Chapter 20

Enter the King of Aragon and Collen.

KING OF ARAGON. Break, heart, and end my pallid woes! My Amadine, the comfort of my life, How can I joy, except she were in sight? Her absence breeds sorrow to my soul And with a thunder breaks my heart in twain.

COLLEN. Forbear those passions, gentle king, And you shall see ’twill turn unto the best, And bring your soul to quiet and to joy.

KING OF ARAGON. Such joy as death, I do assure me that, And nought but death, unless of her I hear, And that with speed; I cannot sigh thus long— But what a tumult do I hear within?

[_They cry within, ‘Joy and happiness.’_]

COLLEN. I hear a noise of overpassing joy Within the court. My lord, be of good comfort, And here comes one in haste.

Enter the Clown running.

MOUSE. A king, a king, a king!

COLLEN. Why, how now, sirrah? What’s the matter?

MOUSE. Oh, ’tis news for a king, ’tis worth money.

COLLEN. Why, sirrah, thou shalt have silver and gold, if it be good.

MOUSE. O, ’tis good, ’tis good. Amadine—

KING OF ARAGON. Oh, what of her? Tell me, and I will make thee a knight.

MOUSE. How a sprite? No, by’r Lady, I will not be a sprite, masters. Get ye away, if I be a sprite, I shall be so lean, I shall make you all afraid.

COLLEN. Thou sot, the King means to make thee a gentleman.

MOUSE. Why, I shall want ’parel.

KING OF ARAGON. Thou shalt want for nothing.

MOUSE. Then stand away, trick up thyself, here they come.

Enter Segasto, Mucedorus, and Amadine.

AMADINE. My gratious father, pardon thy disloyal daughter.

KING OF ARAGON. What, do mine eyes behold my daughter Amadine? Rise up, dear daughter, and let these my embracing arms Show thee some token of thy father’s joy, Which e’er since thy departure, hath languished in sorrow.

AMADINE. Dear father, Ne’er were your sorrows greater than my griefs, Ne’er you so desolate, as I comfortless: Yet, ne’ertheless, acknowledging myself To be the cause of both, on bended knees, I humbly crave your pardon.

[_Kneeling._]

KING OF ARAGON. I’ll pardon thee, dear daughter; But as for him—

AMADINE. Ah, father! what of him?

KING OF ARAGON. As sure as I am a king, and wear the crown, I will revenge on that accursed wretch.

MUCEDORUS. Yet, worthy prince, work not thy will in wrath, Show favour—

KING OF ARAGON. Ay, such favour thou deserv’st.

MUCEDORUS. I do deserve the daughter of a king.

KING OF ARAGON. Oh, impudent! A shepherd and so insolent!

MUCEDORUS. No shepherd am I, but a worthy prince.

KING OF ARAGON. In fair conceit, not princely born.

MUCEDORUS. Yes, princely born, my father is a king, My mother queen, and of Valencia both.

[_Throwing off his disguise._]

KING OF ARAGON. What, Mucedorus? Welcome to our court! What cause hadst thou to come to me disguis’d?

MUCEDORUS. No cause to fear, I caused no offence, but this— Desiring thy daughter’s virtues for to see, Disguis’d myself from out my father’s court, Unknown to any, in secret I did rest, And passed many troubles near to death; So hath your daughter my partaker been, As you shall know hereafter more at large, Desiring you, you will give her to me, E’en as mine own, and sovereign of my life, Then shall I think my travels are well spent.

KING OF ARAGON. With all my heart, but this— Segasto claims my promise made tofore, That he should have her as his only wife, Before my council, when we came from war. Segasto, may I crave thee, let it pass, And give Amadine as wife to Mucedorus.

SEGASTO. With all my heart, were ’t far a greater thing; And what I may to furnish up their rites With pleasing sports and pastimes, you shall see.

KING OF ARAGON. Thanks, good Segasto; I will think of this.

MUCEDORUS. Thanks, good my lord; and while I live, Account of me in what I can or may.

AMADINE. And, good Segasto, these great courtesies Shan’t be forgot.

MOUSE. Why, hark you, master! bones, what have you done? What, given away the wench you made me take such pains for? You are wise indeed; mass, an I had known of that, I would have had her myself. Faith, master, now we may go to breakfast with a woodcock-pie.

SEGASTO. Go, sir, you were best leave this knavery.

KING OF ARAGON. Come on, my lords, let’s now to court, Where we may finish up the joyfullest day That ever happ’d to a distressed king. Were but thy father, the Valencia lord, Present in view of this combining knot.

A shout within; enter a Messenger.

What shout was that?

MESSENGER. My lord, the great Valencia king, Newly arrived, entreats your presence.

MUCEDORUS. My father?

KING OF ARAGON. Prepared a welcome; give him entertainment; A happier planet never reign’d than that Which governs at this hour.

Sound. Enter the King of Valencia, Anselmo, Rodrigo, Borachius, with others; the King runs and embraces his son.

KING OF VALENCIA. Rise honour of my age, food to my rest: Condemn not, mighty King of Aragon, My rude behaviour, so compell’d by nature, That manners stood unacknowledged.

KING OF ARAGON. What we have to recite would tedious prove By declaration; therefore in and feast. Tomorrow the performance shall explain What words conceal: till then, drums speak, bells ring, Give plausive welcomes to our brother king.

[_Sound drums and trumpets. Exeunt omnes._]

EPILOGUE

Enter Comedy and Envy.

COMEDY. How now, Envy? What, blushest thou already? Peep forth, hide not thy head with shame, But with a courage praise a woman’s deeds. Thy threats were vain, thou couldst do me no hurt, Although thou seem’dst to cross me with despite, I overwhelm’d and turned upside down thy block And made thyself to stumble at the same.

ENVY. Though stumbled, yet not overthrown, Thou canst not draw my heart to mildness, Yet must I needs confess, thou hast done well, And play’d thy part with mirth and pleasant glee. Say all this, yet canst thou not conquer me, Although this time thou’st got—yet not the conquest neither, A double revenge another time I’ll have.

COMEDY. Envy, spit thy gall; Plot, work, contrive, create new fallacies, Teem from thy womb each minute a black traitor, Whose blood and thoughts have twins conception; Study to act deeds yet unchronicled, Cast native monsters in the moulds of men; Case vicious devils under sainted rochets; Unhasp the wicked where all perjuries roost, And swarm this ball with treasons, do thy worst, Thou canst not, hell-hound, cross my star tonight, Nor blind that glory, where I wish delight.

ENVY. I can, I will.

COMEDY. Nefarious hag, begin; And let us tug, till one the mastery win.

ENVY. Comedy, thou art a shallow goose, I’ll overthrow thee in thine own intent, And make thy fall my comic merriment.

COMEDY. Thy policy wants gravity, thou art Too weak. Speak, fiend, as how?

ENVY. Why, thus. From my foul study will I hoist a wretch, A lean and hungry meager cannibal, Whose jaws swell to his eyes with chawing malice; And him I’ll make a poet.

COMEDY. What’s that to the purpose?

ENVY. This scrambling raven with his needy beard, Will I whet on to write a comedy; Wherein shall be compos’d dark sentences, Pleasing to factious brains: And every otherwhere place me a jest, Whose high abuse shall more torment than blows. Then I myself, quicker than lightning, Will fly me to a puissant magistrate, And waiting with a trencher at his back, In midst of jollity rehearse those galls, With some additions, so lately vented in your theatre: He upon this cannot but make complaint, To your great danger, or at least restraint.

COMEDY. Ha, ha, ha! I laugh to hear thy folly; This is a trap for boys, not men, nor such, Especially desertful in their doings, Whose staid discretion rules their purposes. I and my faction do eschew those vices. But see, O see, the weary sun for rest Hath lain his golden compass to the west, Where he perpetual bide and ever shine, As David’s offspring in his happy clime. Stoop, Envy, stoop, bow to the earth with me, Let’s beg our pardon on our bended knee.

[_They kneel._]

ENVY. My power has lost her might, and Envy’s date’s expired, Yon splendant majesty hath ’fell’d my sting, And I amazed am.

[_Fall down and quake._]

COMEDY. Glorious and wise Arch-Cæsar on this earth, At whose appearance, Envy’s stricken dumb, And all bad things cease operation, Vouchsafe to pardon our unwilling error, So late presented to your gracious view, And we’ll endeavour with excess of pain, To please your senses in a choicer strain. Thus we commit you to the arms of night, Whose spangled darkness would, for your delight, Strive to excell the day: be blessed then, Who other wishes, let him never speak—

ENVY. Amen! To Fame and Honour we commend your rest, Live still more happy, every hour more blest.