Chapter 4

_The song ended_, TANCRED _the King cometh out of his palace with his guard_.

TANCRED. Fair daughter, I have sought thee out with grief, To ease the sorrows of thy vexed heart. How long wilt thou torment thy father thus, Who daily dies to see thy needless tears? Such bootless plaints, that know nor mean nor end, Do but increase the floods of thy lament; And since the world knows well there was no want In thee of ought, that did to him belong, Yet all, thou seest, could not his life prolong. Why then dost thou provoke the heavens to wrath? His doom of death was dated by his stars, "And who is he that may withstand his fate?" By these complaints small good to him thou dost, Much grief to me, more hurt unto thyself, And unto nature greatest wrong of all.

GISMUNDA. Tell me not of the date of nature's days, Then in the April of her springing age: No, no, it was my cruel destiny, That spited at the pleasance of my life.

TANCRED. My daughter knows the proof of nature's course. "For as the heavens do guide the lamp of life, So can they reach no farther forth the flame, Than whilst with oil they do maintain the same."

GISMUNDA. Curst be the stars, and vanish may they curst, Or fall from heaven, that in their dire aspèct[47] Abridg'd the health and welfare of my love.

TANCRED. Gismund, my joy, set all these griefs apart; "The more thou art with hard mishap beset, The more thy patience should procure thine ease."

GISMUNDA. What hope of hap may cheer my hapless chance? What sighs, what tears may countervail my cares? What should I do, but still his death bewail, That was the solace of my life and soul? Now, now, I want the wonted guide and stay Of my desires and of my wreakless thoughts. My lord, my love, my life, my liking gone, In whom was all the fulness of my joy, To whom I gave the first-fruits of my love, Who with the comfort of his only sight All care and sorrows could from me remove. But, father, now my joys forepast to tell, Do but revive the horrors of my hell. As she that seems in darkness to behold The gladsome pleasures of the cheerful light.

TANCRED. What then avails thee fruitless thus to rue His absence, whom the heavens cannot return? Impartial death thy husband did subdue, Yet hath he spar'd thy kingly father's life: Who during life to thee a double stay, As father and as husband, will remain, With double love to ease thy widow's want, Of him whose want is cause of thy complaint. Forbear thou therefore all these needless tears, That nip the blossoms of thy beauty's pride.

GISMUNDA. Father, these tears love challengeth of due.

TANCRED. But reason saith thou shouldst the same subdue.

GISMUNDA. His funerals are yet before my sight.

TANCRED. In endless moans princes should not delight.

GISMUNDA. The turtle pines in loss of her true mate.

TANCRED. And so continues poor and desolate.

GISMUNDA. Who can forget a jewel of such price?

TANCRED. She that hath learn'd to master her desires. "Let reason work, what time doth easily frame In meanest wits, to bear the greatest ills."

GISMUNDA. So plenteous are the springs Of sorrows that increase my passions, As neither reason can recure my smart, Nor can your care nor fatherly comfort Appease the stormy combats of my thoughts; Such is the sweet remembrance of his life. Then give me leave: of pity, pity me, And as I can, I shall allay these griefs.

TANCRED. These solitary walks thou dost frequent, Yield fresh occasions to thy secret moans: We will therefore thou keep us company, Leaving thy maidens with their harmony. Wend[48] thou with us. Virgins, withdraw yourselves.

[TANCRED _and_ GISMUNDA, _with the guard, depart into the palace; the four maidens stay behind, as Chorus to the Tragedy_.

CHORUS 1. The diverse haps which always work our care, Our joys so far, our woes so near at hand, Have long ere this, and daily do declare The fickle foot on which our state doth stand. "Who plants his pleasures here to gather root, And hopes his happy life will still endure, Let him behold how death with stealing foot Steps in when he shall think his joys most sure." No ransom serveth to redeem our days If prowess could preserve, or worthy deeds, He had yet liv'd, whose twelve labours displays His endless fame, and yet his honour spreads. And that great king,[49] that with so small a power Bereft the mighty Persian of his crown, Doth witness well our life is but a flower, Though it be deck'd with honour and renown.

CHORUS 2. "What grows to-day in favour of the heaven, Nurs'd with the sun and with the showers sweet, Pluck'd with the hand, it withereth ere even. So pass our days, even as the rivers fleet." The valiant Greeks, that unto Troia gave The ten years' siege, left but their names behind. And he that did so long and only save His father's walls,[50] found there at last his end. Proud Rome herself, that whilome laid her yoke On the wide world, and vanquish'd all with war, Yet could she not remove the fatal stroke Of death from them that stretch'd her pow'r so far.

CHORUS 3. Look, what the cruel sisters once decree'd, The Thunderer himself cannot remove: They are the ladies of our destiny, To work beneath what is conspir'd above. But happy he that ends this mortal life By speedy death: who is not forc'd to see The many cares, nor feel the sundry griefs, Which we sustain in woe and misery. Here fortune rules who, when she list to play, Whirleth her wheel, and brings the high full low: To-morrow takes, what she hath given to-day, To show she can advance and overthrow. Not Euripus'[51] (unquiet flood) so oft Ebbs in a day, and floweth to and fro, As fortune's change plucks down that was aloft, And mingleth joy with interchange of woe.

CHORUS 4. "Who lives below, and feeleth not the strokes, Which often-times on highest towers do fall, Nor blustering winds, wherewith the strongest oaks Are rent and torn, his life is sur'st of all:" For he may fortune scorn, that hath no power On him, that is well pleas'd with his estate: He seeketh not her sweets, nor fears her sour, But lives contented in his quiet rate, And marking how these worldly things do vade,[52] Rejoiceth to himself, and laughs to see The folly of men, that in their wits have made Fortune a goddess, placed in the sky.

_Exegit_ ROD. STAF.

FINIS ACTUS I.