SCENE I.--_London. The Court of Athelstane.

_Enter_ ATHELSTANE, _followed by_ AGRIPYNE, MONTROSE, _and_ LONGAVILLE _with horns; then_ LINCOLN _and_ CORNWALL.

Athelst. In spite of sorcery try once again, Try once more in contempt of all damned spells.

_Agrip._ Your majesty fights with no mortal power. Shame, and not conquest, hangs upon this strife. O, touch me not, you add but pain to pain, The more you cut, the more they grow again.

_Linc._ Is there no art to conjure down this scorn? I ne’er knew physic yet against the horn.

_Enter_ CYPRUS.

_Athelst._ See, Prince of Cyprus, thy fair Agripyne Hath turned her beauty to deformity.

_Cypr._ Then I defy thee, Love; vain hopes, adieu, You have mocked me long; in scorn I’ll now mock you. I came to see how the Lord Longaville Was turned into a monster, and I find An object, which both strikes me dumb and blind. To-morrow should have been our marriage morn, But now my bride is shame, thy bridegroom scorn. tell me yet, is there no art, no charms, No desperate physic for this desperate wound?

_Athelst._ All means are tried, but no means can be found.

_Cypr._ Then, England, farewell: hapless maid, thy stars, Through spiteful influence set our hearts at wars. I am enforced to leave thee, and resign My love to grief.

_Enter_ ORLEANS _and_ GALLOWAY.

_Agrip._ All grief to Agripyne.

_Cypr._ Adieu, I would say more, had I a tongue Able to help his master: mighty king, I humbly take my leave; to Cyprus I; My father’s son must all such shame defy. [_Exit._

_Orle._ So doth not Orleans; I defy all those That love not Agripyne, and him defy, That dares but love her half so well as I. O pardon me! I have in sorrow’s jail Been long tormented, long this mangled bosom Hath bled, and never durst expose her wounds, Till now, till now, when at thy beauteous feet I offer love and life. Oh, cast an eye Of mercy on me, this deformèd face Cannot affright my soul from loving thee.

_Agrip._ Talk not of love, good Orleans, but of hate.

_Orle._ What sentence will my love pronounce on me?

_Gall._ Will Orleans then be mad? O gentle friend.

_Orle._ O gentle, gentle friend, I am not mad: He’s mad, whose eyes on painted cheeks do doat, O Galloway, such read beauty’s book by rote. He’s mad, that pines for want of a gay flower, Which fades when grief doth blast, or sickness lower, Which heat doth wither, and white age’s frost Nips dead: such fairness, when ’tis found, ’tis lost. I am not mad, for loving Agripyne, My love looks on her eyes with eyes divine; I doat on the rich brightness of her mind, That sacred beauty strikes all other blind. O make me happy then, since my desires Are set a burning by love’s purest fires.

_Athelst._ So thou wilt bear her far from England’s sight, Enjoy thy wishes.

_Agrip._ Lock me in some cave, Where staring wonder’s eye shall not be guilty To my abhorrèd looks, and I will die To thee, as full of love as misery.

_Athelst._ I am amazed and mad, some speckled soul Lies pawned for this in hell, without redemption, Some fiend deludes us all.

_Cornw._ O unjust Fates, Why do you hide from us this mystery?

_Linc._ My Lord Montrose, how long have your brows worn This fashion? these two feather springs of horn?

_Montr._ An Irish kerne sold me Damasco apples Some two hours since, and like a credulous fool-- He swearing to me that they had this power To make me strong in body, rich in mind-- I did believe his words, tasted his fruit, And since have been attired in this disguise.

_Longa._ I fear that villain hath beguiled me too.

_Cornw._ Nay before God he has not cozened you, You have it soundly.

_Longa._ Me he made believe, One apple of Damasco would inspire My thoughts with wisdom, and upon my cheeks Would cast such beauty that each lady’s eye, Which looked on me, should love me presently.

_Agrip._ Desire to look more fair, makes me more fool,[404] Those apples did entice my wandering eye, To be enamoured of deformity.

[404] A play upon “fool” and “foul.”

_Athelst._ This proves that true, which oft I have heard in schools, Those that would seem most wise, do turn most fools.

_Linc._ Here’s your best hope, none needs to hide his face, For hornèd foreheads swarm in every place.

_Enter_ CHESTER, _with_ ANDELOCIA _disguised as a ~French Soldier~._

_Athelst._ Now, Chester, what physicians hast thou found?

_Chest._ Many, my liege, but none that have true skill To tame such wild diseases: yet here’s one, A doctor and a Frenchman, whom report Of Agripyne’s grief hath drawn to court.

_Athelst._ Cure her, and England’s treasury shall stand, As free for thee to use, as rain from Heaven.

_Montr._ Cure me, and to thy coffers I will send More gold from Scotland than thy life can spend.

_Longa._ Cure Longaville, and all his wealth is thine.

_Andel._ He Monsieur Long-villain,[405] gra tanck you: Gra tanck your mashesty a great teal artely by my trat: where be dis Madam Princeza dat be so mush tormenta? O Jeshu: one, two: an tree, four an five, seez horn: Ha, ha, ha, pardona moy prea wid al mine art, for by my trat, me can no point shose but laugh, Ha, ha, ha, to mark how like tree bul-beggera, dey stand. Oh, by my trat and fat, di divela be whoreson, scurvy, paltry, ill favore knave to mock de madam, and gentill-home so: Ha, ha, ha, ha.

[405] Elucidation of his jargon must be left to the discretion of the reader.

_Linc._ This doctor comes to mock your majesty.

_Andel._ No, by my trat la, but me lova musha musha merymant: come, madam, pre-artely stand still, and letta me feel you. Dis horn, O ’tis pretty horn, dis be facile, easy for pull de vey; but, madam, dis O be grand, grand horn, difficil, and very deep; ’tis perilous, a grand laroone. But, madam, prea be patient, we shall take it off vell.

_Athelst._ Thrice have we pared them off, but with fresh pain, In compass of a thought they rise again.

_Andel._ It’s true, ’tis no easy mattra, to pull horn off, ’tis easy to pull on, but hard for pull off; some horn be so good fellow, he will still inhabit in de man’s pate, but ’tis all one for tat, I shall snap away all dis. Madam, trust dis down into your little belly.

_Agrip._ Father, I am in fear to taste his physic. First let him work experiments on those.

_Andel._ I’ll sauce you for your infidelity. In no place can I spy my wishing hat. [_Aside._

_Longa._ Thou learned Frenchman, try thy skill on me, More ugly than I am, I cannot be.

_Montr._ Cure me, and Montrose wealth shall all be thine.

_Andel._ ’Tis all one for dat! Shall do presently, madam, prea mark me. Monsieur, shamp dis in your two shaps, so, now Monsieur Long-villain; dis so; now dis; fear noting, ’tis eshelent medicine! so, now cram dis into your guts, and belly; so, now snap away dis whoreson four divela; Ha, ha, is no point good? [_Pulls_ LONGAVILLE’S _horns off_.

_Athelst._ This is most strange. Was’t painful, Longaville?

_Longa._ Ease took them off, and there remains no pain.

_Agrip._ O try thy sacred physic upon me.

_Andel._ No by my trat, ’tis no possibla, ’tis no possibla, al de mattra, all de ting, all de substance, all de medicine, be among his and his belly: ’tis no possibla, till me prepare more.

_Athelst._ Prepare it then, and thou shalt have more gold From England’s coffers, than thy life can waste.

_Andel._ I must buy many costly tings, dat grow in Arabia, in Asia, and America, by my trat ’tis no possibla till anoder time, no point.

_Agrip._ There’s nothing in the world, but may for gold Be bought in England; hold your lap, I’ll rain A shower of angels.

_Andel._ Fie, fie, fie, fie, you no credit le dockature? Ha, but vel, ’tis all one for tat: ’tis no mattera for gold! vel, vel, vel, vel, vel, me have some more, prea say noting, shall be presently prepara for your horns.

(_Aside._) She has my purse, and yonder lies my hat, Work, brains, and once more make me fortunate.--

Vel, vel, vel, vel, be patient, madam, presently, presently! Be patient, me have two, tree, four and five medicines for de horn: presently, madam, stand you der, prea wid all my art, stand you all der, and say noting,--so! nor look noting dis vey. So, presently, presently, madam, snip dis horn off wid de rushes and anoder ting by and by, by and by, by and by. Prea look none dis vey, and say noting. [_Takes his hat._

_Athelst._ Let no man speak, or look, upon his life. Doctor, none here shall rob thee of thy skill.

_Andel._ So, taka dis hand: winck now prea artely with your two nyes: why so.

Would I were with my brother Ampedo! [_Exit with_ AGRIPYNE.

_Agrip._ Help, father, help, I am hurried hence perforce.

_Athelst._ Draw weapons, where’s the princess? follow him, Stay the French doctor, stay the doctor there. [CORNWALL _and others run out, and presently re-enter_.

_Cornw._ Stay him! ’s heart, who dare stay him? ’tis the devil In likeness of a Frenchman, of a doctor. Look how a rascal kite having swept up A chicken in his claws, so flies this hell-hound In th’ air with Agripyne in his arms.

_Orle._ Mount every man upon his swiftest horse. Fly several ways, he cannot bear her far.

_Gall._ These paths we’ll beat. [_Exeunt_ GALLOWAY _and_ ORLEANS.

_Linc._ And this way shall be mine. [_Exit._

_Cornw._ This way, my liege, I’ll ride. [_Exit._

_Athelst._ And this way I: No matter which way, to seek misery. [_Exit._

_Longa._ I can ride no way, to out-run my shame.

_Montr._ Yes, Longaville, let’s gallop after too; Doubtless this doctor was that Irish devil, That cozened us, the medicine which he gave us Tasted like his Damasco villany. To horse, to horse, if we can catch this fiend, Our forkèd shame shall in his heart blood end.

_Longa._ O how this mads me, that all tongues in scorn, Which way soe’er I ride, cry, ’ware the horn! [_Exeunt._