Chapter 12

_Turp_ ... ... Sir, let me perswade ... ... Thys dottage ore the deade is monstrous, Nor suits youre greatnes nor your gravitie.

_Char_. No more; He that perswades me from thys loved embrace Is my most mortall enemye, and here I sweare Ile hate hym to destructyon. O, _Gabriella_, come; thy syster sleepes A longe, longe slumber, but she is not deade; Goodnes can never perishe, and if so Yet deathe shall not devyde us. Why, I have Not full so many mynuts to survyve As one pore breathe may reccon, and shall I For that short space forgett her? No we'll stay And close our loves both in one monument.

_Turp_. Was never seene suche an affectyon!

_Char_. Come, _Gabriella_, let us sett her downe; And seate her easylie, doe not hurt my queene; The downie breathe that sweepes alongst the meads, Kissinge the gentyll flowers that sweeten hym, Are stormes and tempests to her tenderness: [_They place the dead bodye in a chayre_. No ayre shall blow uppon her. Happye soule! Indeede I dearelye love thee, for I see The rose and lyllie sprynginge in thy cheeks Fresher than ever. Deathes imortal sythe Dare not offend thy branches: O, thou arte A thynge beyond mortall corruptyon.

_Buss_.--What will a make of her?

_Turp_.--Even what his fancye pleases.

_Char_. If she be dead howe sweete a thynge is deathe, Howe riche, howe gloryous and unmatchable! And howe much follye is in fearfull man [_Sitts by her_. To flye from that which is so amyable! Deare, give me leave to touche thee and imprinte My soule uppon theise rubyes. All the fame And garlands I have woone throughe Chrystendome, The conquests I have made of _Fraunce_, of _Spayne_, Of _Ittalie, Hungarie, Germanie_, Even to the uttmost east poynt, placd with thee Are toys of worthlesse valewe. Here's my crowne, And but for thys I were not _Charlymayne_.

_Turp_. Alas, tys she maks hym not _Charlymayne_!

_Char_. Comaund some musique. Everye man departe,

[_Exe. Bus. and attend[ants]. Soft musique_.

But _Turpin_ and my sister. Heavye sleepe Presses me to her bossome; gentyll sweete, Let me not hurte thy goodnes, for my rest Shall but like softe ayre gentlye cover thee. [_Sleepes on her bosome_.

_Turp_. What, madam? is he salve a sleepe?

_Gab_. Most soundlye, Sir: sadnes from hys soule Hath charmd hys sence with slumber.

_Turp_. Then, if it please your goodnes to withdrawe And fytt hys hyhgnes chamber, I will watche And call you at hys wakynge.

_Gab_. Willinglye. [_Ex. Gabriella_.

_Turp_. I have not seene so stronge a fytt as thys, It is beyond all fevers; for thys feynde, Thys most mallygnant spyrritt called love, Raynes in him above wonder, nay above Th'accounte of learnynge or experyence. I've reade in younger studyes there are charmes, Spells and devysses to comand men's harts; That charracters and imadges and scrolles Can even bynd the soule to servytude. It may be that's wrought on the emperoure. I know the hate of _Ganelon_ to be A myne of all deceytfull polycie, And thys affectyon thus unnaturall, Can but have such a father. Suer Ile trye, If I can fynde the carryage. Pardon me, deathe, That I thys once ryffell thy treasurye. Theres nothynge heare conceald but deathe and colde And emptye sylence, no companyon. What, shall I then leave of? My harte says noe; Ile yet breake ope another cabanett. Nay, I must parte your lipps; the mouthe, they say, Harbors most oft weomen's corruptyons: You cannot byte me, madam. Ha, whats thys? A rynge! A very curyous rynge, a dayntye ringe Hydd underneathe her tonge. Blesse me, fate! Somethynge depends uppon it: what it is I will aprove and be the treasurer.

_Enter Gabriella_.

_Gab_. Howe nowe, my Lorde? awaks the emperour?

[_Char. stirrs_.

_Turp_. I sawe him move even now: agayne he styrrs. Good sweete, excuse me: when a dothe awake I will retourne imedyatlye. [_Exit Turp_.

_Gab_. I will.

_Char_. Hey ho! Who waytts without? dothe nobodye attend? ... ... pleasure ... ... ... ... ... Ha! Woman's attendaunce? in the name of chaunge When did _Charles_ use such frayltie? Men at armes Did ever guarde me: am I now forsooke?

_Enter Richard, La Busse and attendants_.

O you are wellcome. Ha! what creature's thys? Deathe coopeld to my bossome, to my chayre? What traytor shewd thys embleme? Why my age Did neare forgett mortallytie, nor hathe The wantonst thought in prynces made me looke Beyond the hower of deathe. Let me viewe her.

_Rich_.--Here's a chaunge; he wilbe _Charles_ agayne.

_Bus_.--Why, thys maks althyngs more myraculous.

_Char_. Tys the dead Empresse! In the name of healthe Who plact her bodye here?

_Rich_. Onlye your maiestye, From strengthe of whose imbrace not anye tonge Had power to drawe her.

_Char_. Gentyll coosse, Doe not take judgment from me: in my mynde Was never fyxte a frantycke passyon. But more of that hereafter: take it hence And let the ladyes guarde it tyll it be Interrd with publique sollempe obsequy.

[_Attendants, La Busse and Gab. carie away the dead_.

Where is Orlando my renowned nephewe?

_Rich_. Without, attendinge your hye pleasure.

_Char_. Good coosse, intreate hys presence that hys face May blesse an ould man's eie sight. O tys he [_Exit Rich_. Hathe brought to _Fraunce_ her wishes in suche wreathes Of uncompared conquests that it bends With weaknes of requyttall. Here he comes!

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver, Richard and Didier, Attend[ants]_.

O my best souldier, wellcome! I growe younge With thynkinge of thy gloryes. Wellcome, coosse, Wellcome, renowned _Oliver_, wellcome all! But thou, myne eagle, wellcome as my healthe! Th'ast brought me peace, the braunche of hapynes.

_Orl_. The good that I have doone, Sir, is without me And I partake not of it, but within me I bringe and beare more mysseryes then would Unpeople your whole kyngdome.

_Char_. Whats the matter?

_Orl_. Sir, to let passe somethynge without your power Nowe to be remedyed, I am persuaded (Thoughe I persuade my selfe to littill purposse) To tell you of a practyse gainst my life By _Ganelon_.

_Char_. Call hym; you shall be hearde, You are to me toe pretyous to take wronge. Yet, nephewe, be advisd, for you doe knowe That indyrect surmyses more abuse And in that strange abuse more deeplye wounde An inocent brest then proves a guyltie one.

_Orl_. Sir, I best knowe howe muche abusses wounde An inocent brest: myne keepes a register With corsives charactred on everye syde Of the griefe drinkinge pap[er]. But I say, Were _Ganelon_ here--

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. As he is, my lorde, To aunswere everye thynge your abusd nature, The mallyce of thys slave or of the world, Can charge me with. Speak then the uttermost.

_Orl_. I say you are a man that haveinge longe Practysd agaynst myne honor in myne absence At last didst deale with thys just gentyllman (For so I must repute hym, though hys pyttie Be myne afflyction) to poyson me.

_Gan_. My emperour, If thys aspertyon may fynde out a way Thorrowe your easynes to wound myne honor, Justyce hathe left the earthe.

_Char_. What say you, Syr? ha!

_Did_. I say and sweare by all dyvinitie That can rewarde or punyshe, tys most true That with a summe of goulde and further hopes Of future honors he did wynne my promysse To poyson the greate Palladyne.

_Char_. Thys is dyrect.

_Gan_. A dyrect vyllanye! If suche proofes may prevayle gaynst any man, Any such slave, discarded for's badd life, May make hys former master forfayte hys; You may in ten days hange up all your nobles And yet have lawe for't. But if any man (Thys slave except), although hys synns would make The sunne put on a cloud to shame his syghte And the grasse wither with his loathed ..., Will justefye thys accusatyon, Ile remayne destitute of all replye.

_Char_. Nephewe, what other proofe have you?

_Orl_. Your majestie sees all, And the thyrde parte of that product gaynst me Or gaynst another man (for anye ellse) Would be enoughe.

_Rei_. Why, in suche casses, where basse pollycie Works on the lives of prynces, God forbydd But one mans oathe should stand for testymonye.

_Oli_. Espetyallye where cyrcumstances leade Dyrectlye to the poynte he aymethe at. All _Fraunce_ dothe knowe he hates the Palladyne.

_Ric_. In soothe I doe not thynke so. Envyes tonges Are sharpe and manye, and they ever cleave Most to'th oppressed, oft to'th inocent.

_Rei_. Doe not deceyve your selfe out of your love. Brother, tys knowne he is most treacherous.

_Bus_. Worthy _Reinaldo_, carrye better thoughts: My father is your servant, and dothe love you.

_Rei_. Would a loved vertue as I knowe you doe, I then would honor hym. Uppon my life In thys he is most guyltye.

_Char_. Come, no more. There is some cyrcomstance but no due proofe, And from that grounde my nephewe shall perceyve Howe dearlye I doe pryze him. _Ganelon_, Hencefourthe you never more shall see the courte: Yare banysht thence. You have a cuntrye house, Let that receyve you: when you thence departe Your life is forfayte. Away!

_Gan_. I doe obay Your Majestye. [_Exe. Gan., La Busse_.

_Orl_. Is thys a punishment?

_Rei_. Tys a disgrace, best cossen.

_Did_. And noble bloode Hathe more sence of disgrace then wounds.

_Orl_. Hence, slave! By heaven a does rewarde hym for hys synne. Was ever man like me unfortunate? Not see the courte! why tys the greatest favor In a kyngs guyfte, and had hys hyghnes pleasd T'have sent me to deathe we had bothe beene easd.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Char_. O my deare sweete! where has my best frend beene? My joy of life, my ages comforter! Indeede I've had a tedyous mysse of thee.

_Tur_. What meanes your majestie?

_Char_. I meane to live for ever on thy necke And bathe thy bossome with my joyfull teares. O thou arte sweete and lovelye as the sprynge, Freshe as the mornynge on the blushinge rosse When the bright sonne dothe kysse it.

_Orl_. Ha, whats thys?

_Tur_. I am your pore weake servant, an oulde man, That have but onlye prayrs to pleasure you.

_Char_. Thou art all butye, spyces and perfume, A verye myne of imortallytie. Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye, Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed. Thou hast no wrinckles: theise are carracters In which are wrytt loves happiest hystorye. Indeede I needs must kysse theym, faythe I will. [_Kisses Turpin_.

_Orl_.--Wonder when wilt thou leave me? thys is straunge.

_Rei_.--Nay, farre above my readinge.

_Orl_.--Upon my life! The ould men will not ravyshe one another?

_Tur_. Deare Sir, forbeare; see howe theise prynces scorne Thys toe much wanton passyon.

_Char_. They are joys Toe good for theym to wyttness. Come, my sweete; We will in private measure our delights And fyll our wishes bryme full. _F[r]aunce_ is thyne, And he is but disloyall dare repyne.

[_Ex. Char., Turp_.

_Orl_. This visyon I must followe; when Charles growes thus The whole worlde shaks: thys comett's omynous.

[_Ex. all but Didier_.

_Did_. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe. Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man, Has undoone me. What course shall I take now? I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me. My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt For anye ill. Successe may make all fayre; He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre.

[_Exit_.

_Actus Tertius_.

(SCENE I.)

_Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella_.

[_Eld_.] ... ... ... it is not possyble ... ... ... ... ... The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye _Richard_ Should promise more true fortytude in love Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons.

_Gab_. Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs, The smale assurance and the certayne deathe, The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures; And are you styll to learne or will you trust A lovelye face with all your good beleife? My dutye checks myne anger, or I should--

_Eld_. What should you?

_Gab_. Give your tast a bytternes.

_Eld_. I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson; See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill.

_Gab_. Spleene shall not taynte my goodnes So muche as to account your errors follyes; But, I proteste, were you another woman, I should be bouldlye seryous and tell you That all the wytts of chrystendome are spente In stryppinge the corrupted harte of smoothnes: And yet you thynke a smoothe perswadinge boy Beares all hys daunger in hys cheeke and eie! Shall weomen trust a sweete and courtlye face When they themselves deceyve most by the face? Why serves our owne dissemblinge arte if we Cannot suspect when others doe dissemble?

_Eld_. True, daughter; love is like the weassell that went into the meale-chamber; it comes in a littill chyncke no bygger then our eie syghte, but haveinge a whyle fedd on imagynatyon dreames sonnetts to the tune of syghes and heyhos; it growes plumpe and full of humor; it asks a crannye as bygg as a conye borrowe to gett out agayne.

_Gab_. And wherefore then should I trust in the face? Mother, tys true your sonne, my cruell brother, The toe much wise, toe subtyll _Ganelon_, Onlye withdrawes _Richards_ affectyon. Even to my selfe a swore a should not love me; And who that knowes hym, knowes he is not ledd By the charme of hys voyce onlye?

_Eld_. Trust me, wenche, Twas tyrannye to speake so; but in thys Where lyethe our preventyon?

_Gab_. Onlye thus: You must by all meanes styrre dissentyon Twixte _Rychard_ and my brother, tourne their loves To mortall hate and emulatyon; Which but effected, _Richard_ suer will love Bee't but alone to crosse hys enemye.

_Eld_. Content thy selfe, gyrle. There is not the malytious creature nowe liveinge, no, not a venemous and craftie stepdame, nor a tale-carr[y]inge, truthe-pervertinge gossypp cann make theire seedes of enmytie poyson the love of parentts, husbands, neighbours or good fellowshypp sooner or more effectuallye then I will crosse theire frendshypp. But to better purpose--

_Gab_. Peace, no more: here comes the aged byshopp The kyngs inamord darlinge.

_Enter Turpin_.

_Tur_. Best ladye, well encounterd: howe runns chaunce With your deare sonne, my good lord _Ganelon_?

_Eld_. Better then envye wishes, gratyous sir. Lost from the courte he left behynde hym there All cares and all vexatyons: nowe he sleepes, Eats, drynks and laughes, and, but when he dothe sweate, Moves not hys hatt tyll bedd tyme; dothe not fawne, Nor croutche, nor crynge, nor startche his countenance; Is not tane up with other mens affayres But onlye looks to's owne comodytie.

_Tur_. Hys chaunge was passynge happye then, it seemes.

_Gab_. Bothe for hymselfe and hys; for, greate sir, nowe He onlye wayts on hys partycullar, Seeks from a cuntrye comonwealth to rayse All hys to cuntrye fortunes; which, they say, Is safest, surest, and least envyed.

_Tur_. Why, prettie Ladye, you'le not leave the courte?

_Eld_. Yes, gratyous lorde; I'me sent to bringe her thence. Our pore retyred famylie must plante Theire braunches in the broade ayre, not be plashd[91] Or propt agaynst the walls of pallaces.

_Tur_. I doe comend your tempers, but, madam, tys Hys highnes pleasure, for some spetyall ende Onlye to hym reveald, that instantlye Your sonne repayre to'th courte, which I intreate You will imparte unto hym.

_Eld_. Most willinglie; Yet suer I knowe hys harte [is] settled there Which to the courte is a contrarye spheare.

[_Ex. Eldegr. and Gab_.

_Tur_. Howe prettylie theise weomen can dissemble! ... ... ... ... ... O tys a foule and damned sorcerye And maks the best of wisdome and of men, Of fame and fortytude, more loosse then ayre, Foolishe as idyotts, basse as cowardysse. Why I am even rackt with complyment And torturde past all suffrance; age nor sexe Houlde difference in thys incantatyon. But I will trye it further, harke a comes; Nowe must I passe the pike of lunacye.

_Enter Charlimayne, La Busse and Richard_.

_Char_. Come, come, my dearest; wherefore doe you starve My quycke desyers with your so cruell absence? I pray thee tender my declyninge age, Stande allways neare that I may never faynte; For thou inspyrst in me more strengthe and life Then mightie nature when she made me younge.

_Tur_. Sir, I have allways beene your humblest servante.

_Char_. O you dyssemble fynelye!

_Tur_. I protest, sir.

_Char_. Nay, then I may beleive you flatter me, But say thou dost and seeme to love me dearelye, For I confess, as freelye as I love, One littell sparke of thee outbuys my kyngdome; And when my kyngdomes gone pray what am I? A pore decrepyd mysserable thynge That needs no greater plauge then adge and wrinckles.

_Tur_. Indeed your passyon is toe vyolent. I doe adore you next to dietie [sic] And will lay downe my life for you to treade on.

_Char_. Oh[92] nowe religion teache me to beleive Another god, or I must forfayte heaven And worshypp what I see, thys happy creature. Nowe courtyers flatterye cannot keepe my sence From knowinge what I feele, for I am weake: Tys all my comfort nowe to thynke on thee Who bryngst my captive soule to libertie. Chuse then a fytt rewarde, examyne all, All my domynions and authoryties; Thynke what may please thee, make a full request Or I shall growe a burthen to thy favors.

_Tur_. What shall I aske, that in your favours have All that I can desyer?

_Char_. Nay, aske me somethynge: Come, tell't in myne eare?

_Bus_. What thynke you, lorde? Has any favrytt all he can desyer.

_Rich_. Yes, and a be contented.

_Bus_.--Right, sir, thats the questyon, but can a favoryte be so easylie contented?

_Rich_.--Most easylie, being such a worthy reverend prellatt.

_Bus_.--Foote, man, let him be ten thousand preists[93] and a will styll wante somethynge. Give hym but tyme and a wadger with thee, _Richard_, he asks somewhat. See, see, the emperour instructs hym; a good oulde loveinge soule and he is a good ould love he has chossen. I doe not nowe blame hys doatinge on my sister.

_Rich_.--No more, no more, tys daungerous jestinge with edge toole[s], muche more with prynces.

_Bus_.--If prynces have edgtooles I graunte it; but does his grave majestie looke like a lorde of that mettall? Come, come, be not seveare; let us prate whylst they whysper.

_Rich_.--Is that good manners?

_Bus_.--Shall not we doe as the kynge does; manners give place to pollycie and I am suer greate formall outsyds thynke it an aspyringe pollycie to doe or seeme to doe as the kinge dothe.

_Rich_.--Come, thou art wanton!

_Bus_.--As the Bishopp is costyve in hys begging. Twere a myrackle should he aske nothynge. Let me see: does no bodye stande in his way to be removed? (thanks to heaven my father is shrunke allreadye) or does not somebodye stand toe farre of that a would draw nearer. Somewhat there must be.

_Char_. How now, cossen, what says _La Busse_?

_Bus_. Marrye, my lorde, I say if you should give half the libertye of begginge to a courtyer of myne acquayntance that you gave to the Byshopp, you would be beggd out of your whole kyngdome in a cople of mynuts.

_Char_. Like enough, for thy acquayntance are foule beggarlye companyons; yet would thy father had thy vertue.--But, sweete frend, Assure thy selfe th'ast fyxte my resolutyon As fyrme as destenye, and I will give All satisfactyon to the Palladyne.

_Tur_. It wilbe royall in you.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Char_. Kysse me, sweete.--O you are wellcome; stand up. And howe does thys retyred life agree With _Ganelon_?

_Gan_. As _Ganelon_ with it, Most desolatlye, sir. I have induerd Subjection to my fate since last I sawe you; In all which haplesse bondage I have gaynd [Not one] howers comforte tyll twas dooblye yearnd Synce fyrst I knewe what sleepe and wakinge mente I never slepte in quyett nor awakt But with a hartye wishe to sleepe my last. Not a pore simple jest hathe made me smyle Tyll I had payd the tribute of my cares Over and over. Fortune has opposd My naturall blessings and my wishest ends; Those verye honors which my byrthright claymes Have cost me more vexatyon to preserve Than all the numerous tyttells of a kynge Purchasd with plauge and famyne; yet in all My days of sorrowe I was styll to learne A suffrynge of that impyous accounte Which nowe afflycts me.

_Char_. O you are conynge.

_Tur_. Yes, and may teach the worlde to counterfayte.

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo and Oliver_.

But here comes the earle of _Angeres_.

_Char_. Nephewe, y'are discontented and I woulde Give all rights to your honor, which did cause Me latelye thus to send for you.

_Orl_. Tys true, You sent unto me, sir, and I obayd And came: but then, Sir, what became of me? You sente me presentlye away for _Spayne_. Nay, never frowne, I doe remember thys As well methynks as if it hapned nowe.

_Char_. Your memoryes toe blame; you doe mistake.

_Orl_. O that I could mistake or never thynke Uppon thys daylie terror to my sence. Sir, tys a thyng I labour to mystake But cannot, for my starrs will have it thus.

_Char_. You wronge your fortunes and convert theire good Into a stronge disease.

_Orl_. So pray you tourne me then into an hospytall, I have a straunge disease. But, gratyous Sir, Littill thought I, when I departed hence And conquerd you all Spayne, to tourne diseasd.

_Char_. Be patyent, and Ile undertake the cuer.

_Orl_. Oh I should shame your physsycke, though indeede Tys the kyngs evyll I am trobled with, But such a rare kyngs evyll that I feare My chyldrens chyldren wilbe taynted with't.

_Rei_.--A touches hym most bouldlye.

_Oli_.--Even to the quycke of hys last maryadge.

_Orl_. Beleive't, my sycknes is like the disease Which runns styll in a blood, nay more extreame, For frends and kyndred bothe must feele my cursse: But what good man can well escape a cursse When Emperours, that should be absolute, Will take advyse from everye shyftinge sycophant?

_Gan_. Mallyce and factyon could have sayd no more.

_Orl_. Are you then guyltie of advyse, my lorde?

_Gan_. Sir, if the kynge accuse me I submytt.

_Char_. I must accuse you bothe, but punnyshe one, You, _Ganelon_, I meane: there dothe belonge Unto your fault muche more then banishment. I heare discharge you of all offyces, Honors and tyttells or whatere exceeds The slender name of a pore gentyllman. Besyds I fyne you out of your estate At fortye thousand crownes, and never hence To see the courte, but live thence banyshed. Nephewe, this may suffyce you; if't be light Ile lay more burthens on hym.--Come, best frende.

_Orl_. Sir, I desyer no mans miserye.

[_Ex. Cha., Turp_.

_Gan_. Then welcome once agayne my libertie! Nowe, my sweete frend, may I discourse with thee And utter my dystractyon; only nowe Can I retayne thee fullye in my bossome. Before I was devyded in my selfe, The emperour and the state did clayme a parte; But all my frendshypp nowe is undisturbd And onlye thou shalt have what manye had, My best imployments and my whole desyers.

_Rich_. You are a juell fytter for the State, And I feare what will followe. Sure th'emperoure, Has loosend everye pearle about hys crowne In loosinge you, the glorye of hys kingdome.

_Gan_. No, no, he shall complayne that wantinge me He wants his refudge, and my glorye then Shalbe to scorne hys favors whylst my thoughts Onlye take pleasure in a perfytt frende, Which is your selfe, that onlye ... to me ... ... enoughe to caper ... ... ...

_Orl_. What meanes he by theise frantycke sygnes of myrthe? Cossen _Reinaldo_, cossen _Oliver_, Why does he growe thus guyddie?

_Gan_. What says the emperours nephewe? does he grudge That I should take a pore content in shame? Your envye will discredite you, my lorde. Gentyllmen, have you not hearde of _Aesopps_ dogge That once lay snarlinge in the oxes maunger?

_Orl. Rei. Oli_. What then?

_Gan_. He was an arrant peevyshe curre, Nothynge but so; and I protest syncerlye I would have hangd that dogge (had he beene myne) Althoughe a lyonnesse had beene hys dame.

_Orl_. Your dogs comparysons a saucye foole.