost cunning. To my house,
Poore Gentleman, Ile beare thee as a ghest,
And eyther cure thy wounds or make thy grave.
[_Exit_.
_Enter Forrester, missing the other taken away,
speaks anything, and exit_.
_Enter Clowne and Katharine_.
_Clow_. Just in this circle I left the two Princes ready to draw; for I
read the whole discourse of the Combate in their red eyes.
_Kath_. Heere lye their weapons and heere flowes their bloud.
_Clow_. Have they not slayne one another and buryed themselves?
_Kath_. Peace, foole; [i]t is too sure that they are slayne.
_Clow_. O Lord, then let mee turne my selfe into a Ballad and mourne
for them?
_Kath_. Thou angrest me with jesting at my sorrow.
Hence from my sight! my heart is full of griefe
And it will breake, the burthen is so great.
_Clow_. Goe from your sight? then let me goe out of your company,
for I had as leeve leave your sight as your company. Is this my reward
for watching and watching? Oh, Mistris, doe not kill mee with
unkindnesse[137]: I shall, I shall--
_Kath_. What shall you?
_Clow_. Weepe out mine eyes and fill the holes with salt water.
_Kath_. I prythee leave me; I am not displeasd,
But fayne would vent my sorrowe from my heart.
Hold, take my purse, spend that and leave my presence.
Goe everywhere; enquire my Pembrooke out,
And if thou bringst me to his breathlesse truncke
I will reward thee with a treble gift.
_Clow_. Well, I were best bee going, now I am so fayrely offred.
Mistris, your reward hath stopt my eares and entic'de my legs to be
walking. Farewell, I will goe, God knows whither, to seeke and to finde
both and neyther. Farewell, sweet Mistris. [_Exit_.
_Kath_. O Pembrooke, let me kneele unto thy bloud:
And yet I know not whether't be thy bloud,
Save that my soule by a divine instinct
Tells me it is the treasure of thy veynes.
If thou beest dead, thou mirrour of all men,
I vow to dye with thee: this field, this grove,
Shall be my receptacle till my last;
My pillow shall be made a banke of mosse,
And what I drinke the silver brooke shall yeeld.
No other campe nor Court will Katharine have
Till fates do limit her a common grave.
[SCENE 3.]
_Enter Fraunce, Navar, Philip, Flaunders, Thomasin, and attendants_.
_Nav_. Our daughter fled? when? whither? which way? how?
_Tho_. I know not.
_Phil_. Bellamira, my lives joy!
Upon those pinnyons that support her flight
Hovers my heart; you beare away my soule.
Turne, turne agayn, and give this earthly frame
Essentiall power, which for thine absence dyes.
Thou art the sweet of sweets, the joy of joyes;
For thee was Philip borne. O turne agayne,
And Philip is the blessedest of men.
_Lew_. We are glad she's gone though we dissemble it.
--Sonne, bridle this affection, cease these laments:
She did not value them.
_Nav_. Lewis, she did,
Till savage hate that shape disfigured.
_Phil_. O she was worthy to be Queene of heaven;
Her beauty, e're it suffred violence,
Was like the Sunne in his Meridian Throne,
Too splendent for weake eyes to gaze upon.
She was too bright before, till being hid
Under that envious cloud, it took the place
Of a darke ground to show a lovelyer face.
That Leprosie in her seemd perfect beauty
And she did guild her imperfections o're
With vertue, which no foule calumnious breath
Could ever soyle: true vertues dye is such
That malice cannot stayne nor envy tuch.
Then say not but her worth surmounts these woes.
_Nav_. She griev'd to tye you to a hated bed
And therefore followed Burbon for revenge.
_Phil_. Bourbon! who names him? that same verball sound
Is like a thunderclap to Philips eares,
Frighting my very soule. Sure you said Burbon,
And to that prodegie you joynd revenge,
Revenge that like a shaddow followes him.
'Twas he that made me bankrout of all blisse,
Sude the divorce of that pure white and red
Which deckt my Bellamiraes lovely cheeks:
And shall he scape unpunisht?
_Lew_. Joyne your hands
And all with us sweare vengeance on the Duke.
_Phil_. Not for the world: who prosecutes his hate
On Burbon injures me; I am his foe,
And none but I will work his overthrow.
_Lew_. What meanes our sonne?
_Phil_. To hunt him for revenge.
The darkest angle of this universe
Shall not contayne him: through the bounded world
Ile prosecute his flight with ceaslesse steps,
And when long travell makes them dull or faynt,
Bayting[138] them fresh with Bellamiraes wrongs,
Like Eagles they shall cut the flaxen ayre
And in an instant bring me where he is.
_Lew_. Where goes our sonne?
_Phil_. To hell, so that in that kingdome
Fate would assertayne me to meet with Burbon.
Where ever I confront him, this shall kill him.
_Nav_. Thou shalt have ayd to compasse thy revenge.
_Phil_. No ayd but this strong arme. Farewell, farewell!
Since Bellamira hath forsooke her friend,
I seeke destruction (Burbon) and mine ende. [_Exit_.
_Lew_. Stay him: this fury will betray thy life.
_Nav_. Poore king made wretched by thy daughters losse!
_Lew_. Poore king made wretched by thy desperat sonne!
_Enter Messenger_.
_Mess_. Spend not your woes too fast, but save some teares
To dew the obsequies of your dead sonne.
_Nav_. What? Ferdinand?
_Mess_. Hee's slaine by Pembrokes hands
And Pembroke left breathles by Ferdinand.
Theire quarrell is uncertain and their bodies
By some uncivill hands convayed away,
And no inquiry can discover them.
_Nav_. Our sonne slaine? Bellamira poysoned?
Navarre, teare off these hayres and raging die.
_Enter Rodoricke_.
_Lew_. More Tragedies at hand? what newes brings Rodoricke?
_Rod_. Such as will make the hearers sencelesse truncks.
Why doth your highnes in your foe-mens tents
Revell away the time and yield your person
To the knowne malice of your enemies,
Whilst in your owne tents rapine and foule lust
Graspes your fayre daughter to dishonour her?
_Lew_. Our daughter?
_Rod_. She is slily stolen from thence,
Yet none knows whither save one Sentinell,
Who doth report he heard a wretched Lady
Exclaime false Ferdinand would ravish her.
_Lew_. That was my child, dishonor'd by thy sonne.
_Nav_. You wrong him, France.
_Lew_. Thou hast betrayed us, king,
And traynd us to a loathed festivall,
The mariage of thy staynd and leprous child,
Whilst in our absence Ferdinand unjust
Hath staind our daughters beautie with vild lust.
_Flaun_. If you remember, he & English Pembroke
Last day forsooke your Campe as discontent.
_Lew_. That proov'd their loves were fayn'd, and of set malice
He came to view our Campe, how he might act
That deed of obloquy and scape with lyfe.
_Nav_. Tis Fraunce hath done the wrong: you have commenst
This deed of death on Pembrook & our son,
And now, to cover it, suggest and fayne
Our guiltlesse sonne a guilty ravisher.
But render me their bodies.
_Lew_. Where's our Child?
_Nav_. Seeke her.
_Lew_. Seeke Ferdinand.
_Nav_. Fraunce!
_Lew_. Petty king,
For this our wrong looke to be underling.
_Nav_. What Drum is this?
_Lew_. Are we intrapt, Navar?
_Rod_. Feare not. On yonder hill, whose lofty head
Orelookes the under-valleyes, Royall Burbon,
Attended by ten thousand Souldiers,
Craves peace and faire accord with mighty Fraunce.
_Nav_. Burbon that was the ruyne of my Child!
Summon our forces straight and charge the slave.
_Lew_. What meanes the king of Fraunce?
_Rod_. To joyne with him.
_Nav_. What? with a Traytor and a murtherer?
_Lew_. He did a deed of merit and of fame,
Poysoned the Sister of a ravisher,
A Tarquin, an incestuous Tereus,
And our poore Child the wronged Philomell.
Arayne our Battailes straight and joyne with Burbon.
_Nav_. Heare what wee'le urge.
_Lew_. Speake then in warre and death:
In other termes our rage will spend no breath.
_Nav_. And we will speake so lowd that heaven it selfe
Shall echo with the clangor. Both our children
Weele race from our remembrance, and advance
No other thought but how to plague proud France.
Conjoyne with Burbon! e're three suns shall set
In the vast kingdome of Oceanus,
In a pitcht field weele meet the king of Fraunce
And that false traytor Duke.
_Lew_. Navar, thou dar'st not.
_Nav_. Now by Saynt Denis and our Grandsire's tombe
Weele meet thee.
_Lew_. Welcome. O bring valiant men,
Weel think on nought but graves & tombs till then.
[_Exeunt_.
_Rod_. Ha, ha! I laugh to see these kings at jarr.
How civill discord, like a raging floud
Swelling above her banks, shall drowne this land
Whilst Rodoricke on her ruines builds his hopes.
The king of Fraunce, through my suggestion,
Thinks Katherine his daughter ravished,
Who onely, winged with love, is fled the Campe.
Pembrooke and Ferdinand, in mutual strife,
Slayne by eche other doth confirme my words
And for revenge whets keene the two Kings swords.
[_Exit_.
_Actus Quartus_.
[SCENE 1.]
_Enter Pembrooke armde and the Forrester_.
_Pem_. I thank thee, Forrester, whose rough grown walks,
Wild in aspect, afford more courtesy
Then places smoother for civility.
My life, redeemd by thy industrious hand,
Remaynes in love and duty bound to thee.
_For_. Fayre Knight, prevention of sad death by health
More joyes my soule then thanks or rich reward.
But is your armour easy? sits it well?
_Pem_. I never in my life was better fitted.
This should be that unlucky fatall place
Where causlesse hate drew bloud from Ferdinand.
Behold the grasse: a purple register
Still blusheth in remembrance of our fight.
Why wither not these trees, those herbs and plants?
And every neighbour branch droup out their grief?
Poore soules, they do, and have wept out their sap.
Yet I have paid no duety to my friend.
Where is the Tombe I wild you to erect?
_For_. See, valiant knight, proportiond and set up
As well as my poore skill would suffer mee:
And heere his picture hangs.
_Pem_. You have done well:
Yon hand I see's a perfect Architect
In sorrowes building. Once more let suffice
I quite your painfull travell but with thanks.
Now leave me to my selfe, for here I vow
To spend the remnant of my haples dayes.
No knight nor Prince shall ever passe this way
Before his tongue acknowledge _Ferdinand_
The faythfullst lover and the lovingst friend
The world contaynes. Ile have his Sepulcher,
As yet but naked and ungarnished,
E're many dayes hang richer with the spoyles
And vanquisht Trophyes of proud passengers
Then was the Romans wealthy Capitoll.
So, gentle Forrester, bequeath thy prayers
In my assistance: that is all I crave.
_For_. The God of power give power unto your arme
That you may prove victorious-fortunate.
_Pem_. Farewell, kind host.
[_Exit Forester_.
And now let me embrace
This empty Monument of my lost friend.
Oh! wer't so happy to enshrine his bones
How blest should _Pembrooke_ be! but they are torne
By the fierce savadge Woolfe whose filthy mawe
Is made an unfit grave to bury him.
But, if (without offence) I may desire it,
I wish his soule from Paradise may see
How well his name is kept in memorie.
These eyes that saw him bleed have wept for him,
This heart devisde his harme hath sigh'd for him,
And now this hand, that with ungentle force
Depryv'd his life, shall with repentant service
Make treble satisfaction to his soule.
Fortune, thou dost me wrong to suffer me
So long uncombatted: I prythee send
Some stubborne knight, some passenger,
Whose stout controuling stomack will refuse
To yield to my prescription but by force.
I hate this idle rest of precious time.
_Enter Kathar_.
How now? derid'st thou my devotion, goddesse,
Thou sendst a woman to incounter me?
Henceforth Ile hold thee for a fayned name
And no disposer of my Christian hopes.
But, soft; I know that face: oh, I! tis she
Was unjust cause of all my misery.
_Kath_. Long have I wandred with unquiet mind
To find my Pembrook. That they fought, I heare;
That they were wounded both to death, I heare;
But whether cu'rde or dead I cannot heare,
Nor lives there any (if deceasde) can tell
Within what place their bodies are interr'd.
Since therefore all my travell is in vayne,
Here will I take a truce with former care.
This cursed nook was that unlucky plot
Where cursed Ferdinand did kill my love.
What knight is this? Ile question him: perhaps
He can resolve me where my Pembrooke is.
--Joy and good fortune, sir, attend your state.
_Pem_. Your wishes come too late. What seeke you,
Madam?
_Kath_. Tell me, sir knight, for so you seeme to be,
Know you this dismall place you do frequent?
Or have you heard of that unhappy fight
Was here perform'd by Pembrook and his foe?
_Pem_. Yes, Madam, I have heard of it long since
And to my grief knew both the gentlemen.
_Kath_. But can you tell me if they live or no,
Or, dead, what hand hath given them buryall?
_Pem_. Rest you assured, Madam, they are dead:
The one of them, to whom I was allyed
And neerely knit in friendship from my youth,
By me lyes buried heere: a braver knight
And truer Lover never breathd in Fraunce.
_Kath_. O tell me, is it Pembrooke? if for him
You have erected this fayre monument,
Perpetuall honour I will do your state.
_Pem_. Not only, Madam, have I built this tombe
In his memoriall, but my selfe have sworne
Continuall residence within this wood;
And for the love I bare him weare these armes
That whatsoever knight, adventurer, or other,
Making his journey this way and refusing
To do knights homage to my breathlesse friend,
By this assayling steele may be compeld.
_Kath_. Oh let me know your name, so kindly mov'd
To dignifie my Pembrooke's high deserts.
_Pem_. You did not heare me say 'twas Pembrook, Madam.
What is become of him I do not know
Nor greatly care, since he did wrong my friend
And first inkindled this dissensious brawle.
This buryed here is noble Ferdinand,
His fathers comfort and his Countryes hope.
Oh, Madam, had you seene him as I did,
Begirt with wounds that like so many mouthes
Seem'd to complayne his timelesse overthrow,
And had before bin inward with his vertues;
To thinke that nature should indure such wracke
And at one time so many precious gifts
Perish by death, would have dissolv'd your heart.
He was the very pride of fortitude,
The house of vertue, and true friendship's mirrour.
Looke on his picture: in the armes of death
When he was ready to give up the ghost,
I causde it to be drawne. If at that time,
In that extremity of bitter pangs,
He lookt so lovely, had so fresh a colour,
So quick a moving eye, so red a lip,
What was his beauty when he was in health?
See with what courage he indur'd the combat,
Smiling at death for all his tyranny.
Had death bin ought but what he was, sterne death,
He would have bin enamour'd with his looks.
_Kath_.--A certayne soft remorce
Creeps to my heart, perswades me he was true,
Loving and vertuous, but my selfe unkind
Coyly to scorne the proffer of his mind.
_Pem_. O that in Justice of her former hate
She now would hopelesse doat on Ferdinand.
Ile do the best I can to bring her on:
Despaire and madnesse fetch her off againe.--
Madam, how say you? wast not a grevious thing
So rich a Jem should lye rak't up in dust,
So sweet a flower be withred in his prime?
_Kath_. Death was a villayne for attempting it
And so was Pembrooke for effecting it.
No bloudy Scythian or inhumane Turke
But would ha trembled to ha toucht his skin
Or spilt one drop of his Heroick bloud.
_Pem_. Had not that Lady then an yron heart,
A rude ingratefull mind, a savadge spirit,
That knew this vertuous honourable Knight,
This gracious shape and unmatchd excellence,
To be intangled with her fervent love,
To serve her in all loyalty of heart,
To reverence and adore her very name,
To be content to kisse the lowly earth
Where she did set her foot; and when he sued
For grace, to scorne him, to deride his sighes,
And hold his teares and torment in contempt?
Of all that ever liv'd deserv'd she not
The worlds reproch and times perpetuall blot?
_Kath_. Heard you him ever speak of such a one?
_Pem_. Oft times, but chiefly then when he perceyv'd
His hurt was mortall and no way but death,
At every grone he cald upon her name
As if that sound were present remedy;
And when insulting death drew short his breath
And now was ready to close up his eyes,
Farewell, quoth he, where e're I find a shrine
My soule fly thou to beautious Katharine.
_Kath_. That ruthlesse mind, that iron savage heart,
So greatly loved and so little loving,
Breathes in this brest; 'twas I returnd disdaine
For deepe affection, scorne for loyalty,
And now compassionlesse shall pine my selfe.
Oh, Ferdinand, forgive me, Ferdinand:
Injoyne me any penance for that wrong,
Say I shall tread a tedious pilgrimage
To furtherest Palestine, and I will do it.
But peace, fond woman! these exclaimes are vaine:
Thy Ferdinand is dead and cannot heare,
As thou wast sometimes deafe and wouldst not heare.
_Pem_. A just reward.--Come, Madam, have you done?
Give me the picture I may hang it up.
_Kath_. Oh take it not away: since I have lost
The substance, suffer me to keep the shaddow.
Me thinks, so long as this is in my hand,
I claspe my Ferdinand between mine armes;
So long as I behold this lively forme,
So long am I refreshed by his smiles,
So long, me thinks, I heare him speak to me.
Knew I the Paynter drew this counterfeyt
I would reward him with a mynt of gold.
_Pem_. If such a pleasure you receyve by this,
I tell you, Madam, I shall shortly have
His whole proportion cut in Alabaster,
Armd as he was when he encountred here,
Which kneeling shall be set upon his tombe.