Chapter 25

_Enter_ BRUCE _upon the walls_.

BRUCE. Will not my bitter bannings[366] and sad plaints, My just and execrable execrations, My tears, my prayers, my pity-moving moans Prevail, thou glorious bright lamp of the day, To cause thee keep an obit for their souls, And dwell one month with the Antipodes? Bright sun, retire; gild not this vault of death With thy illustrate rays: retire, retire, And yield black night thy empery awhile-- A little while, till as my tears be spent, My blood be likewise shed in raining drops By the tempestuous rage of tyrant John. Learn of thy love, the morning: she hath wept Shower upon shower of silver-dewy tears; High trees, low plants, and pretty little flowers Witness her woe: on them her grief appears, And as she drips on them, they do not let, By drop and drop, their mother earth to wet. See these hard stones, how fast small rivulets Issue from them, though they seem issueless, And wet-eyed woe on everything is view'd, Save in thy face, that smil'st at my distress. O, do not drink these tears thus greedily, Yet let the morning's mourning garment dwell Upon the sad earth. Wilt thou not, thou churl? Then surfeit with thy exhalations speedily; For all earth's venomous infecting worms Have belch'd their several poisons on the fields, Mixing their simples in thy compound draught. Well, Phoebus, well, drink on, I say, drink on; But when thou dost ungorge thee, grant me this, Thou pour thy poisons on the head of John.

_Drum. Enter_ CHESTER, MOWBRAY, _Soldiers, at one door_:[367] LEICESTER, RICHMOND, _at another: Soldiers_.

BRUCE. How now, my lords! were ye last night so pleased With the beholding of that property[368] Which John and other murderers have wrought Upon my starved mother and her son, That you are come again? Shall I again Set open shop, show my dead ware, dear-bought Of a relentless merchant, that doth trade On the red sea, swoll'n mighty with the blood Of noble, virtuous, harmless innocents? Whose coal-black vessel is of ebony, Their shrouds and tackle (wrought and woven by wrong) Stretch'd with no other gale of wind but grief, Whose sighs with full blasts beateth on her shrouds; The master murder is, the pilot shame, The mariners, rape, theft and perjury; The burden, tyrannous oppression, Which hourly he in England doth unlade. Say, shall I open shop and show my wares?

LEI. No, good Lord Bruce, we have enough of that.

_Drum. Enter_ KING, HUBERT, _Soldiers_.

KING. To Windsor welcome, Hubert. Soft, methinks Bruce and our lords are at a parley now?

BRUCE. Chester and Mowbray, you are John's sworn friends; Will you see more? speak, answer me, my lords. I am no niggard, you shall have your fill.

BOTH. We have too much, and surfeit with the woe.

BRUCE. Are you all full? there comes a ravening kite, That both at quick, at dead, at all will smite. He shall, he must; ay, and by'r Lady, may Command me to give over holiday, And set wide open what you would not see.

KING. Why stand ye, lords, and see this traitor perch'd Upon our castle's battlements so proud? Come down, young Bruce, set ope the castle-gates; Unto thy sov'reign let thy knee be bow'd, And mercy shall be given to thee and thine.

BRUCE. O miserable thing! Comes mercy from the mouth of John our king? Why then, belike, hell will be pitiful. I will not ope the gates--the gate I will; The gate where thy shame and my sorrow sits. See my dead mother and her famish'd son! [_Opens a casement, showing the dead bodies within_.] Open thy tyrant's eyes, for to the world I will lay open thy fell cruelties.

KING. We heard, indeed, thy mother and her son In prison died by wilful famishment.

BRUCE. Sin doubled upon sin! Slander'st thou the dead? Unwilling willingness it shall appear, By then I have produc'd, as I will do, The just presumptions 'gainst your unjust act.

KING. Assail the castle, lords! alarum, drums! And drown this screech-owl's cries with your deep sounds.

LEI. I tell thee, drummer, if thy drum thou smite, By heav'n, I'll send thy soul to hell's dark night. Hence with thy drum! God's passion, get thee hence! Begone, I say; move not my patience.

[_Exit drum_.

KING. Are you advised, Leicester, what you do?

LEI. I am advised; for, my sovereign, know, There's not a lord here will lift up his arm Against the person of yon noble youth, Till you have heard the circumstantial truth, By good presumptions, touching this foul deed. Therefore, go on, young Bruce; proceed, refel[369] The allegation that puts in this doubt, Whether thy mother, through her wilfulness, Famish'd herself and her sweet son, or no.

BRUCE. Unlikely supposition: nature first denies That any mother, when her youngling cries, If she have means, is so unnatural To let it faint and starve. But we will prove She had no means, except this moanful mean, This torture of herself. Come forth, come forth, Sir William Blunt, whom slander says I slew: Come, tell the king and lords what you know true.

_Enter_ SIR WILLIAM BLUNT [_on the walls_.][370]

KING. Thou hast betray'd our castle.

BLUNT. No: God can tell, It was surpris'd by politic report, And affirmation that your grace was slain.

RICH. Go on, Sir William Blunt: Pass briefly to the lady's famishment.

BLUNT. About some ten days since there came one Brand, Bringing a signet from my lord the king, And this commission, signed with his hand, [_Lords look, and read the thing_. Commanding me, as the contents express, That I should presently deliver up The Lady Bruce and her young son to him.

MOW. What time o' day was this?

BLUNT. It was, Lord Mowbray, somewhat past eleven, For we were even then sitting down to dine.

LEI. But did ye dine?

BLUNT. The lady and her son did not. Brand would not stay.

BRUCE. No, Leicester, no; for here is no such sign Of any meat's digestion.

RICH. But, by the way, tell us, I pray you, Blunt, While she remain'd with you, was she distraught With grief, or any other passions violent?

BLUNT. She now and then would weep, and often pray For reconcilement 'twixt the king and lords.

CHES. How to her son did she affected stand?

BLUNT. Affection could not any more affect; Nor might a mother show more mother's love.

MOW. How to my lord the king?

BLUNT. O my Lord God! I never knew a subject love king more. She never would blin[371] telling, how his grace Sav'd her young son from soldiers and from fire; How fair he spake, gave her her son to keep: And then, poor lady, she would kiss her boy, Pray for the king so hearty earnestly, That in pure zeal she wept most bitterly.

KING. I weep for her, and do by heaven protest, I honour'd Bruce's wife, howe'er that slave Rudely effected what I rashly will'd. Yet when he came again, and I bethought What bitter penance I had put them to For my conceiv'd displeasure 'gainst old Bruce, I bad the villain post and bear them meat: Which he excus'd, protesting pity mov'd him To leave wine, bread, and other powder'd meat,[372] More than they twain could in a fortnight eat.

BLUNT. Indeed, this can I witness with the king, Which argues in that point his innocence: Brand did bear in a month's provision, But lock'd it, like a villain, far from them; And lock'd them in a place, where no man's ear Might hear their lamentable woful moans; For all the issue, both of vent and light, Came from a loover[373] at the tower's top, Till now Lord Bruce made open this wide gap.

BRUCE. Had I not reason, think you, to make wide The window, that should let so much woe forth? Where sits my mother, martyr'd by herself, Hoping to save her child from martyrdom? Where stands my brother, martyr'd by himself, Because he would not taste his mother's blood? For thus I gather this:--my mother's teeth and chin Are bloody with the savage cookery Which her soft heart, through pity of her son, Respectless made her practise on herself; And her right hand, with offering it the child, Is with her own pure blood stain'd and defil'd. My little brother's lips and chin alone Are tainted with the blood; but his even teeth, Like orient pearl or snow-white ivory, Have not one touch of blood, one little spot: Which is an argument the boy would not Once stir his lips to taste that bloody food Our cruel-gentle mother minister'd: But as it seem'd (for see his pretty palm Is bloody too) he cast it on the ground, For on this side the blessed relics lie, By famine's rage divided from this shrine. Sad woful mother in Jerusalem! Who, when thy son and thou didst faint for food, Buried his sweet flesh in thy hungry womb, How merciless wert thou, if we compare Thy fact and this! For my poor lady mother Did kill herself to save my dying brother; And thou, ungentle son of Miriam, Why didst thou beg life when thy mother lack'd? My little brother George did nobly act A more courageous part: he would not eat, Nor beg to live. It seem'd he did not cry: Few tears stand on his cheek, smooth is each eye; But when he saw my mother bent to die, He died with her. O childish valiancy--

KING. Good Bruce, have done. My heart cannot contain The grief it holds: my eyes must show'r down rain.

LEI. Which showers are even as good As rain in harvest, or a swelling flood When neighbouring meadows lack the mower's scythe.

_A march for burial, with drum and fife. Enter_ OXFORD. MATILDA _borne with nuns, one carrying a white pendant--these words written in gold: "Amoris Castitatis et Honoris Honos." The_ QUEEN _following the bier, carrying a garland of flowers. Set it in the midst of the stage_.

RICH. List, Leicester: hear'st thou not a mournful march?

LEI. Yes, Richmond, and it seemeth old De Vere.

OX. Lords, by your leave, is not our sovereign here?

KING. Yes, good old Aubrey.

OX. Ah, my gracious lord! That you so much your high state should neglect! Ah! God in heaven forgive this bloody deed! Young Bruce, young Bruce, I weep Thy mother and thy brother's wrong; Yet to afflict thee more, more grief I bring.

BRUCE. O honourable Aubery de Vere, Let sorrow in a sable suit appear: Do not misshape her garment like delight; If it be grief, why cloth'st thou her in white?

OX. I cannot tell thee yet: I must sit down. Attend, young Bruce, and listen to the queen; She'll not be tongue-tied: we shall have a stir Anon, I fear, would make a man half-sick.

QUEEN. Are you here, lecher? O intemperate king! Wilt thou not see me? Come, come, show your face, Your grace's graceless, king's unkingly face. What, mute? hands folded, eyes fix'd on the earth? Whose turn is next now to be murdered? The famish'd Bruces are on yonder side, On this, another I will name anon; One for whose head this garland I do bear, And this fair, milk-white, spotless pendant too. Look up, King John! see, yonder sits thy shame; Yonder it lies! what, must I tell her name? It is Matilda, poisoned by thee.

KING. Matilda! O that foul swift-footed slave, That kills, ere one have time to bid him save! Fair, gentle girl, ungently made away.

BRUCE. My banish'd uncle's daughter, art thou there? Then I defy all hope, and swear--

LEI. Stay, Bruce, and listen well what oath to swear. Louis the Dolphin, pitying our estate, Is by the Christian king his father sent With aid to help us, and is landed too. Lords, that will fly the den of cruelty, And fight to free yourselves from tyranny[374]-- Bruce, keep that castle to the only use Of our elected king, Louis of France.

OX. God's passion! do not so: King John is here! Lords, whisper not with Leicester? Leicester, fie! Stir not again regardless mutiny. Speak to them, Hugh:[375] I know thou lov'st the king. Madam, go to them; nay do, for God's sake, do! Down with your stomach,[376] for if he go down, You must down too, and be no longer queen: Advise you; go, entreat them speedily. My sovereign, wherefore sit you sighing there? The lords are all about to follow Louis: Up and entreat them, else they will away.

KING. Good Oxford, let them go. Why should they stay?

OX. What, are ye desperate? That must not be. Hear me, my lords.

[_All stand in council_.

KING. This pendant let me see. _Amoris Castitatis et Honoris Honos_. She was, indeed, of love the honour once,[377] When she was lov'd of virtuous Huntington: Of chastity the honour all her life; To impure thoughts she never could be won: And she of honour was the honour too. By birth and life[378] she honour honoured. Bring in two tapers lighted: quick, despatch!

LEI. Remember, Bruce, thy charge. Come, lords, away!

ALL _but_ OXFORD _and_ HUBERT. Away! we will away.

[_Bring in two white tapers_.

OX. Hark, Leicester, but one word: a little stay. Help me, good Hubert! help me, gentle queen!

[_Again confer_.[379]

KING. How dim these tapers burn! they give no light. Here were two beauteous lamps, that could have taught The sun to shine by day, the moon by night; But they are dim, too, clean extinguished. Away with these, sith those fair lights be dead!

OX. And, as I say--hark, Bruce, unto our talk-- Think you it is for love of England Louis comes? Nay. France is not so kind; I would it were. Advise yourselves. Hark, dost thou hear me, Bruce?

BRUCE. Oxford, I do.

OX. Can noble English hearts bear the French yoke? No, Leicester: Richmond, think on Louis' sire, That left you and your king in Palestine.

QUEEN. And think, beside, you know not Louis's nature, Who may be as bad as John, or, rather, worse Than he.

HUB. And look, my lords, upon his silent woe; His soul is at the door of death, I know. See how he seeks to suck, if he could draw Poison from dead Matilda's ashy lips. I will be sworn his very heart-string nips. A vengeance on that slave, that cursed Brand! I'll kill him, if I live, with this right hand.

OX. Thou canst not, Hubert; he hath kill'd himself-- But to our matter. Leicester, pray thee speak. Young Bruce, for God's sake, let us know thy mind.

BRUCE. I would be loth to be a stranger's slave: For England's love, I would no French king have.

LEI. Well, Oxford, if I be deceiv'd in John again, It's 'long of you, Lord Hubert, and the queen. Yield up the castle, Bruce: we'll once more try King John's proceedings. Oxford, tell him so.

[OXFORD _goes to the_ KING, _does his duty, and talks with him_.

BRUCE. I will come down. But first farewell, dear mother, [_Kiss her_. Farewell, poor little George, my pretty brother! Now will I shut my shambles in again: Farewell, farewell! [_Closes the casement_. In everlasting bliss your sweet souls dwell.

Ox. But you must mend, i' faith; in faith you must[380].

LEI. My lord, once more your subjects do submit, Beseeching you to think how things have pass'd; And let some comfort shine on us, your friends, Through the bright splendour of your virtuous life.

KING. I thank you all; and, Leicester, I protest, I will be better than I yet have been.

BRUCE. Of Windsor Castle here the keys I yield.

KING. Thanks, Bruce: forgive me, and I pray thee see Thy mother and thy brother buried [BRUCE _offers to kiss_ MATILDA. In Windsor Castle church. Do, kiss her cheek: Weep thou on that, on this side I will weep.

QUEEN. Chaste virgin, thus I crown thee with these flowers.

KING. Let us go on to Dunmow with this maid: Among the hallow'd nuns let her be laid. Unto her tomb a monthly pilgrimage Doth King John vow, in penance for this wrong.

Go forward, maids; on with Matilda's hearse, And on her tomb see you engrave this verse.

"Within this marble monument doth lie Matilda, martyr'd for her chastity."

[_Exeunt_.

EPILOGUS.

Thus is Matilda's story shown in act, And rough-hewn out by an uncunning hand: Being of the most material points compact, That with the certain'st state of truth do stand.

FINIS.

CONTENTION BETWEEN LIBERALITY AND PRODIGALITY.

_EDITION_

_A Pleasant Comedie, shewing the contention betweene Liberalitie and Prodigalitie. As it was playd before her Maiestie. London Printed by Simon Stafford for George Vincent, and are to be sold at the signs of the Hand in hand in Wood-street over against S. Michaels Church_. 1602. 4to.

The copy of this play in the Garrick collection appears to be the only one known, and from that source it is now for the first time reprinted. Mr Collier (Hist Engl. Dram. Poetr., ii, 318) points out that there is internal evidence, from the allusion to the 43d year of Queen Elizabeth, that the production was performed before her Majesty in 1600; and it seems likely that it was a revival of a more ancient piece. The writer just quoted remarks that a play, called "Prodigality," was exhibited at Court in 1568 (ibid. note). Philips, author of the "Theatrum Poetarum," in assigning it to Greene, followed either some tradition of the time or his own whim; but he is not a trustworthy authority; and his article on Greene is assuredly as puerile and absurd a performance as could be imagined.

In the prologue, the writer refers to _childish years_, presumably his own, and perhaps the "Contention" was a youthful effort. Moreover, from the (not very appropriate) introduction of Latin terms here and there, it is allowable to suspect that the author was preparing to graduate in arts, if he had not done so.

THE PROLOGUE.

The proverb is, _How many men, so many minds_, Which maketh proof how hard a thing it is, Of sundry minds to please the sundry kinds. In which respect I have inferred this, That where men's minds appear so different, No play, no part, can all alike content.

The grave Divine calls for Divinity: The civil student for Philosophy: The courtier craves some rare sound history: The baser sort, for knacks of pleasantry. So every sort desireth specially, What thing may best content his fantasy.

But none of these our barren toy affords. To pulpits we refer Divinity: And matters of estate to Council boards. As for the quirks of sage Philosophy, Or points of squirriliting scurrility, The one we shun, for childish years too rare, Th'other unfit for such as present are.

But this we bring is but to serve the time, A poor device to pass the day withal: To loftier points of skill we dare not climb, Lest (perking over-high) with shame we fall. Such as doth best beseem such as we be, Such we present, and crave your courtesy.

That courtesy, that gentleness of yours, Which wonted is to pardon faults of ours: Which granted, we have all that we require: Your only favour, only our desire.

THE END OF THE PROLOGUE.

THE SPEAKERS.

THE PROLOGUE. VANITY, _Fortune's chief servant_. PRODIGALITY, _suitor for Money_. POSTILION, _his servant_. HOST. TENACITY, _suitor for Money_. DANDALINE, _the hostess_. TOM TOSS. DICK DICER. FORTUNE. MASTER MONEY, _her son_. VIRTUE. EQUITY. LIBERALITY, _chief steward to Virtue_. CAPTAIN WELL-DONE. COURTIER. LAME SOLDIER. CONSTABLES, _with Hue and Cry_. TIPSTAVES. SHERIFF. CLERK. CRIER. JUDGE. EPILOGUE.

THE CONTENTION BETWEEN LIBERALITY AND PRODIGALITY.