A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition) - Various
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FLACCUS. What meaneth Sylla in this sullen mood,
To leave his titles on the sudden thus?
SYLLA. Consul, I mean with calm and quiet mind
To pass my days, till[163] happy death I find.
POMPEY. What greater wrong than leave thy country so?
SYLLA. Both it and life must Sylla leave in time.
CITIZEN. Yet during life have care of Rome and us.
SYLLA. O wanton world, that flatter'st in thy prime,
And breathest balm and poison mixed in one!
See how these wavering Romans wish'd my reign,
That whilom fought and sought to have me slain. [_Aside_.]
My countrymen, this city wants no store
Of fathers, warriors, to supply my room;
So grant me peace, and I will die for Rome.
_Enter two Burglars to them_, POPPEY _and_ CURTALL.
CURTALL. These are very indiscreet counsels, neighbour Poppey,
and I will follow your misadvisement.
POPPEY. I tell you, goodman Curtall, the wench hath wrong. O vain
world, O foolish men! Could a man in nature cast a wench down, and
disdain in nature to lift her up again? Could he take away her
dishonesty without bouncing up the banns of matrimony? O learned
poet, well didst thou write fustian verse.
_These maids are daws
That go to the laws,
And a babe in the belly_.
CURTALL. Tut, man, 'tis the way the world must follow, for
_Maids must be kind,
Good husbands to find_.
POPPEY. But mark the fierse[164],
_If they swell before,
It will grieve them sore_.
But see, yond's Master Sylla: faith, a pretty fellow is a.
SYLLA. What seek my countrymen? what would my friends?
CURTALL. Nay, sir, your kind words shall not serve the turn: why, think
you to thrust your soldiers into our kindred with your courtesies, sir?
POPPEY. I tell you, Master Sylla, my neighbour will have the law: he had
the right, he will have the wrong; for therein dwells the law.
CONSUL. What desire these men of Rome?
CURTALL. Neighbour, sharpen the edge-tool of your wits upon the
whetstone of indiscretion, that your words may shine like the razors
of Palermo[165]: [_to_ POPPEY] you have learning with ignorance,
therefore speak my tale.
POPPEY. Then, worshipful Master Sylla, be it known unto you,
That my neighbour's daughter Dority
Was a maid of restority;
Fair, fresh, and fine
As a merry cup of wine;
Her eyes like two potch'd eggs,
Great and goodly her legs;
But mark my doleful ditty,
Alas! for woe and pity!
A soldier of your's
Upon a bed of flowers
Gave her such a fall,
As she lost maidenhead and all.
And thus in very good time
I end my rudeful rhyme.
SYLLA. And what of this, my friend? why seek you me,
Who have resign'd my titles and my state,
To live a private life, as you do now?
Go move the Consul Flaccus in this cause,
Who now hath power to execute the laws.
CURTALL. And are you no more master dixcator, nor generality of the
soldiers?
SYLLA. My powers do cease, my titles are resign'd.
CURTALL. Have you signed your titles? O base mind, that being in the
Paul's steeple of honour, hast cast thyself into the sink of simplicity.
Fie, beast!
Were I a king, I would day by day
Suck up white bread and milk,
And go a-jetting in a jacket of silk;
My meat should be the curds,
My drink should be the whey,
And I would have a mincing lass to love me every day.
POPPEY. Nay, goodman Curtall, your discretions are very simple; let
me cramp him with a reason. Sirrah, whether is better good ale or
small-beer? Alas! see his simplicity that cannot answer me: why,
I say ale.
CURTALL. And so say I, neighbour.
POPPEY. Thou hast reason; ergo, say I, 'tis better be a king than
a clown. Faith, Master Sylla, I hope a man may now call ye knave by
authority.
SYLLA. With what impatience hear I these upbraids,
That whilom plagued the least offence with death.
O Sylla, these are stales of destiny
By some upbraids to try thy constancy.
My friends, these scorns of yours perhaps may move
The next dictator shun to yield his state,
For fear he find as much as Sylla doth.
But, Flaccus, to prevent their farther wrong,
Vouchsafe some lictor may attach the man,
And do them right that thus complain abuse.
FLACCUS. Sirrah, go you and bring the soldier,
That hath so loosely lean'd to lawless lust:
We will have means sufficient, be assured,
To cool his heat, and make the wanton chaste.
CURTALL. We thank your mastership. Come, neighbour, let us jog.
Faith, this news will set my daughter Dorothy agog.
[_Exeunt cum Lictore_.
SYLLA. Grave senators and Romans, now you see
The humble bent of Sylla's changed mind.
Now will I leave you, lords, from courtly train
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[166] warmth and breathing fire,
So mighty men obscure each other's fame,
And make the best deservers fortune's game.
_Enter_ GENIUS.
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_!
[Evanescit subito.
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[167]
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!
[_Dies_.
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.
[_Exeunt omnes.
The funerals of_ SYLLA _in great pomp.
Deo juvante, nil nocet livor malus:
Et non juvante nil juvat labor gravis_.
FINIS.
MUCEDORUS.
_EDITIONS.
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
author's.
From the play of "Mucedorus" was formed a ballad entitled "The Wandering
Prince and Princess, or Mucedorus and Amadine."
THE PROLOGUE.[168]
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.
[_Exit_ Prologue.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
_Eight[169] 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_.
MUCEDORUS.
_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.
[_Exit.
[_Sound.] Enter_ MUCEDORUS _and_ ANSELMO, _his friend_.
MUCEDORUS. Anselmo.
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.
[_Exit ANSELMO_.
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.
[_Exit MUCEDORUS_.
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.]
[_Exeunt.
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.