A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition) - Various
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
GISMUNDA. I will prevent
Both you and him. Lo, here this hearty draught,
The last that in this world I mean to taste,
Dreadless of death, mine Earl, I drink to thee.
So now work on; now doth my soul begin
To hate this light, wherein there is no love;
No love of parents to their children;
No love of princes to their subjects true;
No love of ladies to their dearest loves:
Now pass I to the pleasant land of love,
Where heavenly love immortal flourisheth.
The gods abhor the company of men;
Hell is on earth; yea, hell itself is heaven
Compar'd with earth. I call to witness heaven;
Heaven, said I? No; hell[86] record I call,
And thou, stern goddess of revenging wrongs,
Witness with me, I die for his pure love.
That lived mine.
[_She lieth down, and covereth her face
with her hair_.
ACT V., SCENE 3.
TANCRED _in haste cometh out of his palace with_ JULIO.
TANCRED. Where is my daughter?
JULIO. Behold, here, woful king!
TANCRED. Ah me! break, heart; and thou, fly forth, my soul.
What, doth my daughter Gismund take it so?
What hast thou done? O, let me see thine eyes!
O, let me dress up those untrimmed locks![87]
Look up, sweet child, look up, mine only joy,
'Tis I, thy father, that beseecheth thee:
Rear up thy body, strain thy dying voice
To speak to him; sweet Gismund, speak to me.
GISMUNDA. Who stays my soul? who thus disquiets me?
TANCRED. 'Tis I, thy father; ah! behold my tears,
Like pearled dew, that trickle down my cheeks,
To wash my silver hairs.
GISMUNDA. O father king,
Forbear your tears, your plaint will not avail.
TANCRED. O my sweet heart, hast thou receiv'd thy life
From me, and wilt thou, to requite the same,
Yield me my death? yea, death, and greater grief--
To see thee die for him, that did defame
Thine honour thus, my kingdom, and thy name?
GISMUNDA. Yea, therefore, father, gave you life to me,
That I should die, and now my date is done.
As for your kingdom and mine own renown,
Which you affirm dishonoured to be,
That fault impute it where it is; for he,
That slew mine Earl, and sent his heart to me,
His hands have brought this shame and grief on us.
But, father, yet if any spark remain
Of your dear love; if ever yet I could
So much deserve, or at your hands desire,
Grant that I may obtain this last request.
TANCRED. Say, lovely child, say on, whate'er it be,
Thy father grants it willingly to thee.
GISMUNDA. My life I crave not, for it is not now
In you to give, nor in myself to save;
Nor crave I mercy for mine Earl and me,
Who hath been slain with too much cruelty.
With patience I must a while abide
Within this life, which now will not be long.
But this is my request--father, I pray
That, since it pleased so your majesty,
I should enjoy my love alive no more,
Yet ne'ertheless let us not parted be,
Whom cruel death could never separate:
But as we liv'd and died together here,
So let our bodies be together tomb'd:
Let him with me, and I with him, be laid
Within one shrine, wherever you appoint.
This if you grant me, as I trust you will,
Although I live not to requite this grace,
Th'immortal gods due recompense shall give
To you for this: and so, vain world, farewell--
My speech is painful, and mine eyesight fails.
TANCRED. My daughter dies--see how the bitter pangs
Of tyrannous death torments her princely heart!
She looks on me, at me she shakes her head;
For me she groans; by me my daughter dies;
I, I the author of this tragedy.--
On me, on me, ye heavens, throw down your ire!
Now dies my daughter! [_she dies_] hence with
princely robes! [_He throws aside his robes_.
O fair in life! thrice fairer in thy death!
Dear to thy father in thy life thou wert,
But in thy death dearest unto his heart;
I kiss thy paled cheeks, and close thine eyes.
This duty once I promis'd to myself
Thou shouldst perform to me; but ah! false hope,
Now ruthful, wretched king, what resteth thee?
Wilt thou now live wasted with misery?
Wilt thou now live, that with these eyes didst see
Thy daughter dead? wilt thou now live to see
Her funerals, that of thy life was stay?
Wilt thou now live that wast her life's decay?
Shall not this hand reach to this heart the stroke?
Mine arms are not so weak, nor are my limbs
So feebled with mine age, nor is my heart
So daunted with the dread of cowardice,
But I can wreak due vengeance on that head,
That wrought the means these lovers now be dead.
Julio, come near, and lay thine own right hand
Upon my thigh[88]--now take thine oath of me.
JULIO. I swear to thee, my liege lord, to discharge
Whatever thou enjoinest Julio.
TANCRED. First, then, I charge thee that my daughter have
Her last request: thou shalt within one tomb
Inter her Earl and her, and thereupon
Engrave some royal epitaph of love.
That done, I swear thee thou shalt take my corpse
Which thou shalt find by that time done to death,
And lay my body by my daughter's side--
Swear this, swear this, I say.
JULIO. I swear.
But will the king do so unkingly now?
TANCRED. A kingly deed the king resolves to do.
JULIO. To kill himself?
TANCRED. To send his soul to ease.
JULIO. Doth Jove command it?
TANCRED. Our stars compel it.
JULIO. The wise man overrules his stars.
TANCRED. So we.
JULIO. Undaunted should the minds of kings endure.
TANCRED. So shall it in this resolution.
Julio, forbear: and as thou lov'st the king,
When thou shalt see him welt'ring in his gore.
Stretching his limbs, and gasping in his groans,
Then, Julio, set to thy helping hand,
Redouble stroke on stroke, and drive the stab
Down deeper to his heart, to rid his soul.
Now stand aside, stir not a foot, lest thou
Make up the fourth to fill this tragedy.
These eyes that first beheld my daughter's shame;
These eyes that longed for the ruthful sight
Of her Earl's heart; these eyes that now have seen
His death, her woe, and her avenging teen;
Upon these eyes we must be first aveng'd.
Unworthy lamps of this accursed lump,
Out of your dwellings! [_Puts out his eyes_] So; it fits us thus
In blood and blindness to go seek the path
That leadeth down to everlasting night.
Why fright'st thou, dastard? be thou desperate;
One mischief brings another on his neck,
As mighty billows tumble in the seas,
Now, daughter, seest thou not how I amerce
My wrath, that thus bereft thee of thy love,
Upon my head? Now, fathers, learn by me,
Be wise, be warn'd to use more tenderly
The jewels of your joys. Daughter, I come.
[_Kills himself_.
FINIS.
EPILOGUE.
SPOKEN BY JULIO.
Lo here the sweets of grisly pale despair!
These are the blossoms of this cursed tree,
Such are the fruits of too much love and care,
O'erwhelmed in the sense of misery.
With violent hands he that his life doth end,
His damned soul to endless night doth wend.
Now resteth it that I discharge mine oath,
To see th'unhappy lovers and the king
Laid in one tomb. I would be very loth
You should wait here to see this mournful thing:
For I am sure, and do ye all to wit,
Through grief wherein the lords of Salerne be,
These funerals are not prepared yet:
Nor do they think on that solemnity.
As for the fury, ye must understand,
Now she hath seen th'effect of her desire,
She is departed, and hath left our land.
Granting this end unto her hellish ire.
Now humbly pray we, that our English dames
May never lead their loves into mistrust;
But that their honours may avoid the shames,
That follow such as live in wanton lust.
We know they bear them on their virtues bold,
With blissful chastity so well content
That, when their lives and loves abroad are told,
All men admire their virtuous government;
Worthy to live where fury never came,
Worthy to live where love doth always see,
Worthy to live in golden trump of fame,
Worthy to live and honoured still to be.
Thus end our sorrows with the setting sun:
Now draw the curtains, for our scene is done.
R.W.
THE WOUNDS OF CIVIL WAR.
_EDITION.
The Wounds of Civill War. Lively set forth in the true Tragedies of
Marius and Scilla. As it hath beene publiquely plaide in London, by the
Right Honourable the Lord high Admirall his Servants. Written by Thomas
Lodge, Gent_. O vita! misero longa, faelici brevis. _London, Printed by
John Danter, and are to be sold at the signe of the Sunne in Paules
Church-yarde_. 1594. 4to.
MR. COLLIER'S PREFACE.[89]
Thomas Lodge, in his "Alarum against Usurers," 1584, speaks of his
"birth," and of "the offspring from whence he came," as if he were at
least respectably descended; and on the authority of Anthony Wood, it
has been asserted by all subsequent biographers that he was of a
Lincolnshire family. [The fact is, that Lodge was the second son of Sir
Thomas Lodge, Lord Mayor of London, who died in 1584, by his wife, the
daughter of Sir William Laxton.] Thomas Salter, about the year 1580,
dedicated his "Mirror of Modesty" to [the poet's mother, Lady Anne
Lodge].
Langbaine seems to be under a mistake when he states that Lodge was of
Cambridge. Wood claims him for the University of Oxford,[90] where he
traces him as early as 1573, when he must have been about seventeen
years old, if he were born, as is generally supposed, in 1556. We are
told by himself that he was a Servitor of Trinity College, and that he
was educated under Sir Edward Hoby. At what time and for what cause
Lodge left Oxford is not known; but Stephen Gosson, in the dedication of
his "Plays Confuted in Five Actions," printed about 1582,[91] accuses
him of having become "a vagrant person, visited by the heavy hand of
God," as if he had taken to the stage, and thereby had incurred the
vengeance of heaven. In 1584, when Lodge answered Gosson, he was a
student of Lincoln's Inn;[92] and to "his courteous friends, the
Gentlemen of the Inns of Court," he dedicated his "Alarum against
Usurers." He afterwards, as he informs Lord Hunsdon, in the epistle
before his "Rosalynde," 1590, "fell from books to arms;" and he calls it
"the work of a soldier and a scholar," adding that he had sailed with
Captain Clarke to the islands of Terceras and the Canaries. In 1596, he
published his "Margarite of America," and he mentions that it was
written in the Straits of Magellan, on a voyage with Cavendish. To this
species of vagrancy, however, Gosson did not refer.
That Lodge was vagrant in his pursuits we have sufficient evidence; for,
after having perhaps been upon the stage, having entered himself at
Lincoln's Inn, having become a soldier, and having sailed with Clarke
and Cavendish, he went, according to Wood, to study medicine at
Avignon.[93] This change, if it took place at all, which may admit of
doubt,[94] did not occur until after 1596. In 1595 his "Fig for Momus"
appeared. Besides Satires, it contains Epistles and Eclogues; and in one
of the latter Lodge speaks in his own person, under the character of
"Golde" (the same letters that compose his name), and there states his
determination no longer to pursue ill-rewarded poetry--
"Which sound rewards, since this neglected time,
Repines to yield to men of high desert,
I'll cease to ravel out my wits in rhyme,
For such who make so base account of art;
And since by wit there is no means to climb,
I'll hold the plough awhile, and ply the cart;
And if my muse to wonted course return,
I'll write and judge, peruse, commend and burn."
The dedication of his "Wit's Misery, and the World's Madness," is dated
"from my house, at Low Layton, 5th November 1596."
The principal reasons for supposing that Lodge studied medicine are the
existence of a "Treatise of the Plague," published by "Thomas Lodge,
Doctor in Physic," in 1603, and of a collection of medical recipes in
MS., called "The Poor Man's Legacy," addressed to the Countess of
Arundel, and sold among the books of the Duke of Norfolk.[95] [There can
be little or no question that the physician and poet were one and the
same. In "England's Parnassus," 1600, he is called indifferently Thomas
Lodge and Doctor Lodge.] The author of the "Treatise of the Plague"
expressly tells the Lord Mayor of London, in the dedication, that he was
"bred and brought up" in the city. Thomas Heywood, in his "Troja
Britannica," 1609, enumerates the celebrated physicians then living--
"As famous Butler, Pedy, Turner, Poe,
Atkinson, Lyster, _Lodge_, who still survive."--C. 3.
It hardly deserves remark that Lodge is placed last in this list; but
had he been the same individual who had written for the stage, was the
friend of so many dramatists, and was so well known as a lyric poet, it
seems likely that Heywood would have said more about him.[96] It is a
singular coincidence, that having written how to prevent and cure the
plague, he should die of that disease during the great mortality of
1625. Wood's expressions on this point, however, are not decisive: "He
made his last _exit_ (of the plague, I think) in September 1625, leaving
then behind him a widow called Joan." It has been conjectured [rather
foolishly] that he was a Roman Catholic, from a statement made by one of
his biographers that, while he practised medicine in London, he was much
patronised by persons of that persuasion.
There are but two existing dramatic productions on the title-pages of
which the name of Lodge is found:[97] the one he wrote alone, and the
other in partnership with Robert Greene:--
(1.) The Wounds of Civill War. Lively set forth in the true Tragedies of
Marius and Scilla, &c. Written by Thomas Lodge, Gent. 1594, 4to.
(2.) A Looking Glasse for London and Englande. Made by Thomas Lodge,
Gentleman, and Robert Greene, _in Artibus Magister_. 1594, 1598, 1602,
1617, all in 4to.[98]
The most remarkable [of his works], and that which has been most often
reprinted, is his "Rosalynde" which, as is well known, Shakespeare
closely followed in "As You Like It."[99]
Anterior to the date of any of his other pieces must have been Lodge's
defence of stage-plays, because Stephen Gosson replied to it about 1582.
It was long thought, on the authority of Prynne, that Lodge's tract was
called "The Play of Plays," but Mr Malone ascertained that to be a
different production. The only copy of Lodge's pamphlet seen by Mr
Malone was without a title, and it was probably the same that was sold
among the books of Topham Beauclerc in 1781. It is spoken of in "The
French Academy" [1589] as having "lately passed the press;" but Lodge
himself, in his "Alarum against Usurers," very clearly accounts for its
extreme rarity: he says, "by reason of the slenderness of the subject
(because it was in defence of plaies and play-makers) the godly and
reverent that had to deal in the cause, misliking it, forbad the
publishing;" and he charges Gosson with "comming by a private unperfect
coppye," on which he framed his answer, entitled, "Plays confuted in
Five Actions."
Mr Malone ("Shakespeare," by Boswell, ii. 250) contends that Spenser
alludes to Lodge, in his "Tears of the Muses," under the name of Alcon,
in the following lines:--
"And there is pleasing Alcon, could he raise
His tunes from lays to matters of more skill;"
and he adds that Spenser calls Lodge Alcon, from one of the characters
in "A Looking Glasse for London and Englande;" but this argument would
apply just as much to Lodge's coadjutor Greene. Mr Malone further argues
that Lodge, roused by this applause (which he repaid in his "Phillis"),
produced not long afterwards a "matter of more skill," in "The Wounds of
Civil War."
THE MOST LAMENTABLE AND TRUE
TRAGEDIES OF
MARIUS AND SYLLA.[100]
_Enter on the Capitol_ SULPITIUS, _Tribune_, CAIUS MARIUS,
Q. POMPEY, _Consul_, JUNIUS BRUTUS, LUCRETIUS, CAIUS GRANIUS,
LECTORIUS, LUCIUS MERULA, _Jupiter's Priest, and_ CINNA;
_whom placed, and their Lictors before them with their rods
and axes_, SULPITIUS _beginneth_.
SULPITIUS. Grave senators, and fathers of this state,
Our strange protractions and unkind delays
Where weighty wars doth call us out to fight,
Our factious wits, to please aspiring lords,
(You see) have added power unto our foes,
And hazarded rich Phrygia and Bithinia,
With all our Asian holds and cities too.
Thus Sylla seeking to be general,
Who is invested in our consul's pall,[101]
Hath forced murders in a quiet state;
The cause whereof even Pompey may complain,
Who, seeking to advance a climbing friend,
Hath lost by death a sweet and courteous son.
Who now in Asia but Mithridates
Laughs at these fond dissensions I complain?
While we, in wrangling for a general,
Forsake our friends, forestal our forward war,
And leave our legions full of dalliance:
Waiting our idle wills at Capua.
Fie, Romans! shall the glories of your names,
The wondrous beauty of this capitol,
Perish through Sylla's insolence and pride;
As if that Rome were robb'd of true renown,
And destitute of warlike champions now?
Lo, here the man, the rumour of whose fame,
Hath made Iberia tremble and submit:
See Marius, that in managing estate,
Though many cares and troubles he hath pass'd,
And spent his youth, upon whose reverend head
The milk-white pledge of wisdom sweetly spreads.
He, six times consul, fit for peace or war,
Sits drooping here, content to brook disgrace,
Who glad to fight through follies of his foes
Sighs for your shame, whilst you abide secure.
And I that see and should recure these wrongs,
Through Pompey's late vacation and delay,
Have left to publish him for general,
That merits better titles far than these.
But, nobles, now the final day is come,
When I, your tribune, studying for renown,
Pronounce and publish Marius general,
To lead our legions against Mithridates,
And crave, grave fathers, signs of your content.
Q. POMPEY. Believe me, noble Romans and grave senators,
This strange election, and this new-made law
Will witness our unstable government,
And dispossess Rome of her empery:
For although Marius be renown'd in arms,
Famous for prowess, and grave in warlike drifts,
Yet may the sunshine of his former deeds
Nothing eclipse our Sylla's dignity.
By lot and by election he was made
Chief general against Mithridates,
And shall we then abridge him of that rule?
'Twere injury to Sylla and to Rome:
Nor would the height of his all-daring mind
Brook to the death so vile and foul disgrace.
J. BRUTUS. Why, Pompey, as if the senate had not power
To appoint, dispose, and change their generals!
Rome shall belike be bound to Sylla's rule,
Whose haughty pride and swelling thoughts puff'd-up
Foreshows the reaching to proud Tarquin's state.
Is not his ling'ring to our Roman loss
At Capua, where he braves it out with feasts,
Made known, think you, unto the senate here?
Yes, Pompey, yes; and hereof are we sure,
If Romans' state on Sylla's pride should lie,
Rome's conquests would to Pontus' regions fly;
Therefore, grave and renowned senators,
(Pillars that bear and hold our rule aloft,
You stately, true, and rich pyramids)
Descend into the depth of your estates;
Then shall you find that Sylla is more fit
To rule in Rome domestical affairs,
Than have the conquest of Bithinia,
Which, if once got, he'll but by death forego:
Therefore I say [let] Marius [be] our general.
LUCRETIUS. So thus we strive abroad to win renown,
And nought regard at home our waning states.
Brutus, I say, the many brave exploits,
The warlike acts that Sylla has achiev'd
Show him a soldier and a Roman too,
Whose care is more for country than himself.
Sylla nill brook[102], that in so many wars,
So hard adventures and so strange extremes,
Hath borne the palm and prize of victory,
Thus with dishonour to give up his charge.
Sylla hath friends and soldiers at command,
That first will make the towers of Rome to shake,
And force the stately capitol to dance,
Ere any rob him of his just renown.
Then we that through the Caspian shores have run,
And spread with ships the Oriental sea,
At home shall make a murder of our friends,
And massacre our dearest countrymen.
LECTORIUS. The power of Sylla nought will 'vail 'gainst Rome;
And let me die, Lucretius, ere I see
Our senate dread for any private man. Therefore,
Renown'd Sulpitius, send for Sylla back:
Let Marius lead our men in Asia.
L. MERULA. The law the senate wholly doth affirm:
Let Marius lead our men in Asia.
ClNNA. Cinna affirms the senate's censure just,
And saith let Marius lead the legions forth.
C. GRANIUS. Honour and victory follow Marius' steps!
For him doth Granius wish to fight for Rome.
SULPITIUS. Why then, you sage and ancient sires of Rome,
Sulpitius here again doth publish forth,
That Marius by the senate here is made
Chief general to lead the legions out
Against Mithridates and his competitors.
Now victory, for honour of Rome, follow Marius!
[_Here let_ MARIUS _rouse himself_.
MARIUS. Sage and imperial senators of Rome,
Not without good advisement have you seen
Old Marius silent during your discourse:
Yet not for that he fear'd to plead his cause,
Or raise his honour trodden down by age,
But that his words should not allure his friends
To stand on stricter terms for his behoof.
Six times the senate by election hath
Made Marius consul over warlike Rome,
And in that space nor Rome nor all the world
Could ever say that Marius was untrue.
These silver hairs, that hang upon my face,
Are witnesses of my unfeigned zeal.
The Cymbrians, that erewhile invaded France,
And held the Roman empire in disdain,
Lay all confounded under Marius' sword:
Fierce Scipio, the mirror once of Rome,
Whose loss as yet my inward soul bewails,
Being ask'd who should succeed and bear his rule,
Even this, quoth he, shall Scipio's armour bear;
And therewithal clapp'd me upon the back.[103]
If then, grave lords, my former-passed youth
Was spent in bringing honours unto[104] Rome,
Let then my age and latter date of years,
Be sealed up for honour unto Rome.
_Here enter_ SYLLA, _with Captains and Soldiers_.
SULPITIUS. Sylla, what mean these arms and warlike troops?
These glorious ensigns and these fierce alarm[s]
'Tis proudly done to brave the capitol!
SYLLA. These arms, Sulpitius, are not borne for hate,
But maintenance of my confirmed state:
I come to Rome with no seditious thoughts,
Except I find too froward injuries.
SULPITIUS. But wisdom would you did forbear
To yield these slight suspicions of contempt,
Where as the senate studieth high affairs.
SYLLA. What serious matters have these lords in hand?
SULPITIUS. The senators with full decree appoint
Old Marius for their captain-general,
To lead thy legions into Asia,
And fight against the fierce Mithridates.
SYLLA. To Marius? Jolly stuff! Why then I see
Your lordships mean to make a babe of me.
J. BRUTUS. 'Tis true, Sylla, the senate hath agreed
That Marius shall those bands and legions bear,
Which you now hold, against Mithridates.
SYLLA. Marius should[105] lead them then, if Sylla said not no;
And I should be a consul's shadow then.
Trustless senators and ungrateful Romans,
For all the honours I have done to Rome,
For all the spoils I brought within her walls,
Thereby for to enrich and raise her pride,
Repay you me with this ingratitude?
You know, unkind, that Sylla's wounded helm
Was ne'er hung up once, or distain'd with rust:
The Marcians that before me fell amain,
And like to winter-hail on every side,
Unto the city Nuba I pursued,
And for your sakes were thirty thousand slain.
The Hippinians and the Samnites Sylla brought
As tributaries unto famous Rome:
Ay, where did Sylla ever draw his sword,
Or lift his warlike hand above his head
For Romans' cause, but he was conqueror?
And now, unthankful, seek you to disgrade
And tear the plumes that Sylla's sword hath won?
Marius, I tell thee Sylla is the man
Disdains to stoop or vail his pride to thee.
Marius, I say thou may'st nor shalt not have
The charge that unto Sylla doth belong,
Unless thy sword could tear it from my heart,
Which in a thousand folds impales[106] the same.
MARIUS. And, Sylla, hereof be thou full assur'd:
The honour, whereto mine undaunted mind
And this grave senate hath enhanced me,
Thou nor thy followers shall derogate.
The space[107] of years that Marius hath o'erpass'd
In foreign broils and civil mutinies,
Hath taught him this: that one unbridled foe
My former fortunes never shall o'ergo.
SYLLA. Marius, I smile at these thy foolish words;
And credit me, should laugh outright, I fear,
If that I knew not how thy froward age
Doth make thy sense as feeble as thy joints.
MARIUS. Sylla, Sylla, Marius' years have taught
Him how to pluck so proud a younker's plumes;
And know, these hairs, that dangle down my face,
In brightness like the silver Rhodope,
Shall add so haughty courage to my mind,
And rest such piercing objects 'gainst thine eyes,
That mask'd in folly age shall force thee stoop.
SYLLA. And by my hand I swear, ere thou shalt 'maze me so,
My soul shall perish but I'll have thy beard.
Say, grave senators, shall Sylla be your general?
SULPITIUS. No: the senate, I, and Rome herself agrees
There's none but Marius shall be general.
Therefore, Sylla, these daring terms unfit
Beseem not thee before the capitol.