Chapter 14

_Gan_. I knowe the full relatyon. You did not seeke By basse ways my repryvall?

_Bus_. God forbydd! I spoake but what myght suyte your noblenes.

_Gan_. What aunswere made the emperoure?

_Bus_. That when I shall Meete hym uppon a way was never usde By horse nor man, & I myselfe to ryde Neyther on horse, mare, asse, & yet the beast An usuall thynge for burthen, & withall Come neyther nakd nor cloathed, & doe bringe My greatest frend & greatest enemye, You then shall have hys favor, not before.

_Gan_. A myght in one worde playnlye have sayd "never" And saved much cyrcomstance. What sayd _Richard_?

_Bus_. Faythe, seemd to speake, but utterd nothynge.

_Elde_. Why that exprest hym bravelye.

_Gan_. A thynks me fallinge & avoyds my swindge Least I should fall on hym, nor helps me forwarde To dryve away the feare of douted ruyne. Even thus doe beasts avoyde the shaken tree And browze uppon the twygs that gave them shelter. Myce be more sotyable; they keepe the house Tyll everye roome be fyerd about theire eares, But frends will vanyshe at reporte of daunger. Where shall I fyxe my trust? My woes are nowe Beyond my synns, yet Ile nor bend nor bowe.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Orlando, Reinaldo, Oliver_.

_Orl_. Pray, thee, good coosse, perswade not my beleife; I cannot stoope[97] the harte of _Ganelon_. My crosse unhappye fortune hathe decreed A never shalbe conquerd; any ells, Should a but vowe to conquer 50 worlds, I would beleive a myght doo't: onlye I Shall never master a dejected slave.

_Rei_. Indeede tys but your passyon so perswads you.

_Oli_. Be not fantastyque; that which we perswade Hathe bothe an eassye and a certayne way, Nor can it yeild to you a syngle joye But muche redoobled sweetnes. And behould Here comes the newe made marquesse.

_Enter Richard_.

Good sweete lorde, Give my free speche suer passadge. ... ... ... ... ...

_0l_. Foote! thys newe pyle of honor walks as if A would knocke patts with heaven.

_Rich_. Tys not unlike Your owne true pryde dothe make you speculous.

_Rei_. Tys farre shorte of youre sweete harte _Ganelons_.

_Rich_. Sir, hees a noble gentyllman.

_Oli_. A Baboone, A verye windye caske of emptynes.

_Rich_. I wonder y'are so impudent. My frende Hath vertues lefte: if you had eyther shame Or charytie you would accuse your lybells. But as the ravens which in _Arabia_ live, Haveinge flowne all the feylde of spyces ore, Seaze on a stynkinge carkasse, so doe you Swiftlye leape over a most plentyous vale Of good examples which grace _Ganelon_ And fasten on the scandall which was formd By a lewde treacherous knave to gett rewarde.

_Oli_. I give your aplycatyon the broade lye.

_Rich_. And tys thy last foule languadge. [_Offer to Drawe_.

_Orl_. Hould! who drawes must be myne enemye.

_Rich_. I'm easlye chydd from tumulte, but, deare Sir, Tell me in pryvatt howe you dare maynteyne it. [_Whisper_.

_Enter alofte[98] Ganelon_.

_Gan_.--Yonder a stands consultinge with my foes. Perhapps thys present mynute he reveales My systers whoredome, or to take away All feare of my revendge he now contryves That my sadd deathe may fynishe my disgrace. Myne eies are dazeld, but it is no wonder, For in that glassye fellowe I dyserne The true reflectyon of my fate & feares. Tys he, tys he; there wants but a good crossbowe[99] To levell at hys harte nowe. I began A littill synce to chide my rashe beleife And so was readye to tourne foole agayne; But I am nowe deliverd & hencefourthe, If wisdome or occassyon doe me righte, I will determine never to mystake. Heres a full proofe of what my mother spake.

_Oli_. As I respect myne honor I will meete you.

_Rei_. Are you agreed?

_Oli_. Yes, sir.

_Orl_. Away and shape our purposse.

[_Ex. all but Richard_.

_Rich_. Tys put to tryall; but I doe suspecte Theire whysprynge plotts. Thys equall hazard may Shadowe the meanynge of some certayne danger, The rather synce _Reinaldo_ seconds it. I must see _Ganelon_ & speake theise douts: This quarrell most concerns hym, for the wronge And capytall abuse toucht onlye hym. I gave a constant promyse never more To vyssytt hym without the emperours leave, And yet I will adventure. He may guesse At secrett workings & confyrme my feare. Thys nighte I will adventure, & obay As he shall fashyion me to meete or stay.

[_Ex_.

_Actus 5_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter Eldegrade & Didier_.

_Eld_. What, have you vyssyted my greived sonne?

_Did_. Madam, I have.

_Eld_. And you are reconcyld? you see hys harte Is made of meltinge waxe & not of marble. Faythe, twas a harde parte; you have brought us lowe, Lowe as the earthe we treade on, but Ile ceasse Further reitteratyon: synce hees pleasd To burye all, I wilbe patyent; You knowe I ever lovd you & you have Doone me most worthye, honest offyces.

_Did_. And many more will dedycatt unto you; My lorde & I am reconcyld at full And have disburdend all our greivances. I doe confes I was bewytcht with fate But will redeeme myne error; synce I knowe He loves me nowe more then he did before, I will deserv't so bravely you shall call And sweare I am a noble instrument.

_Eld_. You trust hys protestatyons then?

_Did_. Madam, or ells I were an Infidell.

[_Eld_.] ... ... ... ... ... And I could chyde my love that pytties you. He dothe dissemble with you; you are lost. Of myne owne knowlege he hathe layd suche baytts You cannot live twoe howers. Goe where you will, He hathe a plott that haunts you. If you can Fynde for your selfe any preventyon, Use it with quycke indevor; for I knowe The thunder speaks that presentlye will splytt you.

_Did_. You doe amaze me.

_Eld_. And like the chaesd Roe stand in that amaze Tyll the hounds catche you. What I speake Is to prevent your present tragedye And to blott murder from my _Ganelon_. Be wise. [_Ex. Eldegrad_.

_Did_. Am I then noosd! will styll my villanous wytts Betray me to mysfortune, am I lymed! What shall I doe? flight will not nowe avayle me. I knowe hys projects like hys mallyce runns To everye place of hoped securytie. I have't: thys key, which I have choycelye kepte (Longe synce by me most fynelye counterfaytt) Enters hys chambers & hys cabanett And everye place retyrd. I am resolvde; Thoughe I had thousand ways to scape besyde, Yet I will stay onlye to murther hym. Within hys lodginge will I hyde me safe, And when sleepe lulls hym--farwell _Ganelon_! He shall not outlive mydnyght: here Ile lye, And thoughe I followe nexte thys lorde shall dye. [_Hydes hym_.

_Enter Ganelon_.

_Gan_. My plotts are layd most certayne & no fatte Can interposse betwixte theym: _Didier_ dyes And so shall _Richarde_. O the wearye thoughts That keepe a daylie senate in my braynes, Repeat unto me what I loathe to heare, A frends disloyaltye. Be wysser you That undertake the greate & hallowed leauge Of frendlye comforte. Scoole your ryotous bloode And teache your fancyes Wisdome; be not drawne With suche a frayle unproffytable thynge As face or person when you chusse a frende; Th'are all deceytfull. Would my funerall rytts Were as I wishe provyded, to dispeirse A warnynge by my horryble abuse, And I would dye to morrowe. I lament That such another pyttied foole as I Should be amongst the liveinge.--Harke! who knocks? [_Richard knocks_. Aunswere, what are you?

_Rich_. Open to your frende.

_Gan_. O my starrs, tys he! can myschiefe thus Come flyinge to my bossome?--Sir, I come To open twoe dores, thys & thy false bossome. [_Stabbs hym_.

_Rich_. O y'ave slayne me! tell me, cruell Sir, Why you have doone thys that myne inocent soule May teache repentance to you-- [_Dies_.

_Gan_. Speake it out. What, not a worde? dumbe with a littill blowe? You are growne statlye, are you? tys even so: You have the trycke of mightie men in courte To speake at leasure & pretend imployment. Well, take your tyme; tys not materyall Whether you speake the resydue behynde Nowe or at doomes day. If thy comon sence Be not yet parted from thee, understande I doe not cursse[100] thee dyinge, because once I loved thee dearlye; & collect by that There is no devyll in me nor in hell That could have flesht me to thys violent deathe, Hadst thou beene false to all the worlde but me.-- But he is nowe past thynkinge on for that, And were he buryed all were perfytted.

[_Didier stepps out_.

_Did_. What will you say if I become the sexton?

_Gan_. That after that thou mayst hang thy selfe ithe bellropps. --What makst thou heare?

_Did_. I will assuer you, Sir, No legge to your wise lordshypp for my life, Thyngs standinge as they doe.

_Gan_. Verye good, Sir, Y'are wondrous merry.

_Did_. Can you blame me, Sir, When I may treade upon myne enemye? I am your condemd creature, I am lost.

_Gan_. ... ... ... ... ... Howe camst thou hyther?

_Did_. Why, looke you, Sir, by thys, [_Shoes the key_. Thys that Ive kepte as a stronge cordyall Agaynst your vyllanyes. Nay, behould it well, For as I live tys counterfayte.

_Gan_. What a leaden-skulld slave he maks me.-- Why, art thou doutfull of me? faythe I love thee.

_Did_. Yes, as the devyll does freirs holye water. Come, I doe knowe your practyse gaynst my life, And ment my selfe t'have easd myne injuryes; But nowe thys act hathe given you to the lawe And saved me from all daunger.

_Gan_. What! that I Have practysd gaynst thee! tys most damned false. I doe protest I love thee trulye, fullye. Come, let us joyne; my contyence says thou didst But what was good & noble.

_Did_. Nay, by's lighte, I make no suyte fort, tys at your free choyce. If I but chaunce to toule hys passinge bell And give the parryshe notyce who is dead, You know what tends the rumor.

_Gan_. Come, no more; I faythe I love thee dearelye, trust uppon't; And to abandon feare on eyther parte, Give the dead carcasse lodginge in the ground: We bothe are safe & thys newe frendshypp sounde.

_Did_. Once more Ile trust you. Come, then, my burthen, no, my wellcome taske. Howe prosperous villanye keepes all in awe: We are saved by that which glutts bothe deathe & lawe.

[_Exe. with the dead_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Oliver_.

_Oli_. The hower is past, the place & cyrcomstance And all the formes of manhood(?) are expyrd, And yet younge _Richard_ comes not. Tys most straunge: He is as valyent as is victorye, And dare uppon a roughe say [sea?] hye as heaven Court all amazed daunger. Nowe to fayle Is past all revelatyon: suer as deathe Our whole plott is reveeld.

_Enter Reinaldo_.

_Rei_. Howe nowe, cossen? suer the hower is past? Yet no newse of my brother: as I live The youth is valyent, feare deters hym not.

_Oli_. Suer as deathe, our plott is all disclosd. And that there was no meanynge in the feighte, But onlye to withdrawe him from hys frend On whom he doats toe dearlye.

_Rei_. Suer tys so, And it will vexe the noble palladyne Above the heyghte of madnes; nay, beleiv't T'will chaunge opynion to a constant faythe Of hys extreame mysfortunes. See a comes.

_Enter Orlando_.

_Orl_. Howe now, my lords? howe speede your noble plotts? What, have you woone younge _Richard_ from hys frend? Tell me whose eloquence hathe doone the deede And I will honor hym.

_Oli_. He hathe forborne th'incounter, and in that Hathe drownd us in amazement: we suppose Our plotts discoverd.

_Orl_. No more, keepe backe the rest, For I can read misfortunes in your browes. Vengeance consume theise projects! they are basse, And bassnes ever more doth second theym; The noble youthe smyle[s] at our follyes, nay, Scornes the base languadge that you uttered, Which is by thys tyme with the emperoure. O twas a speedinge way to doe us shame!

_Rei_. Take truce with passyon: I dare bouldlye sweare There is some other mysterye.

_Oli_. At worst Ile make it for our purposse every way And even kill the soule of _Ganelon_. With talkinge of the cowardyse, so that you Houlde patyence for a mynute.

_Orl_. Patyence! Preache it to cynicks or greene sycknes gyrles That have not blood enough to make a blushe Or forme an acte might cause one. I have longe Like to a reelinge pynetree shooke the earthe That I was rooted in, but nowe must fall And be no longer the fatts tennys ball.

_Rei_. Come be more temperd, you shall see from thys Sprynge pleasure that you wishe for. _Olyver_ Shall instantlye upbrayd false _Ganelon_ With _Rychards_ muche unworthynes.

_Oli_. Thats decreed For in such tearms I meane to sett hym fourthe As shall even burst hys gall with agonye: Nay, it shall make hym never darre t'apeare Where men resorte, or knowe ought but hys feare.

_Orl_. You have lardge promysses, but acts as slowe As dyalls hands that are not seene to goe.

[_Exeunt_.

[SCENE 3.]

_Enter Didier with a letter_.

_Did_. My cares & feares are past, but _Ganelons_ Thys letter woulde revyve if t'were reveald, Nay begett newe ones to hym of suche wayghte That he must synke beneathe theym. Thys I founde (Mongst other thyngs) in haplesse _Richards_ pockett When I interrd hym, subscribd by _Ganelon_, Whereby's owne hand would leade hym to the blocke Should I discover it; for heres contaynd The kyngs abuse & _Gabriellas_ whoreinge. But I am nowe beforehand: to hym selfe Ile give thys letter; so begett[101] in hym A fyrme beleife of myne integrytie Which nowe goes upryghte, does not halte betweene Preferment & disgrace; for, come what will, I am all _Ganelons_ & wilbe styll.

_Enter Ganelon_.

And see, he comes. My Lord--

_Gan_. O _Dydier_, Resolve me where & howe thou hast disposd The most false bodye of my falsest frende.

_Did_. The ravenous earthe, that eatts what it hathe fedd, Hathe swallowd it.

_Gan_. But where? what peice of earthe Couldst thou fynde badd enough to hyde hys bones. If in some flowrye meade th'ast hym interrd The poyson of hys synns will choake the sprynge, And, if thou hast not layd hym deepe enoughe, Corrupt the ayre & cause a generall plauge.

_Did_. Bothe those are, Sir, prevented by the dytche, Whose deepe banks seeme to be halfe bottomlesse, Where he is layd a rottinge.

_Gan_. Without all helpe! counsayle in thys were daungerous.

_Did_. Sir, I was fryer & clarke & all my selfe; None mournd but nyghte, nor funerall tapers bore But erringe starres.

_Gan_. And they did erre indeed To shewe their lights at hys curst funerall. Did not a dog bewray thee?

_Did_. Baw, waw, waw! Sir, troble not your selfe With any doute oth' secrecye was usd In actinge your comand. And, Sir, because I will not have it rest within my power At anye tyme to wronge or to traduce Your honour by a probable suspytion, Receyve thys letter which atts buryall I founde in's pockett. Sir, it might concerne you, [_Give the letter & Ganelon reads_. And deeplye toe, if it should be reveald. --It calls up all hys bloode into hys face And muche dystempers hym.

_Gan_. Deathe! I am lost in treason: my fordgd hand Hathe whored my liveinge syster & displays All my basse plotts agaynst the emperoure. By heaven tys false, fordgd, false as heresye!

_Did_. How! a fordgd hand?

_Gan_. Yes, _Didier_. When was it dated, trow? Torment! synce my restraynt of libertie! Good gentyll patyence manadge me a whyle, Let me collect. Certaynlye _Rychards_ harte Coulde not but doubte thys charrackter, & in The strengthe of doute he came to me last nyghte To be resolvd; or ells why should he beare Suche daunger in hys pockett? Admyttinge thys, What followes then? Why, if that were the ende Of's vysytatyon, then it needs must followe That thys prevayld not with hym. And what then? Why, then my syster, as all weomen ells, Seeinge her selfe neglected in her lust, Thought any ill way to obtayne it just.

_Did_. A strange presumptyon.

_Gan_. Yet a lyttill further. It is resolvd that my systers onlye ende Was to enjoy _Rychard_ unlawfullye: Howe might a fallinge out twyxt hym & me Assyst the ende (for such a thynge she causd)? How? What a dull slave am I! why twas as muche As the untyinge of hys codpeyce poynte, Almost the _rem in re_! for whyle he stoode Constant to my dyrectyons all was well, But, those abandond, then,--harte! I am madd: I pray thee, _Diddier_, helpe me to cursse Me & my rashnes, that so curbd my reason I would not heare hym speake but put hym strayght To everlastynge sylence.

_Did_. No, my lorde, Letts cursse the lust of woman.

_Gan_. Well rememberd.

_Did_. And yet there is a heavye one prepard To meete them where they act it in the darke.

_Gan_. True, _Didier_, there is so, and from that May penytence want power to rescue theym.

_Did_. Be there a dearthe of arte to helpe complexion, And for theym many housses of correctyon.

_Gan_. And if it be possyble o let the Bedle Not with theire money but hys owne whypp medle, And lashe theym soundlye.

_Did_. No, thats not so good: May all theire soundnes tourne toth poxes foode.

_Gan_. May constables to cadges[102] styll comend theym And theire knowne foes, age & ill cloathes attend theym.

_Did_. May they want skyll to banyshe theire breathes stynke, And onlye Barbers potyons be their drynke. May theire sore wast theire lynnen into lynte For medlinge with other stones then flynte.

_Gan_. And to conclude thys hartylie breathd cursse; Theire lives beinge monstrous, let theire ends be worsse.

_Did_. Amen.

_Enter Gabriella_.

_Gab_. Amen to what?

_Did_. Faythe, madam, a was prayinge for hys syster.

_Gan_. O you are wellcome.--Worthye frend, withdrawe.-- [_Exit Didier_. Nowe my rare pollytycke syster, what will please you?

_Gab_. My rare ingenyous brother, why doe you aske?

_Gan_. Ile tell thee, woman, & observe it well, Thou shalt remayne the porest wretche alyve, The most forsaken of delight & pleasure That ever breathd a myserable life, If I may knowe what pleasses you. Beware And answere wiselye: you are leaveinge nowe All that hathe tyckld your insatyatt bloode, When you resolve my questyon: I will strypp Your sweete contents of to the naked soule Before you parte. Doe you laughe? by heaven I will.

_Gab_. What brave exployts youle doe uppon the sodayne!

_Gan_. If you account theym so tys well, tys well.

_Gab_. Fye, fye, what moves you to thys froward wellcome?

_Gan_. Calst it allreadye frowarde? shallowe foole, I should salute thee with my daggers poynte And never make thys parley; but I'me kynde, And youle confes it when you reade that letter. You knowe the charackter & the whole scope Ere you peruse one worde, I make no questyon. But reade it, doe, that whyle you seeme to reede You may make readye for another worlde. Why doe you studye? flatter not your selfe With hope of an excusse.

_Gab_. You are not madd!

_Gan_. Yes, foorsoothe, I will confes my selfe emptye of sence, Dealinge with suche a wyttie sparke as you. Theres no comparysson: a sparke, sayd I? I meant a bonefyer made of wytt & lust; One nourryshes another. Have you doone? Does any thynge you reade allay your coldnes.

_Gab_. You thynke thys letter myne?

_Gan_. I doe indeede, And will with horror to thy wanton thoughts Make thee confes it, that thy soule beinge easd May fly away the sooner.

_Gab_. What you--

_Gan_. Fond woman, doe not trust me, there is deathe And undyssembld ruyne in my words. Make your prayrs quycklye.

_Gab_. I protest unto you, As I have contyence & a soule to save--

_Gan_. That's a fantastycke oathe; proceede, proceede.

_Gab_. I did not wryte thys letter nor have seene _Richard_ synce it was wrytten: what was doone He & my mother wrought it.

_Gan_. Shall I beleive you? are you vertuous?

_Gab_. Examyne but the ende & then adjudge me.

_Gan_. Then my suspytyon proves a false conceyte, And I am wondrous glad to have it so Because it proves you honest. I am nowe Agayne resolvd that _Richard_ was a vyllayne, And therefore am I gladd agayne, because He hathe what he deservd & has no more.

_Gab_. He did deserve your seryous contempt And is rewarded with it.

_Gan_. And with deathe.

_Gab_. Ha! oh is he murderd then?

_Gan_. Does that amaze you? Yes I have murderd hym & it becomes The gloryous parte of conquerynge my selfe, To say hereafter, when I would relate A storye worth attentyon, that thys hande, Thys constant ryght hand, did deliver me In spyghte of dottage & my naturall pittye.

_Gab_. O you are falne into the bloodyest cryme That ever tyrant threatned.

_Gan_. Idle feare.

_Gab_. Come, y'are a vyllayne & most bloodye slave, One that your spotted synns make odyous, For _Rychard_ was all good & vertuous. Dispayre nowe maks me honest & Ile speake Truthe with true testymonye, for here it comes.

_Enter Eldegrade_.

We twoe contryved & wrytt these charracters, By Heaven we did; twas onlye we that spreade The poyson of debate & stryfe betwyxt you. On us, base man, tourne thy most bloodye edge, For thou hast slayne the noblest inocent.

_Gan_. Thyne owne invockt cursse ceaze thee,

[_He runns at Gab., and Elde. stepps between?, & he kills both_.

_Gab_. Thys should have ceazd me sooner; let me dye. Thy pardon, _Richard_: love thats too vyolent Is evermore with some straunge myscheifs spentt. [_Dies_.

_Eld_. Foule desperatyon ceaze thee, & whats worsse Dye with thy mothers last breathd heavye cursse. [_Dyes_.

_Gan_. They have left a darknes so extreame behynde I cannot fynde a prayre to blesse theire soules. See here then, polytycke creature, subtyll man, Here see thy myscheife. Irreligious foole, That makst it contyence onlye when thou leavest Synns of preferment unaccomplyshed, Thou that repynst agaynst thy starrs & lucke When heaven prevents the bassnes of thy gayne; Littill thynkst thou wherefore thy gaynes will serve, Nor wherefore thy close pollycie should fayle Tyll thou forsakst it, & then, wretched clay, Thou fyndst a horsse & dogge thy betters: they Dye unperplext with sence of dyinge, thou Seest what thy sence abhorrs thy falts allowe. I feele thee comeinge, my distracted chaunge, Like an ill-favord hangman: pray thee strike, Aproatche & doe thyne offyce.

_Enter Oliver_. What arte thou?

_Oli_ One that will prove you _Rychard_ is a cowarde.

_Gan_. Good darringe tonge, be not toe desperatt. He was your deare frend, was he not?

_Oli_ Yes, had he not beene pretyous unto you, But hys muche faythe to you did make me hate hym, And he had felt it had he darrd th'incounter.

_Gan_. Pray, no more, & worthy Sir, be boulde To say here stands the most afflycted soule That ever felt the mysseryes of byrthe. Make me beleive my plaugs are infynett That I may so desyer to leave my fleshe And be deliverd from theym. Wherefore, looke you: It is my mother & my systers deade, I was theire murtherer; goe tell the worlde: That paper will give satisfactyon.

[_Oliver taks the letter & reads_.

_Enter Didier_.

O you are wellcome; are you an offycer? The captayne of the guard, I thynke. Come on: Be not affrayd, arest me, Ile submytt. Nor doe reproatche my vallor; I have darrd As much as he that durst affront the gods, But greife hathe staynd me.

_Did_. What meane you, Sir? Why I am _Didier_.

_Gan_. That buryed _Richard_? Oh, _Didier_, I was a barbarous wretche in kyllinge hym. Digg up his bodye, brynge it hyther, goe: Hys wounds will fall a bleedinge & the syghte Will soften my conjealed bloode, for nowe Me thynks I am not passyonate. But stay, Let all sweete rest preserve hym: I will thynke Howe reelinge in the anguyshe of hys wounds I would not heare hym when a was about To teache repentance, and that onlye thought Shall melt me into cynders. I am like The needye spendthryfte nowe, that an inforcst To make my wants knowne where I must not hope To gett releife. Releife? tys a vague hope And I will banyshe the conceyte. Come hyther, Looke uppon thys & wonder yet a littill It was my handyworke, yet nothynge neare The synne of kyllinge _Richarde_.

_Oli_. Have you then slayne the noblest worthye _Richard_?