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William Shakespeare, Shakespeare also spelled Shakspere, byname Bard of Avon or Swan of Avon, (baptized April 26, 1564, Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, England—died April 23, 1616, Stratford-upon-Avon), English poet, dramatist, and actor often called the English national poet and considered by many to be the greatest dramatist of all time.

Shakespeare occupies a position unique in world literature. Other poets, such as Homer and Dante, and novelists, such as Leo Tolstoy and Charles Dickens, have transcended national barriers, but no writer’s living reputation can compare to that of Shakespeare, whose plays, written in the late 16th and early 17th centuries for a small repertory theatre, are now performed and read more often and in more countries than ever before. The prophecy of his great contemporary, the poet and dramatist Ben Jonson, that Shakespeare “was not of an age, but for all time,” has been fulfilled.

William Shakespeare

Category: Arts & Culture

Baptized: April 26, 1564 Stratford-upon-Avon England

Died: April 23, 1616 Stratford-upon-Avon England

Notable Works: “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” “All’s Well That Ends Well” “Antony and Cleopatra” “As You Like It” “Coriolanus” “Cymbeline” First Folio “Hamlet” “Henry IV, Part 1” “Henry IV, Part 2” “Henry V” “Henry VI, Part 1” “Henry VI, Part 2” “Henry VI, Part 3” “Henry VIII” “Julius Caesar” “King John” “King Lear” “Love’s Labour’s Lost” “Macbeth” “Measure for Measure” “Much Ado About Nothing” “Othello” “Pericles” “Richard III” “The Comedy of Errors” “The Merchant of Venice” “The Merry Wives of Windsor” “The Taming of the Shrew” “The Tempest” “Timon of Athens”

Movement / Style: Jacobean age

Notable Family Members: spouse Anne Hathaway

It may be audacious even to attempt a definition of his greatness, but it is not so difficult to describe the gifts that enabled him to create imaginative visions of pathos and mirth that, whether read or witnessed in the theatre, fill the mind and linger there. He is a writer of great intellectual rapidity, perceptiveness, and poetic power. Other writers have had these qualities, but with Shakespeare the keenness of mind was applied not to abstruse or remote subjects but to human beings and their complete range of emotions and conflicts. Other writers have applied their keenness of mind in this way, but Shakespeare is astonishingly clever with words and images, so that his mental energy, when applied to intelligible human situations, finds full and memorable expression, convincing and imaginatively stimulating. As if this were not enough, the art form into which his creative energies went was not remote and bookish but involved the vivid stage impersonation of human beings, commanding sympathy and inviting vicarious participation. Thus, Shakespeare’s merits can survive translation into other languages and into cultures remote from that of Elizabethan England.

Shakespeare the man

Life

Although the amount of factual knowledge available about Shakespeare is surprisingly large for one of his station in life, many find it a little disappointing, for it is mostly gleaned from documents of an official character. Dates of baptisms, marriages, deaths, and burials; wills, conveyances, legal processes, and payments by the court—these are the dusty details. There are, however, many contemporary allusions to him as a writer, and these add a reasonable amount of flesh and blood to the biographical skeleton.

Shakespeare Reading, oil on canvas by William Page, 1873-74; in the collection of the Smithsonian American Museum of Art, Washington, D.C. (William Shakespeare)

Shakespeare's birthplace

The parish register of Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon, Warwickshire, shows that he was baptized there on April 26, 1564; his birthday is traditionally celebrated on April 23. His father, John Shakespeare, was a burgess of the borough, who in 1565 was chosen an alderman and in 1568 bailiff (the position corresponding to mayor, before the grant of a further charter to Stratford in 1664). He was engaged in various kinds of trade and appears to have suffered some fluctuations in prosperity. His wife, Mary Arden, of Wilmcote, Warwickshire, came from an ancient family and was the heiress to some land. (Given the somewhat rigid social distinctions of the 16th century, this marriage must have been a step up the social scale for John Shakespeare.)

Stratford enjoyed a grammar school of good quality, and the education there was free, the schoolmaster’s salary being paid by the borough. No lists of the pupils who were at the school in the 16th century have survived, but it would be absurd to suppose the bailiff of the town did not send his son there. The boy’s education would consist mostly of Latin studies—learning to read, write, and speak the language fairly well and studying some of the Classical historians, moralists, and poets. Shakespeare did not go on to the university, and indeed it is unlikely that the scholarly round of logic, rhetoric, and other studies then followed there would have interested him.

Instead, at age 18 he married. Where and exactly when are not known, but the episcopal registry at Worcester preserves a bond dated November 28, 1582, and executed by two yeomen of Stratford, named Sandells and Richardson, as a security to the bishop for the issue of a license for the marriage of William Shakespeare and “Anne Hathaway of Stratford,” upon the consent of her friends and upon once asking of the banns. (Anne died in 1623, seven years after Shakespeare. There is good evidence to associate her with a family of Hathaways who inhabited a beautiful farmhouse, now much visited, 2 miles [3.2 km] from Stratford.) The next date of interest is found in the records of the Stratford church, where a daughter, named Susanna, born to William Shakespeare, was baptized on May 26, 1583. On February 2, 1585, twins were baptized, Hamnet and Judith. (Hamnet, Shakespeare’s only son, died 11 years later.)

How Shakespeare spent the next eight years or so, until his name begins to appear in London theatre records, is not known. There are stories—given currency long after his death—of stealing deer and getting into trouble with a local magnate, Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote, near Stratford; of earning his living as a schoolmaster in the country; of going to London and gaining entry to the world of theatre by minding the horses of theatregoers. It has also been conjectured that Shakespeare spent some time as a member of a great household and that he was a soldier, perhaps in the Low Countries. In lieu of external evidence, such extrapolations about Shakespeare’s life have often been made from the internal “evidence” of his writings. But this method is unsatisfactory: one cannot conclude, for example, from his allusions to the law that Shakespeare was a lawyer, for he was clearly a writer who without difficulty could get whatever knowledge he needed for the composition of his plays.

Career in the theatre of William Shakespeare

The first reference to Shakespeare in the literary world of London comes in 1592, when a fellow dramatist, Robert Greene, declared in a pamphlet written on his deathbed:

There is an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you; and, being an absolute Johannes Factotum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country.

What these words mean is difficult to determine, but clearly they are insulting, and clearly Shakespeare is the object of the sarcasms. When the book in which they appear (Greenes, groats-worth of witte, bought with a million of Repentance, 1592) was published after Greene’s death, a mutual acquaintance wrote a preface offering an apology to Shakespeare and testifying to his worth. This preface also indicates that Shakespeare was by then making important friends. For, although the puritanical city of London was generally hostile to the theatre, many of the nobility were good patrons of the drama and friends of the actors. Shakespeare seems to have attracted the attention of the young Henry Wriothesley, the 3rd earl of Southampton, and to this nobleman were dedicated his first published poems, Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece.

One striking piece of evidence that Shakespeare began to prosper early and tried to retrieve the family’s fortunes and establish its gentility is the fact that a coat of arms was granted to John Shakespeare in 1596. Rough drafts of this grant have been preserved in the College of Arms, London, though the final document, which must have been handed to the Shakespeares, has not survived. Almost certainly William himself took the initiative and paid the fees. The coat of arms appears on Shakespeare’s monument (constructed before 1623) in the Stratford church. Equally interesting as evidence of Shakespeare’s worldly success was his purchase in 1597 of New Place, a large house in Stratford, which he as a boy must have passed every day in walking to school.

Globe Theatre

How his career in the theatre began is unclear, but from roughly 1594 onward he was an important member of the Lord Chamberlain’s company of players (called the King’s Men after the accession of James I in 1603). They had the best actor, Richard Burbage; they had the best theatre, the Globe (finished by the autumn of 1599); they had the best dramatist, Shakespeare. It is no wonder that the company prospered. Shakespeare became a full-time professional man of his own theatre, sharing in a cooperative enterprise and intimately concerned with the financial success of the plays he wrote.

Unfortunately, written records give little indication of the way in which Shakespeare’s professional life molded his marvelous artistry. All that can be deduced is that for 20 years Shakespeare devoted himself assiduously to his art, writing more than a million words of poetic drama of the highest quality.

Private life

Shakespeare's house in Stratford-upon-Avon

Shakespeare had little contact with officialdom, apart from walking—dressed in the royal livery as a member of the King’s Men—at the coronation of King James I in 1604. He continued to look after his financial interests. He bought properties in London and in Stratford. In 1605 he purchased a share (about one-fifth) of the Stratford tithes—a fact that explains why he was eventually buried in the chancel of its parish church. For some time he lodged with a French Huguenot family called Mountjoy, who lived near St. Olave’s Church in Cripplegate, London. The records of a lawsuit in May 1612, resulting from a Mountjoy family quarrel, show Shakespeare as giving evidence in a genial way (though unable to remember certain important facts that would have decided the case) and as interesting himself generally in the family’s affairs.

No letters written by Shakespeare have survived, but a private letter to him happened to get caught up with some official transactions of the town of Stratford and so has been preserved in the borough archives. It was written by one Richard Quiney and addressed by him from the Bell Inn in Carter Lane, London, whither he had gone from Stratford on business. On one side of the paper is inscribed: “To my loving good friend and countryman, Mr. Wm. Shakespeare, deliver these.” Apparently Quiney thought his fellow Stratfordian a person to whom he could apply for the loan of £30—a large sum in Elizabethan times. Nothing further is known about the transaction, but, because so few opportunities of seeing into Shakespeare’s private life present themselves, this begging letter becomes a touching document. It is of some interest, moreover, that 18 years later Quiney’s son Thomas became the husband of Judith, Shakespeare’s second daughter.

Shakespeare’s will (made on March 25, 1616) is a long and detailed document. It entailed his quite ample property on the male heirs of his elder daughter, Susanna. (Both his daughters were then married, one to the aforementioned Thomas Quiney and the other to John Hall, a respected physician of Stratford.) As an afterthought, he bequeathed his “second-best bed” to his wife; no one can be certain what this notorious legacy means. The testator’s signatures to the will are apparently in a shaky hand. Perhaps Shakespeare was already ill. He died on April 23, 1616. No name was inscribed on his gravestone in the chancel of the parish church of Stratford-upon-Avon. Instead these lines, possibly his own, appeared:

Sexuality of William Shakespeare

Like so many circumstances of Shakespeare’s personal life, the question of his sexual nature is shrouded in uncertainty. At age 18, in 1582, he married Anne Hathaway, a woman who was eight years older than he. Their first child, Susanna, was born on May 26, 1583, about six months after the marriage ceremony. A license had been issued for the marriage on November 27, 1582, with only one reading (instead of the usual three) of the banns, or announcement of the intent to marry in order to give any party the opportunity to raise any potential legal objections. This procedure and the swift arrival of the couple’s first child suggest that the pregnancy was unplanned, as it was certainly premarital. The marriage thus appears to have been a “shotgun” wedding. Anne gave birth some 21 months after the arrival of Susanna to twins, named Hamnet and Judith, who were christened on February 2, 1585. Thereafter William and Anne had no more children. They remained married until his death in 1616.

Were they compatible, or did William prefer to live apart from Anne for most of this time? When he moved to London at some point between 1585 and 1592, he did not take his family with him. Divorce was nearly impossible in this era. Were there medical or other reasons for the absence of any more children? Was he present in Stratford when Hamnet, his only son, died in 1596 at age 11? He bought a fine house for his family in Stratford and acquired real estate in the vicinity. He was eventually buried in Holy Trinity Church in Stratford, where Anne joined him in 1623. He seems to have retired to Stratford from London about 1612. He had lived apart from his wife and children, except presumably for occasional visits in the course of a very busy professional life, for at least two decades. His bequeathing in his last will and testament of his “second best bed” to Anne, with no further mention of her name in that document, has suggested to many scholars that the marriage was a disappointment necessitated by an unplanned pregnancy.

What was Shakespeare’s love life like during those decades in London, apart from his family? Knowledge on this subject is uncertain at best. According to an entry dated March 13, 1602, in the commonplace book of a law student named John Manningham, Shakespeare had a brief affair after he happened to overhear a female citizen at a performance of Richard III making an assignation with Richard Burbage, the leading actor of the acting company to which Shakespeare also belonged. Taking advantage of having overheard their conversation, Shakespeare allegedly hastened to the place where the assignation had been arranged, was “entertained” by the woman, and was “at his game” when Burbage showed up. When a message was brought that “Richard the Third” had arrived, Shakespeare is supposed to have “caused return to be made that William the Conqueror was before Richard the Third. Shakespeare’s name William.” This diary entry of Manningham’s must be regarded with much skepticism, since it is verified by no other evidence and since it may simply speak to the timeless truth that actors are regarded as free spirits and bohemians. Indeed, the story was so amusing that it was retold, embellished, and printed in Thomas Likes’s A General View of the Stage (1759) well before Manningham’s diary was discovered. It does at least suggest, at any rate, that Manningham imagined it to be true that Shakespeare was heterosexual and not averse to an occasional infidelity to his marriage vows. The film Shakespeare in Love (1998) plays amusedly with this idea in its purely fictional presentation of Shakespeare’s torchy affair with a young woman named Viola De Lesseps, who was eager to become a player in a professional acting company and who inspired Shakespeare in his writing of Romeo and Juliet—indeed, giving him some of his best lines.

Apart from these intriguing circumstances, little evidence survives other than the poems and plays that Shakespeare wrote. Can anything be learned from them? The sonnets, written perhaps over an extended period from the early 1590s into the 1600s, chronicle a deeply loving relationship between the speaker of the sonnets and a well-born young man. At times the poet-speaker is greatly sustained and comforted by a love that seems reciprocal. More often, the relationship is one that is troubled by painful absences, by jealousies, by the poet’s perception that other writers are winning the young man’s affection, and finally by the deep unhappiness of an outright desertion in which the young man takes away from the poet-speaker the dark-haired beauty whose sexual favours the poet-speaker has enjoyed (though not without some revulsion at his own unbridled lust, as in Sonnet 129). This narrative would seem to posit heterosexual desire in the poet-speaker, even if of a troubled and guilty sort; but do the earlier sonnets suggest also a desire for the young man? The relationship is portrayed as indeed deeply emotional and dependent; the poet-speaker cannot live without his friend and that friend’s returning the love that the poet-speaker so ardently feels. Yet readers today cannot easily tell whether that love is aimed at physical completion. Indeed, Sonnet 20 seems to deny that possibility by insisting that Nature’s having equipped the friend with “one thing to my purpose nothing”—that is, a penis—means that physical sex must be regarded as solely in the province of the friend’s relationship with women: “But since she [Nature] pricked thee out for women’s pleasure, / Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure.” The bawdy pun on “pricked” underscores the sexual meaning of the sonnet’s concluding couplet. Critic Joseph Pequigney has argued at length that the sonnets nonetheless do commemorate a consummated physical relationship between the poet-speaker and the friend, but most commentators have backed away from such a bold assertion.

A significant difficulty is that one cannot be sure that the sonnets are autobiographical. Shakespeare is such a masterful dramatist that one can easily imagine him creating such an intriguing story line as the basis for his sonnet sequence. Then, too, are the sonnets printed in the order that Shakespeare would have intended? He seems not to have been involved in their publication in 1609, long after most of them had been written. Even so, one can perhaps ask why such a story would have appealed to Shakespeare. Is there a level at which fantasy and dreamwork may be involved?

The plays and other poems lend themselves uncertainly to such speculation. Loving relationships between two men are sometimes portrayed as extraordinarily deep. Antonio in Twelfth Night protests to Sebastian that he needs to accompany Sebastian on his adventures even at great personal risk: “If you will not murder me for my love, let me be your servant” (Act II, scene 1, lines 33–34). That is to say, I will die if you leave me behind. Another Antonio, in The Merchant of Venice, risks his life for his loving friend Bassanio. Actors in today’s theatre regularly portray these relationships as homosexual, and indeed actors are often incredulous toward anyone who doubts that to be the case. In Troilus and Cressida, Patroclus is rumoured to be Achilles’ “masculine whore” (V, 1, line 17), as is suggested in Homer, and certainly the two are very close in friendship, though Patroclus does admonish Achilles to engage in battle by saying,

Again, on the modern stage this relationship is often portrayed as obviously, even flagrantly, sexual; but whether Shakespeare saw it as such, or the play valorizes homosexuality or bisexuality, is another matter.

A woman impudent and mannish grown

Certainly his plays contain many warmly positive depictions of heterosexuality, in the loves of Romeo and Juliet, Orlando and Rosalind, and Henry V and Katharine of France, among many others. At the same time, Shakespeare is astute in his representations of sexual ambiguity. Viola—in disguise as a young man, Cesario, in Twelfth Night—wins the love of Duke Orsino in such a delicate way that what appears to be the love between two men morphs into the heterosexual mating of Orsino and Viola. The ambiguity is reinforced by the audience’s knowledge that in Shakespeare’s theatre Viola/Cesario was portrayed by a boy actor of perhaps 16. All the cross-dressing situations in the comedies, involving Portia in The Merchant of Venice, Rosalind/Ganymede in As You Like It, Imogen in Cymbeline, and many others, playfully explore the uncertain boundaries between the genders. Rosalind’s male disguise name in As You Like It, Ganymede, is that of the cupbearer to Zeus with whom the god was enamoured; the ancient legends assume that Ganymede was Zeus’s catamite. Shakespeare is characteristically delicate on that score, but he does seem to delight in the frisson of sexual suggestion.

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apocryphalshakespeare · 2 years ago

Text

The True Chronicle History of King Leir, and his

three daughters,

Gonorill, Ragan, & Cordella.

As it hath been divers and sundry

times lately acted.

LONDON,

Printed by Simon Stafford for John Wright, and are to be sold at his shop at Christ's Church door, next Newgate-Market.

1605.

The original of Shakespeare's "King Lear".

Edited by Sidney Lee - 1909

Additional changes and editorial matter

by D. L. Overtoom - 2022

DRAMATIS PERSONAE: Act I Act II Act III

KING LEIR, 220 145 212

King of Britain.

SKALLIGER, 56 0 0

PERILLUS, 82 94 75

GONORILL, 195 23 6

eldest daughter of King Leir,

King of Cornwall, 58 23 10

husband of Gonorill.

Messenger/Murtherer, 37 193 0

in the service of Gonorill.

RAGAN, 96 142 44

second daughter of King Leir,

King of Cambria, 35 40 8

husband of Ragan.

CORDELLA, 90 70 74

youngest daughter of King Leir,

King of Gallia, 87 59 83

husband of Cordella.

MUMFORD, 52 31 51

the Gallian king's attendant.

Ambassador from Gallia to Britain. 0 64 0

DRAMATIS PERSONAE: Act I Act II Act III

Servant to the king of Cornwall. 3 3 0

Servant to the king of Cambria. 6 0 0

First Mariner. 0 0 13

Second Mariner. 0 0 11

First Watchman. 0 0 16

Second Watchman. 0 0 18

First British Captain. 0 0 17

Second British Captain. 0 0 4

The mayor of Dover. 0 0 10

Nobles at King Leir's court (13); nobles of Gallia (2); attendants on the king of Cornwall; nobles of the prince of Cambria; Gallian soldiers; soldiers of Cornwall and Cambria.

SCENE: Britain, Cambria, Cornwall, and Gallia.

Act I = 1,032 lines @ 3.5 sec/per/line = 1hr. 2min.

Act II = 887 lines @ 3.5 sec/per/line = 52 min.

Act III = 652 lines @ 3.5 sec/per/line = 38 min.

+ 2 five min. intermissions = 10 min.

TOTAL RUN TIME = 2 hours 42 min.

KING LEIR

AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS

ACT I

SCENE I. Presence chamber in King Leir's palace at Troynovant.

Enter King Leir, Skalliger, Perillus,

and Nobles.

Leir.

Thus to our grief the obsequies performed

Of our too late deceas'd and dearest queen,

Whose soul I hope, possess'd of heavenly joys,

Doth ride in triumph 'mongst the cherubins;

Let us request your grave advice, my lords,

For the disposing of our princely daughters,

For whom our care is specially employ'd,

As nature bindeth, to advance their states

In royal marriage with some princely mates:

For wanting now their mother's good advice, 10

Under whose government they have received

A perfit pattern of a virtuous life:

Left as it were a ship without a stern,

Or silly sheep without a pastor's care;

Although ourselves do dearly tender them,

Yet are we ignorant of their affairs:

For fathers best do know to govern sons;

But daughters' steps the mother's counsel turns.

A son we want for to succeed our crown,

And course of time hath cancelled the date 20

Of further issue from our withered loins:

One foot already hangeth in the grave,

And age hath made deep furrows in my face:

The world of me, I of the world am weary,

And I would fain resign these earthly cares, 25

And think upon the welfare of my soul:

Which by no better means may be effected,

Than by resigning up the crown from me,

In equal dowry to my daughters three.

Skalliger.

A worthy care, my liege, which well declares, 30

The zeal you bare unto our quondam queen:

And since your grace hath licensed me to speak,

I counsel thus; your majesty knowing well,

What several suitors your princely daughters have,

To make them each a jointure more or less, 35

As is their worth, to them that love profess.

Leir.

No more, nor less, but even all alike,

My zeal is fix'd, all fashion'd in one mould:

Wherefore impartial shall my granting be,

Both old and young shall have alike from me. 40

1st Noble.

My gracious lord, I heartily do wish,

That God had lent you an heir indubitate,

Who might have sat upon your royal throne,

When fates should loose the prison of your life,

By whose succession all this doubt might cease; 45

And as by you, by him we might have peace.

2nd Noble.

But after-wishes ever come too late,

And nothing can revoke the course of fate:

Wherefore, my liege, my censure deems it best,

To match them with some of your neighbour kings, 50

Bordering within the bounds of Albion,

By whose united friendship, this our state

May be protected 'gainst all foreign hate.

Leir.

Herein, my lords, your wishes sort with mine,

And mine, I hope, do sort with heavenly powers: 55

For at this instant two near neighbouring kings,

Of Cornwall and of Cambria, motion love

To my two daughters, Gonorill and Ragan.

My youngest daughter, fair Cordella, vows

No linking to a monarch, unless love allows. 60

She is solicited by divers peers;

But none of them her partial fancy hears.

Yet, if my policy may her beguile,

I'll match her to some king within this isle,

And so establish such a perfit peace, 65

As Fortune's force shall ne'er prevail to cease.

Perillus.

Of us and ours, your gracious care, my lord,

Deserves an everlasting memory,

To be enroll'd in chronicles of fame,

By never-dying perpetuity:

Yet to become so provident a prince

Lose not the title of a loving father!

Do not force love, where fancy cannot dwell,

Lest streams, being stopp'd, above the banks do swell.

Leir.

I am resolv'd, and even now my mind 75

Doth meditate a sudden stratagem,

To try which of my daughters loves me best:

Which till I know; I cannot be in rest.

Thus presently, they jointly shall contend,

Each to exceed the other in their love: 80

Then at that vantage will I take Cordella,

E’en as she doth protest she loves me best,

I'll say, “then, daughter, grant me one request,

To show thou lovest me as thy sisters do,

Accept a husband, whom myself will woo.” 85

This said, she cannot well deny my suit.

Although, poor soul, her senses will be mute:

Then will I triumph in my policy,

And match her with a king of Brittany!

[Exit Leir and Lords & Ladies.]

Skalliger. [To audience as he exits.]

I'll to them before, and bewray your secrecy. 90

Perillus. [To audience.]

Thus fathers think their children to beguile,

And oftentimes themselves do first repent,

When heavenly powers do frustrate their intent.

[Exit Perillus.]

ACT I. SCENE II. A room in King Leir's palace.

Enter Gonorill and Ragan.

Gonorill.

I marvel, Ragan, how you can endure

To see that proud pert peat, our youngest sister,

So slightly to account of us, her elders,

As if we were no better than herself!

We cannot have a quaint device so soon, 5

Or new-made fashion, of our choice invention;

But if she like it, she will have the same,

Or study newer to exceed us both.

Besides, she is so nice and so demure;

So sober, courteous, modest, and precise, 10

That all the court hath work enough to do,

To talk how she exceedeth me and you.

Ragan.

What should I do? would it were in my power,

To find a cure for this contagious ill:

Some desperate medicine must be soon applied, 15

To dim the glory of her mounting fame;

Else ere't be long, she'll have both prick and praise,

And we must be set by for working days.

Do you not see what several choice of suitors

She daily hath, and of the best degree? 20

Say, amongst all, she hap to fancy one,

And have a husband whenas we have none:

Why then, by right, to her we must give place,

Though it be ne'er so much to our disgrace.

Gonorill.

By my virginity, rather than she

Shall have a husband before me,

I'll marry one or other in his shirt:

And yet I have made half a grant already

Of my good will unto the king of Cornwall.

Ragan.

Swear not so deeply, sister, here cometh my Lord

Skalliger.

Something his hasty coming doth import.

Enter Skalliger.

Skalliger.

Sweet princesses,

I’m glad I met you here so luckily,

Having good news which doth concern you both,

And craveth speedy expedition.

Ragan.

For God's sake tell us what it is, my lord, 35

I am with child until you utter it.

Skalliger.

Madam, to save your longing, this it is:

Your father in great secrecy today

Told me, he means to marry you out of hand

Unto the noble prince of Cambria!

[Turning to Gonorill.]

You, madam, to the king of Cornwall's grace!

Your younger sister he would fain bestow

Upon the rich king of Hibernia:

But that he doubts, she hardly will consent;

For hitherto she ne'er could fancy him. 45

If she do yield, why then, between you three,

He will divide his kingdom for your dowries.

But yet there is a further mystery,

Which, so you will conceal, I will disclose.

Gonorill.

Whate'er thou speak'st to us, kind Skalliger, 50

Think that thou speak 'st it only to thyself.

Skalliger.

He earnestly desireth for to know,

Which of you three do bear most love to him,

And on your loves he so extremely dotes,

As never any did, I think, before. 55

He presently doth mean to send for you,

To be resolv'd of this tormenting doubt:

And look, whose answer pleaseth him the best,

They shall have most unto their marriages.

Ragan.

O that I had some pleasing mermaid's voice, 60

For to enchant his senseless senses with!

Skalliger.

For he supposeth that Cordella will,

Striving to go beyond you in her love,

Promise to do whatever he desires:

Then will he straight enjoin her for his sake, 65

The Hibernian king in marriage for to take.

This is the sum of all I have to say;

Which being done, I humbly take my leave,

Not doubting but your wisdoms will foresee

What course will best unto your good agree. 70

Gonorill.

Thanks, gentle Skalliger, thy kindness undeserved

Shall not be unrequited, if we live.

[Exit Skalliger.

Ragan.

Now have we fit occasion offer'd us,

To be revenged upon her unperceived.

Gonorill.

Nay, our revenge we will inflict on her 75

Shall be accounted piety in us:

I will so flatter with my doting father,

As he was ne'er so flatter'd in his life.

Nay, I will say, that if it be his pleasure,

To match me to a beggar, I will yield: 80

For why, I know whatever I do say,

He means to match me with the Cornwall king.

Ragan.

I'll say the like: for I am well assured,

Whate'er I say to please the old man's mind,

Who dotes, as if he were a child again, 85

I shall enjoy the noble Cambrian prince:

Only, to feed his humour, will suffice,

To say, I am content with any one

Whom he'll appoint me; this will please him more

Than e'er Apollo's music pleased Jove. 90

Gonorill.

I smile to think, in what a woeful plight

Cordella will be, when we answer thus:

For she will rather die, than give consent

To join in marriage with the Irish king:

So will our father think, she loves him not, 95

Because she will not grant to his desire.

Which we will aggravate in such bitter terms,

That he will soon convert his love to hate:

For he, you know, is always in extremes.

Ragan.

Not all the world could lay a better plot, 100

I long till it be put in practice.

[Exeunt.

ACT I. SCENE III. Presence chamber in King Leir's palace.

Enter Leir and Perillus.

Leir.

Perillus, go and seek my daughters three,

Will them immediately come speak with me.

Perillus.

I will, my gracious lord.

[Exit.

Leir.

Oh, what a combat feels my panting heart,

'Twixt children's love, and care of commonweal! 5

How dear my daughters are unto my soul, none knows, But He, that knows my thoughts and secret deeds.

Ah, little do they know the dear regard,

Wherein I hold their future state to come:

When they securely sleep on beds of down, 10

These aged eyes do watch for their behalf:

While they, like wantons, sport in youthful toys,

This throbbing heart is pierced with dire annoys.

As doth the sun exceed the smallest star,

So much the father's love exceeds the child's. 15

Yet my complaints are causeless: for the world

Affords not children more conformable:

And yet, methinks, my mind presageth still

I know not what; and yet I fear some ill.

Enter Perillus with the three daughters.

Well, here my daughters come: I have found out 20

A present means to rid me of this doubt.

Gonorill.

Our royal lord and father, in all duty,

We come to know the tenor of your will,

Why you so hastily have sent for us.

Leir.

Dear Gonorill, kind Ragan, sweet Cordella, 25

Ye flourishing branches of a kingly stock,

Sprung from a tree that once did flourish green,

Whose blossoms now are nipp'd with winter's frost,

And pale grim death doth wait upon my steps,

And summons me unto his next assizes. 30

Therefore, dear daughters, as ye tender the safety

Of him that was the cause of your first being,

Resolve a doubt which much molests my mind,

Which of you three to me would prove most kind;

Which loves me most, and which at my request 35

Will soonest yield unto their father's hest.

Gonorill.

I hope, my gracious father makes no doubt

Of any of his daughters' love to him:

Yet for my part, to show my zeal to you,

Which cannot be in windy words rehears'd, 40

I prize my love to you at such a rate,

I think my life inferior to my love.

Should you enjoin me for to tie a millstone

About my neck, and leap into the sea,

At your command I willingly would do it: 45

Yea, for to do you good, I would ascend

The highest turret in all Brittany,

And from the top leap headlong to the ground:

Nay, more; should you appoint me for to marry'

The meanest vassal in the spacious world, 50

Without reply I would accomplish it:

In brief, command whatever you desire,

And if I fail, no favor I require.

Leir.

O, how thy words revive my dying soul!

Cordella. [Aside.]

O, how I do abhor this flattery! 55

Leir.

But what says Ragan to her father's will?

Ragan.

O, that my simple utterance could suffice,

To tell the true intention of my heart,

Which burns in zeal of duty to your grace,

And never can be quench'd, but by desire 60

To show the same in outward forwardness.

Oh, that there were some other maid that durst

But make a challenge of her love with me;

I'd make her soon confess she never loved

Her father half so well as I do you. 65

Ay, then my deeds should prove in plainer case,

How much my zeal aboundeth to your grace:

But for them all, let this one mean suffice.

To ratify my love before your eyes:

I have right noble suitors to my love, 70

No worse than kings, and haply I love one:

Yet, would you have me make my choice anew,

I'd bridle fancy, and be rul'd by you.

Leir.

Did never Philomel sing so sweet a note.

Cordella. [Aside.]

Did never flatterer tell so false a tale. 75

Leir.

Speak now, Cordella, make my joys at full,

And drop down nectar from thy honey lips.

Cordella.

I cannot paint my duty forth in words,

I hope my deeds shall make report for me:

But look what love the child doth owe the father, 80

The same to you I bear, my gracious lord.

Gonorill.

Here is an answer answerless indeed:

Were you my daughter, I should scarcely brook it.

Ragan.

Dost thou not blush, proud peacock as thou art,

To make our father such a slight reply? 85

Leir.

Why how now, minion, are you grown so proud?

Doth our dear love make you peremptory?

What, is your love become so small to us,

As that you scorn to tell us what it is?

Do you love us, as every child doth love 90

Their father? True indeed, as some, who by Disobedience short their father's days,

And so would you; some are so father-sick,

That they make means to rid them from the world;

And so would you: some are indifferent, 95

Whether their aged parents live or die;

And so are you. But, did'st thou know, proud girl,

What care I had to foster thee to this,

Ah, then thou would'st say as thy sisters do:

Our life is less, than love we owe to you. 100

Cordella.

Dear father, do not so mistake my words,

Nor my plain meaning be misconstru'd;

My tongue was never us'd to flattery.

Gonorill.

You were not best say I flatter: if you do,

My deeds shall show, I flatter not with you. 105

I love my father better than thou canst.

Cordella.

The praise were great, spoke from another's mouth:

But it should seem your neighbors dwell far off.

Ragan.

Nay, here is one, that will confirm as much

As she hath said, both for myself and her.

I say, thou dost not wish my father's good.

[Cordella runs to Leir.]

Cordella.

Dear father ---

[Leir pushes her to the floor.]

Leir.

Peace, bastard imp, no issue of King Leir,

I will not hear thee speak one tittle more,

Call not me father, if thou love thy life, 115

Nor these thy sisters once presume to name:

Look for no help henceforth from me nor mine;

Shift as thou wilt, and trust unto thyself:

My kingdom will I equally divide

'Twixt thy two sisters to their royal dower, 120

And will bestow them worthy their deserts:

This done, because thou shalt not have the hope

To have a child's part in the time to come,

I presently will dispossess myself

And set up these upon my princely throne. 125

Gonorill.

I ever thought that pride would have a fall.

Ragan.

Plain dealing, sister: your beauty is so sheen,

You need no dowry to make you a queen.

[Exeunt Leir, Gonorill, Ragan.

Cordella.

Now whither, poor forsaken, shall I go,

When mine own sisters triumph in my woe? 130

[She kneels and raises her arms to heaven.]

But unto Him which doth protect the just,

In Him will poor Cordella put her trust.

These hands shall labor, for to get my spending;

And so I'll live until my days have ending.

[Exit Cordella.]

Perillus.

Oh how I grieve, to see my lord thus fond, 135

To dote so much upon vain flattering words,

Ah, if he but with good advice had weighed,

The hidden tenour of her humble speech,

Reason to rage should not have given place, 139

Nor poor Cordella suffer such disgrace.

[Exit Perillus.]

ACT II. SCENE I. The palace of the Gallian king.

Enter the Gallian king with Mumford, and three nobles more.

King of Gallia.

Dissuade me not, my lords, I am resolv'd,

This next fair wind to sail for Brittany,

In some disguise, to see if flying fame

Be not too prodigal in the wondrous praise

Of these three nymphs, the daughters of King Leir. 5

If present view do answer absent praise,

And eyes allow of what our ears have heard,

And Venus stand auspicious to my vows,

And fortune favor what I take in hand;

I will return seized of as rich a prize 10

As Jason, when he won the golden fleece.

Mumford.

Heavens grant you may: the match were full of honor,

And well beseeming the young Gallian king.

I would your grace would favor me so much,

As make me partner of your pilgrimage. 15

I long to see the gallant British dames,

And feed mine eyes upon their rare perfections:

For till I know the contrary, I'll say,

Our dames in France are far more fair than they.

King of Gallia.

Lord Mumford, you have saved me a labor, 20

In offering that which I did mean to ask:

And I most willingly accept your company.

Yet first I will enjoin you to observe

Some few conditions which I shall propose.

Mumford.

So that you do not tie mine eyes for looking 25

After the amorous glances of fair dames:

So that you do not tie my tongue from speaking,

My lips from kissing, when occasion serves,

My hands from congees, and my knees to bow

To gallant girls; which were a task more hard, 30

Than flesh and blood is able to endure:

Command what else you please, I rest content.

King of Gallia.

To bind thee from a thing thou canst not leave,

Were but a mean to make thee seek it more:

And therefore speak, look, kiss, salute for me; 35

In these myself am like to second thee.

Now hear thy task. I charge thee from the time

That first we set sail for the British shore,

To use no words of dignity to me,

But in the friendliest manner that thou canst, 40

Make use of me as thy companion:

For we will go disguis'd in palmers' weeds,

That no man shall mistrust us what we are.

Mumford.

If that be all, I'll fit your turn, I warrant you. I am some kin to the Blunts, and, I think, the bluntest of all my kindred; therefore if I be too blunt with you, thank yourself for

praying me to be so.

King of Gallia.

Thy pleasant company will make the way seem short.

[To the other lords.]

It resteth now, that in my absence hence,

I do commit the government to you, 50

My trusty lords and faithful counsellors.

Time cutteth off the rest I have to say:

The wind blows fair, and I must needs away.

Gallian Nobles.

Heavens send your voyage to as good effect, 54

As we your land do purpose to protect.

[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE II. The road to King Leir's palace at Troynovant

Enter the king of Cornwall and his man booted and spurred, a riding wand and a letter in his hand.

Cornwall.

But how far distant are we from the court?

Cornwall’s Servant.

Some twenty miles, my lord, or thereabouts.

Cornwall.

It seemeth to me twenty thousand miles:

Yet hope I to be there within this hour.

Cornwall’s Servant. [To audience.].

Then are you like to ride alone! For me, 5

I think my lord is weary of his life.

Cornwall.

Sweet Gonorill, I long to see thy face,

Which hast so kindly gratified my love.

Enter the king of Cambria and his man, booted and spurred, with

a wand and a letter.

Cambria.

Get a fresh horse: for by my soul I swear,

He looks on the letter.

I am past patience longer to forbear 10

The wished sight of my beloved mistress,

Dear Ragan, stay and comfort of my life.

Cambria’s Servant. [To audience.]

Now what in God's name doth my lord intend?

He thinks he ne'er shall come at's journey's end.

I would he had old Daedalus' waxen wings,

That he might fly, so I might stay behind:

For ere we get to Troynovant, I see,

He quite will tire himself, his horse, and me.

Cornwall and Cambria look one upon another, and start to see each other there.

Cornwall.

Brother of Cambria, we greet you well,

As one whom here we little did expect. 20

Cambria.

Brother of Cornwall, met in happy time:

I thought as much t’ have met with the Sultan of Persia,

As to have met you in this place, my lord.

No doubt, it is about some great affairs,

That makes you here so slenderly accompanied. 25

Cornwall.

To say the truth, my lord, it is no less,

And for your part some hasty wind of chance

Hath blown you hither thus upon the sudden.

Cambria.

My lord, to break off further circumstances,

For at this time I cannot brook delays: 30

Tell you your reason, I will tell you mine.

Cornwall.

In faith, content, and therefore to be brief;

For I am sure my haste's as great as yours:

I am sent for, to come unto King Leir,

[Cornwall takes out his letter.]

Who by these present letters promiseth 35

His eldest daughter, lovely Gonorill,

To me in marriage, and for present dowry,

The moiety or half his regiment.

The lady's love I long ago possess'd:

But until now I never had the father's. 40

Cambria.

You tell me wonders, yet I will relate

Strange news, and henceforth we must brothers call;

[Cambria takes out his letter.]

Witness these lines: his honourable age,

Being weary of the troubles of his crown,

His princely daughter Ragan will bestow 45

On me in marriage, with half his seignories,

Whom I would gladly have accepted of,

With the third part, her complements are such.

Cornwall.

If I have one half, and you have the other,

Then between us we must needs have the whole. 50

Cambria.

The hole! how mean you that? 'sblood, I hope,

We shall have two holes between us.

[They both laugh like whore-hounds.]

Cornwall.

Why, the whole kingdom.

Cambria.

Ay, that's very true.

Cornwall.

What then is left for his third daughter's dowry, 55

Lovely Cordella, whom the world admires?

Cambria.

'Tis very strange, I know not what to think,

Unless they mean to make a nun of her.

Cornwall.

'Twere pity such rare beauty should be hid

Within the compass of a cloister's wall: 60

But howsoe'er, if Leir's words prove true,

It will be good, my lord, for me and you.

Cambria.

Then let us haste, all danger to prevent,

For fear delays do alter his intent.

[Exeunt.

Act II. SCENE III. A room in King Leir's palace.

Enter Gonoril and Ragan.

Gonorill.

Sister, when did you see Cordella last,

That pretty piece, that thinks none good enough

To speak to her, because, sir-reverence,

She hath a little beauty extraordinary?

Ragan.

Since time my father warn'd her from his presence, 5

I never saw her, that I can remember.

God give her joy of her surpassing beauty;

I think, her dowry will be small enough.

Gonorill.

I have incens'd my father so against her,

As he will never be reclaimed again. 10

Ragan.

I was not much behind to do the like.

Gonorill.

Faith, sister, what moves you to bear her such good

will?

Ragan.

In truth, I think, the same that moveth you;

Because she doth surpass us both in beauty.

Gonorill.

Beshrew your fingers, how right you can guess: 15

I tell you true, it cuts me to the heart.

Ragan.

But we will keep her low enough, I warrant,

And clip her wings for mounting up too high.

Gonorill.

Who ever hath, her, shall have a rich marriage of her.

Ragan.

She were right fit to make a parson's wife: 20

For they, men say, do love fair women well,

And many times do marry them with nothing.

Gonorill. [Appallingly astounded.]

With nothing! marry, God forbid! No Thing?

Why, are there any such?

Ragan. [Incredulously explaining.]

I mean, no money.

Gonorill. [Sheepishly embarrassed.]

I cry you mercy, I mistook you much --- 25

[Back to running down Cordella.]

And she is far too stately for the church;

She'll lay her husband's benefice on her back,

Even in one gown, if she may have her will.

Ragan.

In faith, poor soul, I pity her a little.

Would she were less fair, or more fortunate. 30

Oh well … I think

‘Twill not be long until I see my Morgan,

The gallant prince of Cambria, here arrive.

Gonorill.

And so do I, until the Cornwall king

Present himself, to consummate my joys.

Peace, here cometh my father. 35

Enter Leir, Perillus, Skalliger, and others.

Leir.

Cease, good my lords, and sue not to reverse

Our censure, which is now irrevocable.

We have dispatched letters of contract

Unto the kings of Cambria and Cornwall;

Our hand and seal will justify no less: 40

Then do not so dishonor me, my lords,

As to make shipwreck of our kingly word.

I am as kind as is the pelican,

That kills itself, to save her young ones' lives:

And yet as jealous as the princely eagle, 45

That kills her young ones, if they do but dazzle

Upon the radiant splendor of the sun.

Within this two days I expect their coming.

Enter kings of Cornwall and Cambria.

But in good time, they are arriv'd already!

This haste of yours, my lords, doth testify 50

The fervent love you bear unto my daughters:

And think yourselves as welcome to King Leir,

As ever Priam’s children were to him.

Cornwall.

My gracious lord, and father too, I hope,

Pardon, for that I made no greater haste: 55

But were my horse as swift as were my will,

I long ere this had seen your majesty.

Cambria.

No other 'scuse of absence can I frame,

Than what my brother hath inform'd your grace:

For our undeserved welcome, we do vow, 60

Perpetually to rest at your command.

Cornwall.

But you, sweet love, illustrious Gonorill,

The regent, and the sovereign of my soul,

Is Cornwall welcome to your excellency?

Gonorill.

As welcome, as Leander was to Hero, 65

Or brave Aeneas to the Carthage queen:

So, and more welcome is your grace to me.

Cambria.

Oh, may my fortune prove no worse than his,

Since heavens do know, my fancy is as much.

Dear Ragan, say, if welcome unto thee; 70

All welcomes else will little comfort me.

Ragan.

As gold is welcome to the covetous eye,

As sleep is welcome to the traveler,

As is fresh water to sea-beaten men,

Or moist'ned showers unto the parched ground, 75

Or anything more welcomer than this,

So, and more welcome lovely Morgan is.

Leir.

What resteth then, but that we consummate

The celebration of these nuptial rites?

My kingdom I do equally divide. 80

Princes, draw lots, and take your chance as falls.

Then they draw lots.

These I resign as freely unto you,

As erst by true succession they were mine.

And here I freely dispossess myself,

And make you two my true adopted heirs! 85

Myself will sojourn with my son of Cornwall,

And take me to my prayers and my beads.

I know my daughter Ragan will be sorry,

Because I do not spend my days with her:

Would I were able to be with both at once; 90

They are the kindest girls in Christendom.

Perillus.

I have been silent all this while, my lord,

To see if any worthier than myself,

Would once have spoke in poor Cordella's cause:

But love or fear ties silence to their tongues. 95

Oh, hear me speak for her, my gracious lord,

Whose deeds have not deserv'd this ruthless doom,

As thus to disinherit her of all.

Leir. [Quietly enraged.]

Urge this no more, and if thou love thy life:

I say she is no daughter that doth scorn 100

To tell her father how she loveth him.

Whoe’er speaketh hereof to me again,

I will esteem him for my mortal foe.

[Happy again.]

Come, let us in, to celebrate with joy,

The happy nuptials of these lovely pairs. 105

[Exeunt omnes, manet Perillus.

Perillus.

Ah, who so blind? as they that will not see

The near approach of their own misery?

Poor lady, I extremely pity her:

And whilst I live, each drop of my heart blood 109

Will I strain forth, to do her any good.

Exit.

Act II. SCENE IV. The open country in Britain.

Enter the Gallian king, and Mumford, disguised like pilgrims.

Mumford.

My lord, how do you brook this British air?

King of Gallia.

“My lord?” I told you of this foolish humor,

And bound you to the contrary, you know.

Mumford.

Pardon me for once, my lord; I did forget.

King of Gallia.

“My lord” again? then let's have nothing else, 5

And so be ta'en for spies, and then 'tis well.

Mumford.

'Swounds, I could bite my tongue in two for anger:

For God's sake name yourself some proper name.

King of Gallia.

Call me Tresillus: I'll call thee Denapoll.

Mumford.

Might I be made the monarch of the world, 10

I could not hit upon these names, I swear.

King of Gallia.

Then call me Will, I'll call thee Jack.

Mumford.

Well, be it so,

For I have well deserv'd to be called Jack.

King of Gallia.

Stand close; for here a British lady cometh:

[They hide.] Enter Cordella.

A fairer creature ne'er mine eyes beheld. 15

Cordella.

This is a day of joy unto my sisters,

Wherein they both are married unto kings;

And I, by birth, as worthy as themselves,

Am turn'd into the world, to seek my fortune.

How may I blame the fickle queen of chance; 20

That maketh me a pattern of her power?

Ah, poor weak maid, whose imbecility

Is far unable to endure these brunts.

Oh, father Leir, how dost thou wrong thy child,

Who always was obedient to thy will! 25

But why accuse I Fortune and my father?

No, no, it is the pleasure of my God;

And I do willingly embrace the rod.

King of Gallia.

It is no goddess; for she doth complain

On Fortune, and th’ unkindness of her father. 30

Cordella.

These costly robes ill fitting my estate,

I will exchange for other meaner habit.

Mumford.

Now if I had a kingdom in my hands,

I would exchange it for a milkmaid's smock and petticoat,

That she and I might shift our clothes together. 35

Cordella.

I will betake me to my thread and needle,

And earn my living with my fingers' ends.

Mumford.

O brave! God willing, thou shalt have my business.

By sweet St. Denis; yes, here I sadly swear,

For all the shirts and night-gear that I wear. 40

Cordella.

I will profess and vow a maiden's life.

Mumford.

Then I protest thou shalt not have my business!

King of Gallia.

I can forbear no longer for to speak:

For if I do, I think my heart will break.

Mumford.

'Sblood, Will, I hope you are not in love with my

seamstress. 45

King of Gallia.

I am in such a labyrinth of love,

As that I know not which way to get out.

Mumford.

You'll ne'er get out, unless you first get in.

King of Gallia.

I prithee, Jack, cross not my passions.

Mumford.

Prithee, Will, to her, and try her patience.

[The King and Mumford step forward.]

King of Gallia.

Thou fairest creature, whatsoe'er thou art,

That ever any mortal eyes beheld,

Vouchsafe to me, who have o'erheard thy woes,

To show the cause of these thy sad laments.

Cordella.

Ah pilgrims, what avails to show the cause, 55

When there's no means to find a remedy?

King of Gallia.

To utter grief doth ease a heart o'ercharg'd.

Cordella.

To touch a sore, doth aggravate the pain.

King of Gallia.

The silly mouse, by virtue of her teeth,

Releas'd the princely lion from the net. 60

Cordella.

Kind palmer, which so much desir'st to hear

The tragic tale of my unhappy youth:

Know this in brief, I am the hapless daughter

Of Leir, the sometime king of Brittany.

King of Gallia.

Why, who debars his honorable age,

From being still the king of Brittany?

Cordella.

None, but himself hath dispossess'd himself,

And given all his kingdom to the kings

Of Cornwall and of Cambria, with my sisters.

King of Gallia.

Hath he given nothing to your lovely self? 70

Cordella.

He lov'd me not, and therefore gave me nothing,

Only because I could not flatter him:

And in this day of triumph to my sisters,

Doth Fortune triumph in my overthrow.

King of Gallia.

Sweet lady, say that there should come a king, 75

As good as either of your sisters' husbands,

To crave your love, would you accept of him?

Cordella.

Oh, do not mock with those in misery,

Nor do not think, though Fortune have the power,

To spoil mine honor, and debase my state, 80

That she hath any interest in my mind:

For if the greatest monarch on the earth,

Should sue to me in this extremity,

Except my heart could love, and heart could like,

Better than any yet I ever saw, 85

His great estate no more should move my mind,

Than mountains move by blast of every wind.

King of Gallia.

Think not, sweet nymph, 'tis holy palmers' guise,

To grieved souls fresh torments to devise:

Therefore in witness of my true intent, 90

Let heaven and earth bear record of my words:

There is a young and lusty Gallian king,

So like to me, as I am to myself,

That earnestly doth crave to have thy love,

And join with thee in Hymen's sacred bonds. 95

Cordella.

The like to thee did ne'er these eyes behold!

Oh, live to add new torments to my grief!

Why did'st thou thus entrap me unawares?

Ah, palmer, my estate doth not befit

A kingly marriage, as the case now stands. 100

Whilom whenas I liv'd in honor’s height,

A prince perhaps might postulate my love:

Now misery, dishonor, and disgrace,

Hath light on me, and quite revers'd the case.

Thy king will hold thee wise, if thou surcease 105

The suit, whereas no dowry will ensue.

Then be advised, palmer, what to do:

Cease for thy king, seek for thyself to woo.

King of Gallia.

Your birth's too high for any but a king.

Cordella.

My mind is low enough to love a palmer, 110

Rather than any king upon the earth.

King of Gallia.

O, but you never can endure their life,

Which is so straight and full of penury.

Cordella.

O yes, I can, and happy if I might:

I'll hold thy palmer's staff within my hand, 115

And think it is the scepter of a queen.

Sometime I'll set thy bonnet on my head,

And think I wear a rich imperial crown.

Sometime I'll help thee in thy holy prayers,

And think I am with thee in paradise. 120

Thus I'll mock Fortune, as she mocketh me,

And never will my lovely choice repent:

For, having thee, I shall have all content.

King of Gallia. [Aside.]

'Twere sin to hold her longer in suspense,

Since that my soul hath vow'd she shall be mine. 125

[To Cordella.]

Ah, dear Cordella, cordial to my heart,

I am no palmer, as I seem to be,

But hither come in this unknown disguise,

To view th' admired beauty of those eyes.

I am the king of Gallia, gentle maid, 130

Although thus slenderly accompanied,

And yet thy vassal by imperious love,

[He kneels.]

And sworn to serve thee everlastingly.

Cordella.

Whate'er you be, of high or low descent,

All's one to me, I do request but this: 135

That as I am, you will accept of me,

And I will have you whatsoe'er you be:

Yet well I know, you come of royal race,

I see such sparks of honor in your face.

[They kiss.]

Mumford.

Have palmers' weeds such power to win fair ladies?

Faith, then I hope the next that falls is mine: 141

Upon condition I no worse might speed,

I would forever wear a palmer's weed.

I like an honest and plain dealing wench,

That swears, without exceptions, “I’ll have you.” 145

These poppets, that know not whether to love a man or no, except they first go ask their mother's leave, by this hand, I hate them ten times worse than poison.

King of Gallia.

What resteth then our happiness to procure?

Mumford.

Faith, go to church, to make the matter sure. 150

King of Gallia.

It shall be so, because the world shall say,

King Leir's three daughters were wedded in one day:

The celebration of this happy chance,

We will defer, until we come to France.

[Exit Gallia and Cordella hand-in-hand.]

Mumford. [To audience.]

I like the wooing that's not long a-doing. 155

Well, for her sake, I know what I know: I'll never

marry whilst I live, except I have one of these British ladies, my humor is alienated from the maids of France!

[Exit Mumford.]

ACT III. SCENE I. A road leading to Cornwall.

Enter Perillus solus.

Perillus.

The king hath dispossessed himself of all,

Those to advance, who scarce will give him thanks:

His youngest daughter he hath turn'd away,

And no man knows what is become of her.

He sojourns now in Cornwall with the eldest, 5

Who flatter'd him, until she did obtain

That at his hands, which now she doth possess:

And now she sees he hath no more to give,

It grieves her heart to see her father live.

Oh, whom should man trust in this wicked age,

When children thus against their parents rage?

But he, the mirror of mild patience,

Puts up all wrongs, and never gives reply:

Yet shames she not in most opprobrious sort

To call him fool and dotard to his face, 15

And sets her parasites of purpose oft

In scoffing wise to offer him disgrace.

Oh iron age! O times! O monstrous, vild,

When parents are contemned of the child!

His pension she hath half restrain'd from him, 20

And will, ere long, the other half, I fear;

For she thinks nothing is bestowed in vain,

But that which doth her father's life maintain.

Trust not alliance; but trust strangers rather,

Since daughters prove disloyal to the father. 25

Well, I will counsel him the best I can:

Would I were able to redress his wrong,

Yet what I can, unto my utmost power,

He shall be sure of to the latest hour.

[Exit.

ACT III. SCENE II. A room in the royal palace of Cornwall.

Enter Gonorill and Skalliger.

Gonorill.

I prithee, Skalliger, tell me what thou think'st:

Could any woman of our dignity

Endure such quips and peremptory taunts,

As I do daily from my doting father?

Doth't not suffice that I him keep of alms, 5

Who is not able for to keep himself?

But as if he were our better, he should think

To check and snap me up at every word.

I cannot make me a new fashion'd gown,

And set it forth with more than common cost; 10

But his old doting doltish wither'd wit,

Is sure to give a senseless check for it.

I cannot make a banquet extraordinary,

To grace myself, and spread my name abroad,

But he, old fool, is captious by and by, 15

And saith, the cost would well suffice for twice.

Judge then, I pray, what reason is't, that I

Should stand alone charg'd with his vain expense.

And that my sister Ragan should go free,

To whom he gave as much as unto me? 20

I prithee, Skalliger, tell me, if thou know,

By any means to rid me of this woe.

Skalliger.

Your many favors still bestow'd on me,

Bind me in duty to advise your grace,

How you may soonest remedy this ill. 25

The large allowance which he hath from you,

Is that which makes him so forget himself:

Therefore abridge it half, and you shall see,

That having less, he will more thankful be:

For why? Abundance maketh us forget 30

The fountains whence the benefits do spring.

Gonorill.

Well, Skalliger, for thy kind advice herein,

I will not be ungrateful, if I live:

I have restrained half his portion already,

And I will presently restrain the other, 35

That having no means to relieve himself,

He may go seek elsewhere for better help.

[Exit Gonorill.

Skalliger.

Go, viperous woman, shame to all thy sex:

The heavens, no doubt, will punish thee for this;

And me, a villain, that to curry favor, 40

Have given the daughter counsel 'gainst the father.

But us the world doth this experience give,

That he that cannot flatter cannot live.

[Exit Skalliger.

ACT III. SCENE III. A hall in the royal palace of Cornwall.

Enter king of Cornwall, Leir, Perillus,

and nobles.

Cornwall.

Father what aileth you to be so sad?

Methinks, you frolic not as you were wont.

Leir.

The nearer we do grow unto our graves,

The less we do delight in worldly joys.

Cornwall.

But if a man can frame himself to mirth, 5

It is a mean for to prolong his life.

Leir.

Then welcome sorrow, Leir's only friend,

Who doth desire his troubled days had end.

Cornwall.

Comfort yourself, Father, here comes your daughter,

Who much will grieve, I know, to see you sad. 10

Enter Gonorill.

Leir.

But more doth grieve, I fear, to see me live.

Cornwall.

My Gonorill, you come in wished time,

To put your father from these pensive dumps.

In faith, I fear that all things go not well.

Gonorill.

What, do you fear, that I have anger'd him? 15

Hath he complained of me unto my lord?

I'll provide him a piece of bread and cheese;

For in a time he'll practise nothing else,

Than carry tales from one unto another.

'Tis all his practice for to kindle strife, 20

'Twixt you, my lord, and me your loving wife:

But I will take an order, if I can,

To cease th' effect, where first the cause began.

Cornwall.

Sweet, be not angry in a partial cause,

He ne'er complain'd of thee in all his life. 25

Father, you must not weigh a woman's words.

Leir.

Alas, not I: poor soul, she breeds young bones,

And that is it makes her so touchy sure.

Gonorill.

What, breeds young bones already! you will make

An honest woman of me then, belike. 30

O vile old wretch! who ever heard the like,

That seeketh thus his own child to defame?

Cornwall.

I cannot stay to hear this discord sound.

[Exit Cornwall.

Gonorill.

For any one that loves your company,

You may go pack, and seek some other place, 35

To sow the seed of discord and disgrace.

[Exit Gonorill.

Leir.

Thus, say or do the best that e'er I can,

'Tis wrested straight into another sense:

This punishment my heavy sins deserve,

And more than this ten thousand thousand times: 40

Else aged Leir his girls could never find

Cruel to him, to whom he hath been kind.

Why do I overlive myself, to see

The course of nature quite reversed in me?

[He weeps.]

Ah, gentle Death, if ever any wight 45

Did wish thy presence with a perfect zeal:

Then come, I pray thee, e’en with all my heart,

And end my sorrows with thy fatal dart.

Perillus.

Ah, do not so disconsolate yourself,

Nor dew your aged cheeks with wasting tears. 50

Leir.

What man art thou? that takest any pity

Upon the worthless state of useless Leir?

Perillus.

One who doth bear as great a share of grief,

As if it were my dearest father's case.

Leir.

Ah, good my friend, how ill art thou advis' d, 55

For to consort with miserable men:

Go learn to flatter, where thou may'st in time

Get favor 'mongst the mighty, and so climb:

For now I am so poor and full of want,

As that I ne'er can recompense thy love. 60

Perillus.

What's got by flattery, doth not long endure;

And men in favor live not most secure.

My conscience tells me, if I should forsake you,

I were the hatefull'st excrement on the earth:

Which well do know, in course of former time, 65

How good my lord hath been to me and mine.

Leir.

Did I ere raise thee higher than the rest

Of all thy ancestors which were before?

Perillus.

I ne'er did seek it; but by your good grace,

I still enjoyed my own with quietness.

Leir.

Did I ere give thee living, to increase

The due revenues which thy father left?

Perillus.

I had enough, my lord, and having that,

What should you need to give me any more?

Leir. [Anguishly mocking.]

Oh, did I ever dispossess myself, 75

And give thee half my kingdom in good will?

Perillus.

Alas, my lord, there were no reason, why

You should have such a thought, to give it me.

Leir. [Explosively reasoning.]

Nay, if thou talk of reason, then be mute;

For with good reason I can thee confute. 80

If they, which first by Nature's sacred law

Do owe to me the tribute of their lives;

If they to whom I always have been kind,

And bountiful beyond comparison;

If they, for whom I have undone myself, 85

And brought my age unto this extreme want,

Do now reject, contemn, despise, abhor me,

What reason moveth thee to sorrow for me?

Perillus.

Where reason fails, let tears confirm my love,

And speak how much your passions do me move. 90

Ah, good my lord, condemn not all for one:

You have two daughters left, to whom I know

You shall be welcome, if you please to go.

Leir. [Ashamedly admitting.]

Oh, how thy words add sorrow to my soul,

To think of my unkindness to Cordella! 95

Whom causeless I did dispossess of all.

Upon th' unkind suggestions of her sisters:

And for her sake, I think this heavy doom

Is fallen on me, and not without desert:

[Hopefully rebuilding.]

Yet unto Ragan was I always kind, 100

And gave to her the half of all I had:

It may be, if I should to her repair,

She would be kinder, and entreat me fair.

Perillus.

No doubt she would, and practice ere't be long,

By force of arms for to redress your wrong. 105

Leir.

Well, since thou dost advise me for to go,

I am resolv'd to try the worst of woe.

[Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE IV. A room in the royal palace of Cambria.

Enter Ragan sola.

Ragan.

How may I bless the hour of my nativity,

Which bodeth unto me such happy stars!

How may I thank kind Fortune, that vouchsafes

To all my actions such desir'd event!

I rule the king of Cambria as I please: 5

The states are all obedient to my will;

And look whatever I say, it shall be so,

Not any one that dareth answer no.

My eldest sister lives in royal state,

And wanteth nothing fitting her degree: 10

Yet hath she such a cooling card withal,

As that her honey savoureth much of gall.

My father with her is quarter-master still,

And many times restrains her of her will:

But if he were with me, and serv'd me so, I5

I'd send him packing somewhere else to go.

I'd entertain him with such slender cost,

That he should quickly wish to change his host.

[Exit.

ACT III. SCENE V. A room in the royal palace of Cornwall.

Enter Cornwall, Gonorill, and attendants.

Cornwall.

Ah, Gonorill, what dire unhappy chance

Hath sequestered thy father from our presence,

That no report can yet be heard of him?

Some great unkindness hath been offer'd him,

Exceeding far the bounds of patience: 5

Else all the world shall never me persuade,

He would forsake us without notice made.

Gonorill.

Alas, my lord, whom doth it touch so near,

Or who hath interest in this grief, but I,

Whom sorrow had brought to her longest home, 10

But that I know his qualities so well?

I know, he is but stolen upon my sister

At unawares, to see her how she fares,

And spend a little time with her, to note

How all things go, and how she likes her choice: 15

And when occasion serves, he'll steal from her,

And unawares return to us again.

Therefore, my lord, be frolic, and resolve

To see my father here again ere long.

Cornwall.

I hope so too; but yet to be more sure, 20

I'll send a post immediately to know

Whether he be arrived there or no.

[Exit Cornwall.

Gonorill.

But I will intercept the messenger,

And temper him before he doth depart

With sweet persuasions, and with sound rewards, 25

That his report shall ratify my speech,

And make my lord cease further to inquire.

If he be not gone to my sister's court,

As sure my mind presageth that he is,

He haply may, by travelling unknown ways, 30

Fall sick, and as a common passenger,

Be dead and buried: would God it were so well;

For then there were no more to do, but this,

He went away, and none knows where he is.

But say he be in Cambria with the king, 35

And there exclaim against me, as he will:

I know he is as welcome to my sister,

As water is into a broken ship.

Well, after him I'll send such thunderclaps

Of slander, scandal, and invented tales, 40

That all the blame shall be remov'd from me,

And unperceiv'd rebound upon himself.

Thus with one nail another I'll expel,

And make the world judge that I us'd him well.

Enter the messenger that should go to Cambria, with a letter in his hand.

Gonorill.

My honest friend, whither away so fast? 45

Messenger.

To Cambria, madam, with letters from the king.

Gonorill.

To whom?

Messenger.

Unto your father, if he be there.

Gonorill.

Let me see them.

[She opens them.

Messenger.

Madam, I hope your grace will stand between me and my neck-verse, if I be called in question, for opening the king's letters.

Gonorill.

'Twas I that open'd them; it was not thou.

Messenger.

Ay, but you need not care; and so must I, a handsome man, be quickly truss'd up, and when a man's hang'd,

all the world cannot save him.

Gonorill.

He that hangs thee, were better hang his father,

Or that but hurts thee in the least degree,

I tell thee, we make great account of thee.

Messenger.

I am o'er-joy'd, I surfeit of sweet words: kind queen,

had I a hundred lives, I would spend ninety-nine of

them for you, for that word.

Gonorill.

Ay, but thou would'st keep one life still,

And that's as many as thou art like to have. 64

Messenger.

That one life is not too dear for my good queen;

this sword, this buckler, this head, this heart, these

hands, arms, legs, tripes, bowels, and all the members else whatsoever, are at your dispose; use me, trust me, command me: if I fail in anything, tie me to a dung-cart, and make a scavenger's horse of me, and whip me so long as I have any skin on my back. 71

Gonorill.

In token of further employment, take that.

[Flings him a purse,

Messenger.

A strong bond, a firm obligation, good in law, good

in law: if I keep not the condition, "let my neck be the

forfeiture of my negligence. 75

Gonorill.

I like thee well, thou hast a good tongue.

Messenger.

And as bad a tongue, if it be set on it, as any oyster-

wife at Billingsgate hath: why, I have made many of my neighbors forsake their houses with railing upon them, and go dwell elsewhere; and so by my means houses have been good cheap in our parish: my tongue being well whetted with choler, is more sharp than a razor of Palermo. 82

Gonorill.

Oh, thou art a fit man for my purpose.

Messenger.

Commend me not, sweet queen, before you try me.

As my deserts are, so do think of me. 85

Gonorill.

Well said, then this is thy trial: instead of carrying

the king's letters to my father, carry thou these letters to my sister, which contain matter quite contrary to the other: there shall she be given to understand, that my father hath detracted her, given out slanderous speeches against her; and that he hath most intolerably abused me, set my lord and me at variance, and made mutinies amongst the commons. 92

These things tell them (although it be not so)

Yet thou must swear to them that this is true,

With oaths and protestations as will serve 95

To drive my sister out of love with him,

And cause my will accomplished to be.

This do, and thou win'st my favor forever,

And makes a highway of preferment to thee

And all thy friends. 100

Messenger.

Enough, think it is already done: I will so tongue-whip

him, that I will leave him as bare of credit, as a poulter

leaves a cony, when she pulls off his skin.

Gonorill.

Yet there is a further matter. 105

Messenger.

I thirst to hear it.

Gonorill.

If my sister thinketh convenient, as my letters

importeth, to make him away, hast thou the heart to effect it?

Messenger.

Few words are best in so small a matter:

These are but trifles. By this book I will.

[Kisses the purse.]

Gonorill.

About it presently, I long till it be done.

Messenger.

I fly, I fly.

Exeunt.

1st Intermission.

Our Act 2

ACT IV. SCENE I. Outside a Church in Gallia.

Enter Cordella sola.

Cordella.

I have been over-negligent today,

In going to the temple of my God,

To render thanks for all his benefits,

Which he miraculously hath bestow'd on me,

In raising me out of my mean estate,

Whenas I was devoid of worldly friends,

And placing me in such a sweet content,

As far exceeds the reach of my deserts.

My kingly husband, mirror of his time,

For zeal, for justice, kindness, and for care 10

To God, his subjects, me, and common weal,

By his appointment was ordained' for me.

I cannot wish the thing that I do want;

I cannot want the thing but I may have,

Save only this which I shall ne’er obtain, 15

My father's love, oh, this I ne'er shall gain.

I would abstain from any nutriment,

And pine my body to the very bones:

Barefoot I would on pilgrimage set forth

Unto the furthest quarters of the earth, 20

And all my life-time would I sackcloth wear,

And mourning-wise pour dust upon my head:

So he but to forgive me once would please,

That his gray hairs might go to heaven in peace.

And yet I know not how I him offended, 25

Or wherein justly I have deserved blame.

Oh, sisters! you are much to blame in this,

It was not he, but you that did me wrong:

Yet God forgive both him, and you, and me;

E’en as I do in perfect charity. 30

I will to church, and pray unto my Savior,

That ere I die, I may obtain his favor.

[Exit.

ACT IV. SCENE II. A road leading to the royal palace of Cambria.

Enter Leir and Perillus faintly.

Perillus.

Rest on me, my lord, and stay yourself,

The way seems tedious to your aged limbs.

Leir.

Nay, rest on me, kind friend, and stay thyself,

Thou art as old as I, but far more kind.

Perillus.

Ah, good my lord, it ill befits, that I 5

Should lean upon the person of a king.

Leir.

But it fits worse, that I should bring thee forth,

That had no cause to come along with me,

Through these uncouth paths, and tireful ways,

And never ease thy fainting limbs a whit. 10

Thou hast left all, ay, all to come with me,

And I, for all, have naught to guerdon thee.

Perillus.

Cease, good my lord, to aggravate my woes

With these kind words, which cuts my heart in two,

To think your will should want the power to do. 15

Leir.

Cease, good Perillus, for to call me lord,

And think me but the shadow of myself.

Perillus.

That honorable title will I give

Unto my lord, so long as I do live.

Oh, be of comfort; for I see the place 20

Whereas your daughter keeps her residence.

And lo, in happy time the Cambrian prince

Is here arriv'd, to gratify our coming.

[Enter the King of Cambria, Ragan,

and other nobles:

King Leir looks upon them

and whispers with Perillus.]

Leir.

Were I best speak, or sit me down and die?

I am asham'd to tell this heavy tale. 25

Perillus.

Then let me tell it, if you please, my lord:

'Tis shame for them 'that were the cause thereof.

Cambria.

What two old men are those that seem so sad?

Methinks, I should remember well their looks.

Ragan. [Aside.]

No, I mistake not, sure it is my father: 30

I must dissemble kindness now of force.

She runneth to him,

and kneels down, saying:

Father, I bid you welcome, full of grief,

To see your grace us'd thus unworthily,

And ill befitting for your reverend age,

To come on foot - a journey unendurable. 35

[Leir weeps.]

Oh, what disastrous chance hath been the cause,

To make your cheeks so hollow, spare and lean?

He cannot speak for weeping: God's love, come,

Let us refresh him with some needful things,

And at more leisure we may better know, 40

Whence springs the ground of this unlook'd-for woe.

Cambria.

Come, father, ere we any further talk,

You shall refresh you after this weary walk.

[Exeunt, manet Ragan.

Ragan.

Comes he to me with finger in the eye,

To tell a tale against my sister here? 45

Whom I do know, he greatly hath abus'd:

And now like a contentious crafty wretch,

He first begins for to complain himself,

Whenas himself is in the greatest fault?

I'll not be partial in my sister's cause, 50

Nor yet believe his doting vain reports; -

Who for a trifle (safely) I dare say,

Upon a spleen is stolen thence away:

And here (forsooth) he hopeth to have harbor,

And to be moan'd and made on like a child: 55

But ere't be long, his coming he shall curse,

And truly say, he came from bad to worse:

Yet will I make fair weather, to procure

Convenient means, and then I'll strike it sure.

[Exit.

ACT IV. SCENE III. Outside the royal palace of Cambria.

Enter Messenger solus.

Messenger.

Now happily I am arrived here, before the stately palace of the Cambrian king:

If Leir be here safe-seated, and in rest,

To rouse him from it I will do my best.

Enter Ragan.

Now bags of gold, your virtue is (no doubt)

To make me in my message bold and stout.

[He bows obsequiously.]

The King of heaven preserve your Majesty,

And send your highness everlasting reign.

Ragan.

Thanks, good my friend; but what imports thy

message?

Messenger.

Kind greetings from the Cornwall queen: the residue

these letters will declare.

She opens the letters.

Ragan.

How fares our royal sister?

Messenger.

I did leave her, at my parting, in good health.

[She reads the letters, frowns, and stamps. The Messenger comments in aside.]

See how her color comes and goes again,

Now red as scarlet, now as pale as ash: 15

See how she knits her brow, and bites her lips,

And stamps, and makes a dumb show of disdain,

Mix'd with revenge, and violent extremes.

Here will be more work and more crowns for me.

Ragan. [To the audience.]

Alas, poor soul, and hath he used her thus? 20

And is he now come hither, with intent

To set divorce betwixt my lord and me?

Doth he give out that he doth hear report,

That I do rule my husband as I list,

And therefore means to alter so the case, 25

That I shall know my lord to be my head?

Well, it were best for him to take good heed,

Or I will make him hop without a head,

For his presumption, dotard that he is.

In Cornwall he hath made such mutinies, 30

First, setting of the king against the queen;

Then stirring up the commons 'gainst the king;

That had he there continued any longer,

He had been call'd in question for his fact.

So upon that occasion thence he fled, 35

And comes thus slyly stealing unto us:

And now already since his coming hither,

My lord and he are grown in such a league,

That I can have no conference with his grace:

I fear he doth already intimate 40

Some forged cavillations 'gainst my state:

'Tis therefore best to cut him off in time,

Lest slanderous rumors once abroad dispers'd,

It is too late for them to be revers'd.

[To the Messenger.]

Friend, as the tenor of these letters shows, 45

My sister puts great confidence in thee.

Messenger.

She never yet committed trust to me,

But that, I hope, she found me always faithful:

So will I be to any friend of hers,

That hath occasion to employ my help. 50

Ragan.

Hast thou the heart to act a stratagem,

And give a stab or two, if need require?

Messenger.

I have a heart compact of adamant,

Which never knew what melting pity meant.

I weigh no more the murd'ring of a man, 55

Than I respect the cracking of a flea,

When I do catch her biting on my skin.

If you will have your husband or your father,

Or both of them sent to another world,

Do but command me do't, it shall be done. 60

Ragan.

It is enough, we make no doubt of thee:

Meet us tomorrow here, at nine o’clock:

Meanwhile, farewell, and drink that for my sake.

[She gives him a purse and exits.]

Messenger.

Ay, this is it will make me do the deed:

Oh, had I every day such customers, 65

This were the gainfull'st trade in Christendom!

A purse of gold giv'n for a paltry stab.

[Indicating Ragan and gyrating his hips

in a comic sexual manner.]

Why, here's a wench that longs to have a stab.

Well, I could give it her, and ne'er hurt her neither.

[Exit.]

ACT IV. SCENE IV. A room in the royal palace of Gallia.

Enter the Gallian king, and Cordella.

King of Gallia.

When will these clouds of sorrow once disperse,

And smiling joy triumph upon thy brow?

When will this scene of sadness have an end,

And pleasant acts ensue, to move delight?

When will my lovely queen cease to lament, 5

And take some comfort to her grieved thoughts?

If of thyself thou deign'st to have no care,

Yet pity me, whom thy grief makes despair.

Cordella.

Oh, grieve not you, my lord, you have no cause;

Let not my passions move your mind a whit: 10

For I am bound by nature to lament

For his ill will, that life to me first lent.

If so the stock be dried with disdain,

Wither'd and sere the branch must needs remain.

King of Gallia.

But thou art now graft in another stock; 15

I am the stock, and thou the lovely branch:

And from my root continual sap shall flow,

To make thee flourish with perpetual spring.

Forget thy father and thy kindred now,

Since they forsake thee like inhuman beasts; 20

Think they are dead, since all their kindness dies,

And bury them, where black oblivion lies.

Think not thou art the daughter of old Leir,

Who did unkindly disinherit thee:

But think thou art the noble Gallian queen, 25

And wife to him that dearly loveth thee:

Embrace the joys that present with thee dwell,

Let sorrow pack and hide herself in hell.

Cordella.

Not that I miss my country or my kin,

My old acquaintance or my ancient friends, 30

Doth any whit distemperate my mind,

Now knowing you, which are more dear to me

Than country, kin, and all things else can be.

Yet pardon me, my gracious lord, in this:

For what can stop the course of Nature's power? 35

As easy is it for four-footed beasts,

To stay themselves upon the liquid air,

And mount aloft into the element,

And overstrip the feather'd fowls in flight:

As easy is it for the slimy fish, 40

To live and thrive without the help of water:

As I am able to forget my father.

King of Gallia.

Mirror of virtue, Phoenix of our age!

Too kind a daughter for an unkind father,

Be of good comfort; for I will dispatch

Ambassadors immediately for Britain,

Unto the king of Cornwall's court, whereas 50

Your father keepeth now his residence,

And in the kindest manner him entreat,

That, setting former grievances apart,

He will be pleas'd to come and visit us.

If no entreaty will suffice the turn, 55

I'll offer him the half of all my crown:

If that moves not, we'll furnish out a fleet,

And sail to Cornwall for to visit him;

And there you shall be firmly reconcil'd

In perfit love, as erst you were before. 60

Cordella.

Where tongue cannot sufficient thanks afford,

The King of heaven remunerate my lord.

[She throws her arms around him

and kisses him.]

King of Gallia.

Only be blithe and frolic, sweet, with me;

This and much more I'll do to comfort thee.

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV. SCENE V. A room in the royal palace of Cambria.

Enter Messenger solus.

Messenger.

It is a world to see now I am flush,

How many friends I purchase everywhere!

How many seek to creep into my favor,

And kiss their hands, and bend their knees to me!

No more, here comes the queen, now shall I know her mind,

And hope for to derive more crowns from her.

Enter Ragan.

Ragan.

My friend, I see thou mind'st thy promise well,

And art before me here, methinks today.

Messenger.

I am a poor man, and it like your grace;

But yet I always love to keep my word.

Ragan.

Well, keep thy word with me, and thou shall see,

That of a poor man I will make thee rich.

Messenger.

I long to hear it, it might have been dispatched

If you had told me of it yesternight.

Ragan.

It is a thing of right strange consequence, 15

And well I cannot utter it in words.

Messenger.

It is more strange, that I am not by this

Beside myself, with longing for to hear it.

Were it to meet the devil in his den,

And try a bout with him for a scratched face, 20

I'd undertake it, if you would but bid me.

Ragan.

Ah, good my friend, that I should have thee do

Is such a thing as I do shame to speak;

Yet it must needs be done.

Messenger.

I'll speak it for thee, queen:

Shall I kill thy father?

I know 'tis that; and if it be so, say. 26

Ragan.

Ay.

Messenger.

Why, that’s enough.

Ragan.

And yet that is not all.

Messenger.

What else?

Ragan.

Thou must kill that old man that came with him.

Messenger.

Here are two hands, for each of them is one.

Ragan.

And for each hand here is a recompense.

[Gives him two purses.

Messenger.

Oh, that I had ten hands by miracle!

I could tear ten in pieces with my teeth, 35

So in my mouth you’d put a purse of gold.

But in what manner must it be effected?

Ragan.

Tomorrow morning ere the break of day,

I (by a ruse) will send them to the thicket,

That is about two miles from the court, 40

And promise them to meet them there myself,

Because I must have private conference

About some news I have receiv'd from Cornwall.

This is enough, I know, they will not fail,

And then be ready for to play thy part: 45

Which done, thou may'st right easily escape,

And no man once mistrust thee for the fact:

But yet, before thou prosecute the act,

Show him the letter, which my sister sent,

There let him read his own indictment first, 50

And then proceed to execution:

But see thou faint not; for they will speak fair.

Messenger.

Could he speak words as pleasing as the pipe

Of Mercury, which charm'd the hundred eyes

Of watchful Argus, and enforc'd him sleep: 55

Yet here are words so pleasing to my thoughts,

[Shaking the purse to make the coins jingle.]

As quite shall take away the sound of his.

Exit Murtherer.

Ragan.

About it then, and when thou hast dispatch'd,

I'll find a means to send thee after him.

[Exit Ragan.

ACT IV. SCENE VI. A room in the royal palace of Cornwall.

Enter Cornwall and Gonoril.

Cornwall.

I wonder that the messenger doth stay,

Whom we dispatch'd for Cambria so long since:

If that his answer do not please us well,

And he do show good reason for delay,

I'll teach him how to dally with his king, 5

And to detain us in such long suspense.

Gonorill.

My lord, I think the reason may be this:

My father means to come along with him;

And therefore 'tis his pleasure he shall stay,

For to attend upon him on the way. 10

Cornwall.

It may be so, and therefore till I know

The truth thereof, I will suspend my judgment.

Enter Servant.

Servant.

And't like your grace, there is an ambassador arrived from Gallia, and craves admittance to your majesty.

Cornwall.

From Gallia? what should his message 15

Hither import? is not your father haply

Gone thither? well, whatsoe'er it be,

Bid him come in, he shall have audience.

Enter Ambassador.

What news from Gallia? speak, ambassador.

Ambassador.

The noble king and queen of Gallia first salutes, 20

By me, their honorable father, my lord Leir:

Next, they commend them kindly to your graces,

As those whose welfare they entirely wish.

Letters I have to deliver to my lord Leir,

And presents too, if I might speak with him. 25

Gonorill.

If you might speak with him? why, do you think,

We are afraid that you should speak with him?

Ambassador.

Pardon me, madam; for I think not so,

But say so only 'cause he is not here.

Cornwall.

Indeed, my friend, upon some urgent cause, 30

He is at this time absent from the court:

But if a day or two you here repose,

'Tis very likely you shall have him here,

Or else have certain notice where he is.

Gonorill.

Are not we worthy to receive your message? 35

Ambassador.

I had in charge to do it to himself.

Gonorill. [To herself.]

It may be then 'twill not be done in haste.

[To the Ambassador.]

How doth my sister brook the air of France?

Ambassador.

Exceeding well, and never sick one hour,

Since first she set her foot upon the shore. 40

Gonorill.

I am the more sorry.

Ambassador.

I hope not so, madam.

Gonorill.

Did'st thou not say, that she was ever sick,

Since the first hour that she arrived there?

Ambassador.

No, madam, I said quite contrary. 45

Gonorill.

Then I mistook thee.

Cornwall.

Then she is merry, if she have her health?

Ambassador.

Oh no, her grief exceeds, until the time

That she be reconcil'd unto her father.

Gonorill.

God continue it. 50

Ambassador.

What, madam?

Gonorill.

Why, her health.

Ambassador.

Amen to that: but God release her grief,

And send her father in a better mind,

Than to continue always so unkind. 55

Cornwall.

I'll be a mediator in her cause,

And seek all means to expiate his wrath.

Ambassador.

Madam, I hope your grace will do the like.

Gonorill.

Should I be a mean to exasperate his wrath

Against my sister, whom I love so dear? no, no. 60

Ambassador.

To expiate or mitigate his wrath:

For he hath misconceived without a cause.

Gonorill.

Oh, ay, what else?

Ambassador.

'Tis pity it should be so; would it were otherwise.

Gonorill.

It were great pity it should be otherwise. 65

Ambassador.

Than how, madam?

Gonorill.

Than that they should be reconciled again.

Ambassador.

It shows you bear an honorable mind.

Gonorill. [Speaks to herself.

It shows thy understanding to be blind,

And that thou need a good interpreter: 70

Well, I will know thy message ere't be long,

And find a mean to cross it, if I can.

Cornwall.

Come in, my friend, and frolic in our court,

Till certain notice of my father come.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE VII. In the open country of Cambria.

Enter Leir and Perillus.

Perillus.

My lord, you’re up today before your hour,

'Tis news to you to be abroad so rathe. [1]

Leir.

'Tis news indeed, I am so extreme heavy,

That I can scarcely keep my eye-lids open.

Perillus.

And so am I, but I impute the cause 5

To rising sooner than we use to do.

Leir.

Hither my daughter means to come disguised:

I'll sit me down, and read until she come.

Pulls out a book, and sits down.

Perillus.

She'll not be long, I warrant you, my lord:

But say, a couple of these they call “good fellows” 10

Should step out of a hedge, and set upon us,

We were in good case for to answer them.

Leir.

'Twere not for us to stand upon our hands.

Perillus.

I fear, we scant should stand upon our legs.

But how should we do to defend ourselves? 15

Leir.

E’en pray to God, to bless us from their hands:

For fervent prayer much ill hap withstands.

Perillus.

I'll sit and pray with you for company; 18

Yet was I ne'er so heavy in my life.

[They fall both asleep.

Enter the Messenger/murderer,

with two daggers in his hands.

Messenger. [To audience.]

Were it not a mad jest, if two or three of my profession

should meet me, and lay me down in a ditch, and play

rob-thief with me, and perforce take my gold away from

me, whilst I act this stratagem, and by this means the grey-beards should escape? Faith, when I were at liberty again, I would make no more to do, but go to the next tree, and there hang myself.

[Sees them, and starts.

But stay, methinks, my youths are here already, 27

And with pure zeal have prayed themselves asleep.

I think, they know to what intent they came,

And are provided for another world. 30

He takes their books away.

Now could I stab them bravely, while they sleep,

And in a manner put them to no pain;

And doing so, I’d show them mighty friendship:

For fear of death is worse than death itself.

But that my sweet queen will'd me for to show 35

This letter to them, ere I did the deed.

[Leir and Perillus turn in their sleep.]

Mass, they begin to stir: I'll stand aside;

So shall I come upon them unawares.

[They wake and rise.

Leir.

I marvel, that my daughter stays so long.

Perillus.

I fear, we did mistake the place, my lord. 40

Leir.

God grant we’ve not miscarried in the place!

I had a short nap, but so full of dread,

As much amazeth me to think thereof.

Perillus.

Fear not, my lord, dreams are but fantasies,

And slight imaginations of the brain. 45

Messenger. [Aside.]

Persuade him so, but I'll make him and you

Confess, that dreams do often prove too true.

Perillus.

I pray, my lord, what was the effect of it?

I may go near to guess what it portends.

Messenger. [Aside.]

Leave that to me, I will expound the dream. 50

Leir.

Methought my daughters, Gonorill and Ragan,

Stood both before me with such grim aspects,

Each brandishing a falchion in their hand,

Ready to lop a limb off where it fell,

And in their other hand a naked poniard, 55

Wherewith they stabb'd me in a hundred places,

And to their thinking left me there for dead:

But then my youngest daughter, fair Cordella,

Came with a box of balsam in her hand,

And poured it into my bleeding wounds; 60

By whose good means I was recover'd well,

In perfect health, as erst I was before:

And with the fear of this I did awake,

And yet for fear my feeble joints do quake.

Messenger. [Aside.]

I'll make you quake for something presently. 65

[Jumping forward and yelling

at Leir and Perillus.]

Stand, stand.

[They reel.

Leir.

We do, my friend, although with much ado.

Messenger.

Deliver, deliver.

Perillus.

Deliver us, good Lord, from such as he.

Messenger.

You should have prayed before, while it was time,

And then perhaps, you might have 'scap'd my hands: 71

But you, like faithful watch-men, fell asleep,

The whilst I came and took your halberds from you.

[Mockingly showing them their books.

And now you want your weapons of defense,

How have you any hope to be delivered? 75

This comes, because you have no better stay,

But fall asleep, when you should watch and pray.

[Leir grabs the messenger by the arm.]

Leir.

My friend, thou seem'st to be a proper man.

[Messenger pulls away from Leir.]

Messenger.

'Sblood, how the old slave claws me by the elbow!

He thinks, belike, to 'scape by scraping thus. 80

Perillus.

And it may be, are in some need of money.

Messenger.

That to be false, behold my evidence.

Messenger shows his purses.

[Leir takes out his purse.]

Leir.

If this I have will do thee any good,

I give it thee, even with a right good will.

[The messenger takes Leir’s purse.]

Perillus.

Here, take mine too, and wish with all my heart, 85

To do thee pleasure, it were twice as much.

[The messenger takes Perillus’ also,

and weighs them both in his hands.

Messenger.

I'll none of them, they are too light for me.

[Puts them in his pocket.

Leir.

Why then farewell: and if thou have occasion

In anything, to use me to the queen,

'Tis like enough that I can pleasure thee.

[They proffer to go.

Messenger.

Do you hear, do you hear, sir? 91

[He runs and blocks their way.]

If I had occasion to use you to the queen, would you do one thing for me I should ask?

Leir.

Ay, anything that lies within my power.

Here is my hand upon it, so farewell.

Proffers to go.

Messenger.

Hear you, sir, hear you? pray, a word with you. 96

[He blocks their way again.]

Methinks, a comely honest ancient man

Should not dissemble with one for a vantage.

I know, when I shall come to try this gear

You will recant from all that you have said. 100

Perillus.

Mistrust not him, but try him when thou wilt:

He is her father, therefore may do much.

Messenger.

I know he is, and therefore mean to try him:

You are his friend too, I must try you both. 104

Both.

Prithee do, prithee do.

Proffer to go out.

Messenger.

Stay grey-beards then, and prove men of your words:

[He blocks their way a third time.]

The queen hath tied me by a solemn oath,

Here in this place to see you both dispatch'd:

Now for the safeguard of my conscience,

Do me the pleasure for to kill yourselves:

So shall you save me labor for to do it,

And prove yourselves true old men of your words.

And here I vow in sight of all the world,

I ne'er will trouble you whilst I live again.

Leir.

Affright us not with terror, good my friend, 115

Nor strike such fear into our aged hearts.

Play not the cat, which dallieth with the mouse;

And on a sudden maketh her a prey:

But if thou art mark'd for the man of death

To me and to my Damon, tell me plain, 120

That we may be prepared for the stroke,

And make ourselves fit for the world to come.

Messenger.

I am the last of any mortal race,

That e'er your eyes are likely to behold,

And hither sent of purpose to this place, 125

To give a final period to your days,

Which are so wicked, and have liv'd so long,

That your own children seek to short your life.

Leir.

Cam'st thou from France, of purpose to do this?

Messenger.

From France? ‘Zoons! do I look like a Frenchman?

Sure I have not mine own face on; somebody hath chang'd faces with me, and I know not of it: but I am sure, my apparel is all English. Sirrah, what meanest thou to ask that question? I could spoil the fashion of this face for anger. A French face! 135

Leir.

Because my daughter, whom I have offended,

And at whose hands I have deserv'd as ill,

As ever any father did of child,

Is queen of France, no thanks at all to me,

But unto God, who my injustice see. 140

If it be so that she doth seek revenge,

As with good reason she may justly do,

I will most willingly resign my life,

A sacrifice to mitigate her ire:

I never will entreat thee to forgive, 145

Because I am unworthy for to live.

Therefore speak soon, and I will soon make speed;

Whether Cordella will'd thee do this deed?

Messenger.

As I am a perfect gentleman, thou speakest French

to me:

I never heard Cordella's name before, 150

Nor never was in France in all my life:

I never knew thou hadst a daughter there,

To whom thou did'st prove so unkind a churl:

But thy own tongue declares that thou hast been

A vile old wretch, and full of heinous sin. 155

Leir.

Ah, no, my friend, thou art deceived much:

For her except, whom I confess I wrong'd,

Through doting frenzy, and o'er-jealous love,

There lives not any under heaven's bright eye,

That can convict me of impiety: 160

And therefore sure thou dost mistake the mark:

For I am in true peace with all the world.

Messenger.

You are the fitter for the King of heaven:

And therefore, for to rid thee of suspense,

Know thou, the queens of Cambria and Cornwall, 165

Thy own two daughters, Gonoril and Ragan,

Appointed me to massacre thee here.

Why, wouldst thou then persuade me that thou art

In charity with all the world but now,

When thy own issue hold thee in such hate 170

That they have hired me to abridge thy fate?

Oh, fie upon such vile dissembling breath,

That would deceive, e’en at the point of death.

Perillus.

Am I awake, or is this but a dream?

Messenger.

Fear nothing, man, thou art but in a dream, 175

And thou shalt never wake until doomsday;

By then, I hope, thou wilt have slept enough.

Leir.

Yet, gentle friend, grant one thing ere I die.

Messenger.

I'll grant you anything, except your lives.

Leir.

Oh, but assure me by some certain token, 180

That my two daughters hired thee to this deed:

If I were once resolv'd of that, then I

Would wish no longer life, but crave to die.

Messenger.

That to be true, in sight of heaven I swear.

Leir.

Swear not by heaven, for fear of punishment: 185

The heavens are guiltless of such heinous acts.

Messenger.

I swear by earth, the mother of us all.

Leir.

Swear not by earth: for she abhors to bear

Such bastards, as are murderers of her sons'.

Messenger.

Why then, by hell, and all the devils I swear. 190

Leir.

Swear not by hell; for that stands gaping wide,

To swallow thee, and if thou do this deed.

[Thunder and Lightning.

Messenger. [To audience.]

I would that word were in his belly again, it hath frighted

me even to the very heart; this old man is some strong magician: his words have turn'd my mind from this exploit.

[To Leir.]

Then neither heaven, earth, nor hell, be witness;

But let this paper witness for them all.

[Messenger shows Leir Gonorill's letter.

Shall I relent, or shall I prosecute?

Shall I resolve, or were I best recant? 200

I will not crack my credit with two queens,

To whom I have already pass'd my word.

Oh, but my conscience for this act doth tell,

I get heaven's hate, earth's scorn, and pains of hell.

[They bless themselves.

Perillus.

O just Jehovah, whose almighty power 205

Doth govern all things in this spacious world,

How canst thou suffer such outrageous acts

To be committed without just revenge?

O viperous generation and accurst,

To seek his blood, whose blood did make them first! 210

Leir. [To Perillus.]

Ah, my true friend in all extremity,

Let us submit us to the will of God:

Things past all sense, let us not seek to know;

It is God's will, and therefore must be so.

[To Messenger.]

My friend, I am prepared for the stroke: 215

Strike when thou wilt, and I forgive thee here,

E’en from the very bottom of my heart.

Messenger.

But I am not prepared for to strike.

Leir.

Farewell, Perillus, even the truest friend,

That ever lived in adversity: 220

The latest kindness I'll request of thee,

Is that thou go unto my daughter Cordella,

And carry her her father's latest blessing:

Withal desire her, that she will forgive me;

For I have wrong'd her without any cause. 225

[To God.]

Now, Lord, receive me, for I come to thee,

And die, I hope, in perfect charity.

[To Messenger.]

Dispatch, I pray thee, I have liv'd too long.

Messenger.

Ay, but you are unwise, to send an errand;

By him that never meaneth to deliver it: 230

Why, he must go along with you to heaven:

It were not good you should go all alone.

Leir.

No doubt, he shall, when by the course of nature,

He must surrender up his due to death:

But that time shall not come till God permit. 235

Messenger.

Nay, presently, to bear you company.

I have a passport for him in my pocket,

Already seal'd, and he must needs ride post.

[Messenger shows another bag of money.

Leir.

The letter which I read, imports not so,

It only toucheth me; no word of him. 240

Messenger.

Ay, but the queen commands it must be so,

And I am paid for him, as well as you.

Perillus. [To Leir.]

I, who have borne you company in life,

Most willingly will bear a share in death.

[To messenger.]

It matters not for me, my friend, a whit, 245

Nor for a hundred such as thou and I.

Messenger.

Marry, but it doth, sir, by your leave; your good days are past: though it be no matter for you, 'tis a matter for me; proper men are not so rife.

Perillus.

Oh, but beware, how thou dost lay thy hand 250

Upon the high anointed of the Lord:

Oh, be advised ere thou dost begin:

Dispatch me straight, but meddle not with him.

Leir.

Friend, thy commission is to deal with me,

[Leir steps in front of Perillus.]

And I am he that hath deserved all: 255

The plot was laid to take away my life:

And here it is, I do entreat thee take it:

Yet for my sake, and as thou art a man,

Spare this my friend, that hither with me came:

I brought him forth, whereas he had not been, 260

But for good will to bear me company.

He left his friends, his country, and his goods,

And came with me in most extremity.

Oh, if he should miscarry here and die,

Who is the cause of it, but only I? 265

Messenger.

Why that am I, let that ne'er trouble thee.

[Leir anguishly weeping falls to the ground.]

Leir.

Oh no, 'tis I.

Oh, had I now the power to give to thee

The monarchy of all the spacious world

To save his life, I would bestow it on thee:

But I have nothing but these tears and prayers, 270

And the submission of a bended knee.

[Kneels.

Oh, if all this to mercy move thy mind,

Spare him, in heaven thou shalt like mercy find.

Messenger.

I am as hard to be mov'd as another, and yet methinks the strength of their persuasions stirs me a little.

Perillus.

My friend, if fear of the almighty power

Have power to move thee, we have said enough;

But if thy mind be moveable with gold,

We have none presently to give to thee:

Yet to thyself thou may'st do greater good, 280

To keep thy hands still undefil'd from blood:

For do but well consider with thyself,

When thou hast finish'd this outrageous act,

What horror still will haunt thee for the deed:

Think this again, that they which would incense 285

Thee for to be the butcher of their father,

When it is done, for fear it should be known,

Would make a means to rid thee from the world:

Oh, then art thou forever tied in chains

Of everlasting torments to endure, 290

E’en in the hottest hole of grisly hell,

Such pains, as never mortal tongue can tell.

[It thunders. The messenger quakes,

and lets fall the dagger next to Perillus.

Leir.

O, heavens be thanked, he will spare my friend.

Now, when thou wilt, come make of me an end.

[It thunders.]

The messenger lets fall the other dagger.

Perillus.

Oh, happy fight! he means to save my lord. 295

The king of heaven continue this good mind.

Leir.

Why stay'st thou to do execution?

Messenger.

I am as willful as you for your life:

I will not do it, now you do entreat me.

Perillus.

Ah, now I see thou hast some spark of grace. 300

Messenger.

Beshrew you for it, you have put it in me:

The parlousest [2] old men, that e'er I heard.

Well, to be flat, I'll not meddle with you:

Here I found you, and here I'll leave you:

If any ask you why the case so stands? 305

Say that your tongues were better than your hands.

[Exit Messenger.

Perillus.

Farewell. If ever we together meet,

It shall go hard, but I will thee regreet.

Courage, my lord, the worst is overpast:

Let us give thanks to God, and hie us hence. 310

Leir.

Thou art deceived; for I am past the best,

And know not whither for to go from hence:

Death had been better welcome unto me,

Than longer life to add more misery.

Perillus.

It were not good to return from whence we came,

Unto your daughter Ragan back again. 316

Now let us go to France, unto Cordella,

Your youngest daughter; doubtless she will succor you.

Leir.

Oh, how can I persuade myself of that,

Since t’other two are quite devoid of love; 320

To whom I was so kind, as that my gifts

Might make them love me, if 'twere nothing else?

Perillus.

No worldly gifts, but grace from God on high,

Doth nourish virtue and true charity.

Remember well what words Cordella spake, 325

That time you asked her, how she loved your grace,

She said, her love unto you was as much,

As ought a child to bear unto her father.

Leir.

But she did find, my love was not to her,

As ought a father bear unto a child. 330

Perillus.

That makes not her love to be any less,

If she do love you as a child should do!

You have tried two, try one more for my sake,

I'll ne'er entreat you further trial make.

Remember well the dream you had of late, 335

And think what comfort it foretells to us.

[Leir hugs Perillus.]

Leir.

Come, truest friend that ever man possessed,

I know thou counsell'st all things for the best:

If this third daughter play a kinder part,

It comes of God, and not of my desert.

Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE VIII. Outside the royal palace of Cornwall.

Enter the Gallian Ambassador solus.

Ambassador.

There is of late news come unto the court,

That old lord Leir remains in Cambria:

I'll hie me thither presently, to impart

My letters and my message unto him.

I never was less welcome to a place

In all my life-time, than I have been hither,

Especially unto the stately queen,

Who would not cast one gracious look on me,

But still with lowering and suspicious eyes,

Would take exceptions at each word I spake;

And fain she would have undermined me,

To know what my ambassage did import.

But she is like to hop without her hope,

And in this matter for to want her will,

Though, by report, she'll have't in all things else. 15

Well, I will post away for Cambria:

Within these few days I hope to be there.

[Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I. A room in the royal palace of Gallia.

Enter the King and Queen of Gallia,

and Mumford.

Gallian King.

By this, our father understands our mind,

And our kind greetings sent to him of late:

Therefore my mind presageth ere't be long,

We shall receive from Britain happy news.

Cordella.

I fear my sister will dissuade his mind; 5

For she to me hath always been unkind.

Gallian King.

Fear not, my love, since that we know the worst,

The last means helps, if that we miss the first:

If he'll not come to Gallia unto us,

Then we will sail to Britain unto him. 10

Mumford.

Well, if I once see Britain again, I have sworn, I'll ne'er come home without my wench, and I'll not be forsworn;

I'll rather never come home while I live.

Cordella.

Are you sure, Mumford, she is a maid still? 15

Mumford.

Nay, I'll not swear she is a maid, but she goes for one:

I'll take her at all adventures, if I can get her.

Cordella.

Ay, that's well put in.

Mumford.

Well put in? nay, it was ill put in; for had it been as well put in, as e'er I put in, in my days, I would have made her follow me to France.

Cordella.

Nay, you'd have been so kind, as take her with you, or else, were I as she, I would have been so loving, as I'd stay behind you: Yet I must confess, you are a very proper man, and able to make a wench do more than she would do.

[Swaggering in his pumpkin pants.]

Mumford.

Well, I have a pair of slops for the nonce, will hold all your mocks.

Gallian King.

Nay, we see you have a handsome hose.

Cordella.

Ay, and of the newest fashion. 30

Mumford.

More bobs, more: put them in still! They'll serve instead of bombast; yet, put not in too many, lest the seams crack, and they fly out amongst you again! You must not think to outface me so easily in my mistress' quarrel, who if I see once again, ten team of horses shall not draw me

away, till I have full and whole possession. 36

Gallian King.

Ay, but one team and a cart will serve the turn.

Cordella.

Not only for him, but also for his wench.

Mumford.

Well, you are two to one, I'll give you over: And since I see you so pleasantly disposed, (which indeed is but seldom seen) I'll claim a promise of you, which you shall not deny me: For promise is debt, and by this hand you promised it me; therefore, you owe it me, and you shall pay it me, or I'll sue you upon an action of unkindness.

Gallian King.

Prithee, lord Mumford, what promise did I make thee?

Mumford.

Faith, nothing but this, that the next fair weather, which is very now, you would go in progress down to the sea side, which is very near. 50

Gallian King.

Faith, in this motion I will join with thee,

And be a mediator to my queen.

Prithee, my love, let this match go forward,

My mind foretells, 'twill be a lucky voyage.

Cordella.

Entreaty needs not, where you may command, 55

So you be pleased, I am right well content;

Yet, as the sea I much desire to see;

So am I most unwilling to be seen.

Gallian King.

We'll go disguised, all unknown to any.

Cordella.

Howsoever you make one, I'll make another. 60

Mumford.

And I the third: oh, I am over-joyed!

See what love is, which getteth with a word,

What all the world besides could ne'er obtain?

But what disguises shall we have, my lord?

Gallian King.

Faith thus: my queen and I will be disguised, 65

Like a plain country couple,

And you, my lord, shall be - Roger - our man,

and wait upon us:

[Mumford sighs. He always

plays the servant.]

Or if you will, you shall go first, and we

will wait on you.

[Mumford agrees gleefully.]

Mumford.

'Twere more than time!

This device is excellent! Come let’s about it!

[Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE II. A room in the royal palace of Cambria.

Enter Cambria and Ragan with nobles.

Cambria.

What strange mischance or unexpected hap

Hath thus deprived us of our father's presence?

Can no man tell us what's become of him,

With whom we did converse not two days since?

My lords, let everywhere light horse be sent, 5

And scour about through all our regiment.

Dispatch a post immediately to Cornwall,

To see if any news be of him there;

Myself will make a strict inquiry here,

And all about our cities near at hand, 10

Till certain news of his abode be brought.

Ragan.

All sorrow is but counterfeit to mine,

Whose lips are almost sealed up with grief:

Mine is the substance, whilst they do but seem

To weep the loss, which tears cannot redeem. 15

Oh, ne'er was heard so strange a misadventure,

A thing so far beyond the reach of sense,

Since no man's reason in the cause can enter.

What hath remov'd my father thus from hence?

Oh, I do fear some charm or invocation 20

Of wicked spirits, or infernal fiends,

Stirr'd by Cordella, moves this innovation,

And brings my father timeless to his end.

But might I know, that the detested witch

Were certain cause of this uncertain ill, 25

Myself to France would go in some disguise,

And with these nails scratch out her hateful eyes!

For since I am deprived of my father,

I loathe my life, and wish my death the rather.

Cambria.

The heavens are just, and hate impiety, 30

And will, no doubt, reveal such heinous crimes:

Censure not any, till you know the right:

Let him be judge, that bringeth truth to light.

Ragan.

Oh, but my grief, like to a swelling tide,

Exceeds the bounds of common patience: 35

Nor can I moderate my tongue so much,

To conceal them, whom I hold in suspect.

Cambria.

This matter shall be sifted: if it be she,

A thousand Frances shall not harbor her.

Enter the Gallian Ambassador.

Ambassador.

All happiness unto the Cambrian king. 40

Cambria.

Welcome, my friend, from whence is thy ambassage?

Ambassador.

I came from Gallia, unto Cornwall sent,

With letters to your honorable father,

Whom there not finding, as I did expect,

I was directed hither to repair. 45

Ragan.

Frenchman, what is thy message to my father?

Ambassador.

My letters, madam, will import the same,

Which my commission is for to deliver.

Ragan.

In’s absence you may trust us with your letters.

Ambassador.

I must perform my charge in such a manner, 50

As I have strict commandment from the king.

Ragan.

There is good packing 'twixt your king and you;

You need not hither come to ask for him,

You know where he is better than ourselves.

Ambassador.

Madam, I hope not far off. 55

Ragan.

Hath the young murd'ress, your outrageous queen,

No means to color her detested deeds,

In finishing my guiltless father's days,

(Because he gave her nothing to her dower)

But by the color of a feign'd ambassage, 60

To send him letters hither to our court?

Go carry them to them that sent them hither,

And bid them keep their scrolls unto themselves:

They cannot blind us with such slight excuse,

To smother up so monstrous vile abuse. 65

And were it not, it is ‘gainst law of arms,

To offer violence to a messenger,

We would inflict such torments on thyself,

As should enforce thee to reveal the truth.

Ambassador.

Madam, your threats no whit appal my mind, 70

I know my conscience guiltless of this act;

My king and queen, I dare be sworn, are free

From any thought of such impiety:

And therefore, madam, you have done them wrong,

And ill-beseeming with a sister's love, 75

Who in mere duty tender him as much,

As ever you respected him for dower.

The king your husband will not say as much.

Cambria.

I will suspend my judgment for a time,

Till more appearance give us further light: 80

[Ragan glares at Cambria.]

Yet to be plain, your coming doth enforce

A great suspicion to our doubtful mind,

And that you do resemble, to be brief,

Him that first robs, and then cries, ' Stop the thief.'

Ambassador.

Pray God some near you have not done the like. 85

Ragan.

Hence, saucy mate, reply no more to us;

[She strikes him.

For law of arms shall not protect thy tongue.

Ambassador.

Ne'er was I offer'd such discourtesy;

God and my king, I trust, ere it be long,

Will find a mean to remedy this wrong. 90

[Exit Ambassador.

Ragan.

How shall I live, to suffer this disgrace,

At every base and vulgar peasant's hands?

It ill befitteth my imperial state,

To be thus used, and no man take my part.

She weeps.

Cambria.

What should I do? infringe the law of arms, 95

Were to my everlasting obloquy:

But I will take revenge upon his master,

Which sent him hither, to delude us thus.

Ragan.

Nay, if you put up this, be sure, ere long,

Now that my father thus is made away; 100

She'll come and claim a third part of your crown,

As due unto her by inheritance.

Cambria.

But I will prove her title to be naught

But shame, and the reward of parricide;

And make her an example to the world, 105

For after-ages to admire her penance.

This will I do, as I am Cambria's king,

Or lose my life, to prosecute revenge.

Come, first let's learn what news is of our father, 109

And then proceed, as best occasion fits.

[Exeunt.

2nd Intermission.

OUR ACT III.

ACT V. SCENE III. A port on the coast of Gallia.

Enter Leir, Perillus, and two mariners in

sea-gowns and sea-caps.

Perillus.

My honest friends, we are asham'd to show

The great extremity of our present state,

In that at this time we are brought so low,

That we want money for to pay our passage.

The truth is so, we met with some good fellows, 5

Shortly before we came aboard your ship,

Who stripp'd us quite of all the coin we had,

And left us not a penny in our purses:

Yet wanting money, we will use the mean, 9

To see you satisfied to the uttermost.

[1st Mariner looks on Leir & feels his cloak.]

First Mariner.

Here's a good cloak; 'twould become me passing well,

I should be fine in it.

[2nd Mariner looks on Perillus

& strokes his cape.]

Second Mariner.

Here's a good cape, I marvel how I should

look in it.

Leir.

Faith, had we others to supply their room,

Though ne'er so mean, you willingly should have them.

First Mariner.

Do you hear, sir? you look like an honest man;

I'll not stand to do you a pleasure: here's a good strong

motley gaberdine, cost me fourteen good shillings at Billingsgate; give me your cloak for it, and your cap for mine, and I'll forgive your passage. 20

Leir.

With all my heart, and twenty thanks.

King Leir and he change.

Second Mariner.

Do you hear, sir? you shall have a better match than he, because you are my friend: here is a good sheep's russet sea-gown, will bide more stress, I warrant you,

than two of his; yet, for you seem to be an honest

gentleman, I am content to change it for your cape, and

ask you nothing for your passage more.

[Pulls at Perillus' cape.]

Perillus.

My own I willingly would change with thee,

And think myself indebted to thy kindness:

But would my friend might keep his garment still. 30

My friend, I'll give thee this new doublet, if thou wilt

Restore his cloak unto him back again.

First Mariner.

Nay, if I do, would I might ne'er eat powdered beef and

mustard more, nor drink a can, or more, of good liquor whilst I live. My friend, you have small reason to seek to hinder me of my bargain: but the best is, a bargain's a bargain. 36

Leir [to Perillus.]

Kind friend, it is much better as it is.

For by this means we may escape unknown,

Till time and opportunity do fit.

Second Mariner.

Hark, hark, they are laying their heads together, they'll

repent them of their bargain anon, 'twere best for us to

go while we are well.

First Mariner.

God be with you, sir, for your passage back again,

I'll use you as unreasonable as another.

Leir.

I know thou wilt; but we hope to bring ready money 45

with us when we come back again.

Exeunt Mariners laughing.

Were ever men in this extremity,

In a strange country, and devoid of friends,

And not a penny for to help ourselves?

Kind friend, what think'st thou will become of us? 50

Perillus.

Be of good cheer, my lord, I have a doublet

Will yield money enough to serve our turns,

Until we come unto your daughter's court:

And then, I hope, we shall find friends enough.

Leir.

Ah, kind Perillus, that is it I fear, 55

And makes me faint, or ever I come there.

Can kindness spring out of ingratitude?

Or love be reap'd, where hatred hath been sown?

Can henbane join in league with mithridate?

Or sugar grow in wormwood's bitter stalk? 60

It cannot be, they are too opposite:

And so am I to any kindness here.

I have thrown wormwood on the sugar'd youth,

And like to henbane poisoned the fount

Whence flowed the antidote of a child's good will. 65

I, like an envious thorn, have prick'd the heart,

And turn'd sweet grapes, to sour unrelish'd sloes:

The causeless ire of my respectless breast,

Hath sour'd the sweet milk of Dame Nature's paps:

My bitter words have gall'd her honey thoughts, 70

And weeds of rancor chok'd the flower of grace,

Then what remainder is of any hope,

But all our fortunes will go quite aslope?

Perillus.

Fear not, my lord, the perfect good indeed,

Can never be corrupted by the bad: 75

A new fresh vessel still retains the taste

Of that which first is pour'd into the same:

And therefore, though you name yourself the thorn,

The weed, the gall, the henbane, and the wormwood;

Yet she'll continue in her former state, 80

The honey, milk, grape, sugar, mithridate.

Leir.

Thou pleasing orator unto me in woe,

Cease to beguile me with thy hopeful speeches:

Oh, join with me, and think of naught but crosses,

And then we'll one lament another's losses. 85

Perillus.

Why, say the worst, the worst can be but death,

And death is better than for to despair:

Then hazard death, which may convert to life;

Banish despair, which brings a thousand deaths.

Leir.

O'ercome with thy strong arguments, I yield 90

To be directed by thee, as thou wilt:

As thou yield'st comfort to my crazed thoughts,

Would I could yield the like unto thy body,

Which is full weak, I know, and ill apaid,

For want of fresh meat and due sustenance. 95

Perillus.

Alack, my lord, my heart doth bleed, to think

That you should be in such extremity.

Leir.

Come, let us go, and see what God will send;

When all means fail, he is the surest friend.

Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE IV. The open country near the coast of Gallia.

Enter the Gallian King and Queen, and Mumford with a basket and blanket,

disguised like country folk.

Gallian King.

This tedious journey all on foot, sweet love,

Cannot be pleasing to your tender joints,

Which ne'er were used to these toilsome walks.

Cordella.

I never in my life took more delight

In any journey, than I do in this: 5

It did me good, whenas we happ'd to light

Amongst the merry crew of country folk,

To see what industry and pains they took,

To win them commendations 'mongst their friends.

Lord, how they labor to bestir themselves, 10

And in their quirks to go beyond the moon,

And so take on them with such antic fits,

That one would think they were beside their wits!

Come away, Roger, with your basket.

Mumford.

Soft, dame, here comes a couple of old youths, 15

I must needs make myself fat with jesting at them.

Enter Leir and Perillus very faintly.

Cordella.

Nay, prithee do not, they do seem to be

Men much o'ercome with grief and misery

Let's stand aside, and hearken what they say.

Leir.

Ah, my Perillus, now I see we both 20

Shall end our days in this unfruitful soil,

[Leir stumbles and falls.]

Oh, I do faint for want of sustenance:

And thou, I know, in little better case.

No gentle tree affords one taste of fruit,

To comfort us, until we meet with men: 25

No lucky path conducts our luckless steps

Unto a place where any comfort dwells.

[Leir’s head sinks to the ground.]

Sweet rest betide unto our happy souls;

For here I see our bodies must have end.

Perillus.

Ah, my dear lord, how doth my heart lament, 30

To see you brought to this extremity!

Oh, if you love me, as you do profess,

Or ever thought well of me in my life;

He strips up his arm.

Feed on this flesh, whose veins are not so dry,

But there is virtue left to comfort you. 35

Oh, feed on this, if this will do you good,

I'll smile for joy, to see you suck my blood.

Leir. [Tenderly refusing.]

I am no cannibal, that I should delight

To slake my hungry jaws with human flesh:

I am no devil, or ten times worse than so, 40

To suck the blood of such a peerless friend.

Oh, do not think that I respect my life

More dearly, than I do thy loyal love.

[Nostalgically lamenting.]

Ah, Britain, I shall never see thee more,

That hast unkindly banished thy king: 45

And yet not thou dost make me to complain,

But they which were more near to me than thou.

Cordella.

What do I hear? this lamentable voice,

Methinks, ere now I oftentimes have heard.

Leir.

Ah, Gonorill, was half my kingdom's gift 50

The cause that thou didst seek to have my life?

Ah, cruel Ragan, did I give thee all,

And all could not suffice without my blood?

Ah, poor Cordella, did I give thee naught,

Nor never shall be able for to give? 55

Oh, let me warn all ages that ensueth,

How they trust flattery, and reject the truth.

Well, unkind girls, I here forgive you both,

Yet the just heavens will hardly do the like;

And only crave forgiveness at the end 60

Of God, whose majesty I have offended.

By my transgression many thousand ways:

Of good Cordella, whom for no occasion

I cast aside, through flatterers' persuasion; 65

Of thee, kind friend, who but for me, I know,

Hadst never come unto this place of woe.

Cordella.

Alack, that ever I should live to see

My noble father in this misery.

Gallian King.

Sweet love, reveal not what thou art as yet, 70

Until we know the ground of all this ill.

Cordella.

Oh, but some meat, some meat: do you not see

How near they are to death for want of food?

Perillus.

Lord, which didst help thy servants at their need,

Or now or never send us help with speed. 75

[Cordella steps forward with the basket

and sets up a picnic.]

Oh, comfort, comfort! yonder is a banquet,

And men and women, my lord: be of good cheer:

For I see comfort coming very near.

O my lord, a banquet, and men and women!

Leir.

Oh, let kind pity mollify their hearts, 80

That they may help us in our great extremes.

Perillus.

God save you, friends; and if this blessed banquet

Affordeth any food or sustenance,

E’en for his sake that saved us all from death,

Vouchsafe to save us from the grip of famine. 85

[Cordella invites Leir and Perillus to join them on the blanket.]

Cordella.

Here, father, sit and eat; here sit and drink;

And would it were far better for your sakes!

[Perillus takes Leir by the hand and

helps him sit down on the blanket.]

Perillus.

I'll give you thanks anon: my friend doth faint,

And needeth present comfort.

[Leir drinks.

Mumford.

I warrant, he ne'er stays to say a grace: 90

Oh, there's no sauce to a good stomach.

Perillus.

The blessed God of heaven hath thought upon us.

Leir.

The thanks be his, and these kind courteous folk,

By whose humanity we are preserv'd.

[They eat hungrily; Leir drinks.

Cordella.

And may that draught be unto him, as was

That which old Aeson[3] drank, which did renew

His withered age, and made him young again.

And may that meat be unto him, as was

That which Elias ate, in strength whereof

He walked forty days, and never fainted. 100

[Aside to her husband.]

Shall I conceal me longer from my father?

Or shall I manifest myself to him?

Gallian King.

Forbear a while, until his strength return,

Lest being over-joy'd with seeing thee,

His poor weak senses should forsake their office, 105

And so our cause of joy be turned to sorrow,

Perillus.

What cheer, my lord? how do you feel yourself?

Leir.

Methinks, I never ate such savory meat:

It is as pleasant as the blessed manna,

That rain'd from heaven amongst the Israelites:

It hath recalled my spirits home again,

And made me fresh, as erst I was before.

But how shall we congratulate their kindness?

Perillus.

In faith, I know not how sufficiently;

But the best mean that I can think on is 115

I'll offer them my doublet in requital;

For we have nothing else to spare but this.

Leir.

Nay, stay, Perillus, for they shall have mine.

Perillus.

Pardon, my lord, I swear they shall have mine.

[Perillus proffers his doublet:

They will not take it.

Leir.

Ah, who would think such kindness should remain

Among such strange and unacquainted men: 121

And that such hate should harbor in the breast

Of those, which have occasion to be best?

Cordella.

Ah, good old father, tell to me thy grief,

I'll sorrow with thee, if not add relief.

Leir.

Ah, good young daughter, I may call thee so;

For thou art like a daughter I did owe.

Cordella.

Do you not owe her still? what, is she dead?

Leir.

No, God forbid: but all my interest's gone,

By showing myself too much unnatural:

So have I lost the title of a father,

And may be call'd a stranger to her rather.

Cordella.

Your title's good still: for 'tis always known,

A man may do as he list with his own. '

But have you but one daughter then in all? 135

Leir.

Yes, I have more by two, than would I had.

Cordella.

O, say not so, but rather see the end;

They that are bad, may have the grace to mend:

But how have they offended you so much?

Leir.

If from the first I should relate the cause,

'T would make a heart of adamant to weep;

And thou, poor soul, kind-hearted as thou art,

Dost weep already, ere I do begin.

Cordella.

For God's love tell it; and when you have done,

I'll tell the reason why I weep so soon. 145

Leir.

Then know this first, I am a Briton born,

And had three daughters by one loving wife:

And though I say it, of beauty they were sped;

Especially the youngest of the three,

For her perfections hardly match'd could be. 150

On these I doted with a jealous love,

And thought to try which of them lov'd me best,

By asking them, which would do most for me?

The first and second flatter'd me with words,

And vow'd they lov'd me better than their lives: 155

The youngest said, she “lov'd me as a child

Might do”: her answer I esteem'd most vile,

And presently in an outrageous mood,

I turn'd her from me to go sink or swim:

And all I had, e’en to the very clothes, 160

I gave in dowry with the other two:

And she that best deserv'd the greatest share,

I gave her nothing, but disgrace and care.

Now mark the sequel: when I had done thus,

I sojourned in my eldest daughter's house,

Where for a time I was entreated well,

And liv'd in state sufficing my content:

But, every day her kindness did grow cold,

Which I with patience put up well enough,

And seemed not to see the things I saw:

But, at the last, she grew so far incensed

With moody fury, and with causeless hate,

That in most vile and contumelious terms,

She bade me pack, and harbor somewhere else.

Then was I fain for refuge to repair 175

Unto my other daughter for relief;

Who gave me pleasing and most courteous words;

But in her actions showed herself so sore,

As never any daughter did before!

She prayed me one bleak morning out swiftly go 180

To a dark thicket two miles from the court,

Pointing that there she would come talk with me:

There she had set a shag-hair'd murd'ring wretch,

To massacre my honest friend and me.

Then judge yourself, although my tale be brief,

If ever man had greater cause of grief.

Gallian King.

Nor never like impiety was done,

Since the creation of the world begun.

Leir.

And now I am constrain'd to seek relief

Of her, to whom I have been so unkind; 190

Whose censure, if it do award me death,

I must confess she pays me but my due:

But if she show a loving daughter's part,

It comes of God and her, not my desert.

Cordella.

No doubt she will, I dare be sworn she will. 195

Leir. [Sadly chuckling.]

How know you that, not knowing what she is?

Cordella.

Myself a father have a great way hence,

Us'd me as ill as ever you did her;

Yet, that his reverend age I once might see,

I'd creep along to meet him on my knee. 200

Leir.

Oh, no men's children are unkind but mine.

Cordella.

Condemn not all, because of others' crime:

But look, dear father, look, behold and see;

Thy loving daughter speaketh unto thee.

[She kneels.

Leir.

Oh, stand thou up, it is my part to kneel, 205

And ask forgiveness for my former faults.

[He kneels.

Cordella.

Oh, if you wish I should enjoy my breath,

Dear father rise, or I receive my death.

[She riseth.

Leir.

Then I will rise to satisfy your mind,

[He riseth.

But kneel again, till pardon be resigned.

[He kneels.

Cordella.

I pardon you: the word beseems not me:

But I do say so, for to ease your knee;

You gave me life, you were the cause that I

Am what I am, who else had never been.

Leir.

But you gave life to me and to my friend, 215

Whose days had else had an untimely end.

Cordella.

You brought me up, whenas I was but young,

And far unable for to help myself.

Leir.

I cast thee forth, whenas thou wast but young,

And far unable for to help thyself. 220

Cordella.

God, world, and nature, say I do you wrong,

That can endure to see you kneel so long.

Gallian King.

Let me break off this loving controversy,

Which doth rejoice my very soul to see.

Good father, rise, she is your loving daughter,

[He riseth.

And honors you with as respective duty,

As if you were the monarch of the world.

Cordella.

But I will never rise from off my knee,

[She kneels.

Until I have your blessing, and your pardon

Of all my faults committed any way, 230

From my first birth unto this present day.

Leir.

The blessing, which the God of Abraham gave

Unto the tribe of Judah, light on thee,

And multiply thy days, that thou may'st see

Thy children's children prosper after thee. 235

Thy faults, which are just none that I do know,

God pardon on high, and I forgive below.

[She riseth.

Cordella.

Now is my heart at quiet, and doth leap

Within my breast, for joy of this good hap:

And now, dear father, welcome to our court, 240

And welcome, kind Perillus, unto me,

Mirror of virtue and true honesty.

Leir.

Oh, he hath been the kindest friend to me,

That ever man had in adversity.

Perillus.

My tongue doth fail, to say what heart doth think

I am so ravish'd with exceeding joy. 246

Gallian King.

All you have spoke: now let me speak my mind,

And in few words much matter here conclude:

[He kneels.

If e'er my heart do harbor any joy,

Or true content repose within my breast 250

Till I have rooted out this viperous sect,

And repossessed my father of his crown,

Let me be counted for the perjur'd'st man,

That ever spake word since the world began.

[Rises.

Mumford.

Let me pray too, that never prayed before; 255

[Mumford kneels.

If ere I re-salute the British earth,

(As, ere't be long, I do presume I shall)

And do return from thence without my wench,

Let me be gelded for my recompense.

[Rises.

Gallian King.

Come, let's to arms for to redress this wrong: 260

Till I am there, methinks the time seems long.

Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE V. A room in the royal palace of Cambria.

Enter Ragan sola.

Ragan.

I feel a hell of conscience in my breast,

Tormenting me with horror for my fact,

And makes me in an agony of doubt,

For fear the world should find my dealing out.

The slave whom I appointed for the act, 5

I ne'er set eye upon the peasant since:

Oh, could I get him for to make him sure,

My doubts would cease, and I should rest secure.

But if the old men, with persuasive words,

Have sav'd their lives, and made him to relent; 10

Then are they fled unto the court of France,

And like a trumpet manifest my shame.

A shame on these white-liver'd slaves, say I,

That with fair words so soon are overcome.

O God, that I had been but made a man; 15

Or that my strength were equal with my will!

These foolish men are nothing but mere pity,

And melt as butter doth against the sun.

Why should they have pre-eminence over us,

Since we are creatures of more brave resolve? 20

I swear, I am quite out of charity

With all the heartless men in Christendom.

A pox upon them all! They are afraid

To give a stab, or slit a paltry wind-pipe,

Which are such easy matters to be done. 25

Well, had I thought the slave would serve me so,

Myself would have been executioner:

'Tis now undone, and if that it be known,

I'll make as good shift as I can for one.

He that repines at me, howe'r it stands, 30

[She draws her dagger and slashes her imaginary foe.]

'Twere best for him to keep him from my hands.

Exit.

ACT V. SCENE VI. A Port of Gallia.

Sounds drums and trumpets: Enter the Gallian King, Cordella, Leir, Perillus, Mumford, and the army.

Gallian King.

Thus have we brought our army to the sea,

Whereas our ships are ready to receive us:

The wind stands fair, and we in four hours' sail,

May easily arrive on British shore,

Where unexpected we may them surprise, 5

And gain a glorious victory with ease.

Wherefore, my loving countrymen, resolve,

Since truth and justice fighteth on our sides,

That we shall march with conquest where we go.

Myself will be as forward as the first, 10

And step by step march with the hardiest wight:

And not the meanest soldier in our camp

Shall be in danger, but I'll second him.

[To Mumford.]

To you, my lord, we give the whole command

Of all the army, next unto ourself; 15

Not doubting of you, but you will extend

Your wonted valor in this needful case,

Encouraging the rest to do the like,

By your approved magnanimity.

Mumford.

My liege, 'tis needless to spur a willing horse, 20

That's apt enough to run himself to death;

For here I swear by that sweet saint's bright eyes,

Which are the stars, which guide me to good hap,

[He raises Leir’s arm in a sign of victory.]

Either to see my old lord crown'd anew,

Or in his cause to bid the world adieu. 25

[All cheer.]

Leir.

Thanks, good lord Mumford, 'tis more your good will,

Than any merit or desert in me.

Mumford.

And now to you, my worthy countrymen,

Ye valiant race of Genovestan Gauls,

Surnamed Red-shanks, for your chivalry, 30

Because you fight up to the shanks in blood;

Show yourselves now to be right Gauls indeed,

And be so bitter on your enemies,

That they may say, you are as bitter as gall.

[All cheer.]

Gall them, brave shot, with your artillery: 35

[All cheer.]

Gall them, brave halberts, with your sharp point bills,

[All cheer.]

Each in their 'pointed place, not one, but all,

Fight for the credit of yourselves and Gaul.

[All cheer.]

Gallian King.

Then what should more persuasion need to those,

That rather wish to deal, than hear of blows? 40

Let's to our ships, and if that God permit,

In four hours' sail, I hope we shall be there.

Mumford.

And in five hours more, I make no doubt,

But we shall bring our wish'd desires about.

[All cheer and Exeunt.]

ACT V. SCENE VII. The ramparts of Dover.

Enter a Captain of the Watch,

and two Watchmen.

First Captain.

My honest friends, it is your turn to-night,

To watch in this place, near about the beacon,

And vigilantly have regard,

If any fleet of ships pass hitherward:

Which if you do, your office is to fire 5

The beacon presently, and raise the town.

[Exit.

First Watchman.

Ay, ay, ay, fear nothing; we know our charge, I warrant:

I have been a watchman about this beacon this thirty year, and yet I ne'er see it stir, but stood as quietly as might be. 10

Second Watchman.

Faith, neighbor, and you'll follow my 'vice, instead of

watching the beacon, we'll go to goodman Jennings, and

watch a pot of ale and a rasher of bacon: and if we do

not drink ourselves drunk, then so; I warrant, the beacon will see us when we come out again. 15

First Watchman.

Ay, but how if somebody excuse us to the captain?

Second Watchman.

'Tis no matter, I'll prove by good reason that we watch the beacon: ass for example ---

First Watchman.

I hope you do not call me ass by craft, neighbor.

Second Watchman.

No, no, but for example: say here stands the pot of ale; that's the beacon. 22

First Watchman.

Ay, ay, 'tis a very good beacon.

Second Watchman.

Well, say here stands your nose, that's the fire.

First Watchman.

Indeed, I must confess, 'tis somewhat red. 25

Second Watchman.

I see come marching in a dish half a score pieces of salt

bacon.

First Watchman.

I understand your meaning, that's as much as to say,

half a score ships.

Second Watchman.

True, you conster right; presently, like a faithful watchman, I fire the beacon, and call up the town.

First Watchman.

Ay, that's as much as to say, you set your nose to the pot, and drink up the drink. 33

Second Watchman.

You are in the right; come, let's go fire the beacon.

Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE VIII. Before the walls of Dover.

Enter the King of Gallia with a still march, Mumford and soldiers.

Gallian King.

Now march our ensigns on the British earth,

And we are near approaching to the town:

Then look about you, valiant countrymen,

And we shall finish this exploit with ease.

The inhabitants of this mistrustful place 5

Are dead asleep, as men that are secure:

Here shall we skirmish but with naked men,

Devoid of sense, new waked from a dream,

That know not what our coming doth portend,

Till they do feel our meaning on their skins: 10

Therefore assail: God and our right for us.

[Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE IX. An open place in Dover.

Alarm, with men and women half naked: Enter two Captains without doublets, with swords.

First Captain.

Where are these villains that were set to watch,

And fire the beacon, if occasion served,

That thus have suffered us to be surprised,

And never given notice to the town?

We are betrayed, and quite devoid of hope, 5

By any means to fortify ourselves.

Second Captain.

'Tis ten to one the peasants are o'ercome

With drink and sleep, and so neglect their charge.

First Captain.

A whirl-wind carry them quick to a whirl-pool,

That there the slaves may drink their bellies full. 10

Second Captain.

This 'tis, to have the beacon so near the ale-house.

Enter the Watchmen drunk, with each a pot.

First Captain.

Out on ye, villains, whither run you now?

First Watchman.

To fire the town, and call up the beacon.

Second Watchman.

No, no, sir, to fire the beacon, and throw-up the town.

He drinks.

Second Captain.

What, with a pot of ale, you drunken rogues? 15

First Captain.

You'll fire the beacon, when the town is lost:

I'll teach you how to tend your office better.

Drives to stab them.

Enter Mumford, Captains run away.

Mumford.

Yield, yield, yield.

He kicks down their pots.

First Watchman.

Reel? no, we do not reel: May you lack a pot of ale ere you die. 20

[The watchmen charge Mumford from both sides; he ducks; they collide in a drunken do-si-do and fall to the ground unconscious.]

Mumford.

But in mean space, I answer, you want none. Well, there's no dealing with you, y'are tall men, and well

weapon' d; I would there were no worse than you in the town!

Exit Mumford.

Second Watchman.

A speaks like an honest man, my choler's past

already. Come, neighbor, let's go. 26

First Watchman.

Nay, first let's see and we can stand.

[They crawl to each other and linking their arms back-to-back slowly manage to stand.]

Exeunt.

Alarum, excursions, Mumford after them, and some half naked.

ACT V. SCENE X. An open place in Dover.

Enter the Gallian King, Leir, Mumford, Cordella, Perillus, and soldiers, with the Mayor of Dover bound.

Gallian King.

Fear not, my friends, you shall receive no hurt,

If you'll subscribe unto your lawful king,

And quite revoke your fealty from Cambria,

And from aspiring Cornwall too, whose wives

Have practis'd treason 'gainst their father's life. 5

We come in justice of your wronged king,

And do intend no harm at all to you,

So you submit unto your lawful king.

Leir.

Kind countrymen, it grieves me, that perforce,

I am constrain'd to use extremities. 10

Mayor of Dover.

Long have you here been look'd for, good my lord,

And wish'd for by a general consent:

And had we known your highness had arrived,

We had not made resistance to your grace:

And now, my gracious lord, you need not doubt, 15

But all the country will yield presently,

Which since your absence have been greatly taxed,

For to maintain their over-swelling pride.

We'll presently send word to all our friends;

When they have notice, they will come apace. 20

Leir.

Thanks, loving subjects; and thanks, worthy son,

Thanks, my kind daughter, thanks to you, my lord,

Who willingly adventured (sans desert)

To do me so much good.

Mumford.

Oh, say not so: 25

I have been much beholding to your grace:

I must confess, I have been in some brawls,

But I was never in the like to this!

For where I was wont to meet with armed men,

I now was encountered with naked women! 30

Cordella.

We that are feeble, and want use of arms,

Will pray to God, to shield you from all harms.

Leir.

The while your hands do manage ceaseless toil,

Our hearts shall pray, the foes may have the foil.

Perillus.

We'll fast and pray, whilst you for us do fight, 35

That victory may prosecute the right.

Gallian King.

Methinks, your words do amplify (my friends)

And add fresh vigor to my willing limbs:

[Drum.

But hark, I hear the adverse drum approach.

God and our right, saint Denis, and saint George. 40

Enter Cornwall, Cambria, Gonorill, Ragan, and the army.

Cornwall.

Presumptuous king of Gauls, how darest thou

Presume to enter on our British shore?

And more than that, to take our towns perforce,

And draw our subjects’ hearts from their true king?

Be sure to buy it at as dear a price, 45

As e'er you bought presumption in your lives.

Gallian King.

O'er-daring Cornwall, know, we came in right,

And just revengement of the wronged king,

Whose daughters there, fell vipers, as they are,

Have sought to murder and deprive of life! 50

But God protected him from all their spite,

And we are come in justice of his right.

Cambria.

Nor he, nor thou, have any interest here,

But what you win and purchase with the sword.

Thy slanders to our noble virtuous queens, 55

We'll in the battle thrust them down thy throat,

Except for fear of our revenging hands,

Thou fly to sea, as not secure on lands.

Mumford.

Welshman, I’ll so ferret you ere night for those words,

that you shall have no mind to croak so well this twelve month. 60

Gonorill.

They lie, that say, we sought our father's death.

Ragan.

'Tis merely forged for a colour's sake,

To set a gloss on your invasion.

Methinks, an old man ready for to die,

Should be asham'd to broach so foul a lie. 65

Cordella.

Fie, shameless sister, so devoid of grace,

To call our father liar to his face.

Gonorill.

Peace, puritan, dissembling hypocrite,

Which art so good, that thou wilt prove stark naught

Anon, when as I have you in my grasp, 70

I'll make you wish yourself in purgatory.

Perillus.

Nay, peace, thou monster, - shame unto thy sex -

Thou fiend in likeness of a human bitch!

Ragan.

I never heard a fouler spoken man, -

Leir.

Out on thee, viper, scum, filthy parricide, 75

More odious to my sight than is a toad:

[Leir pulls out Ragan’s letters.]

Knowest thou these letters?

[She snatches them and tears them.

Ragan.

Think you to outface me with your paltry scrolls?

You come to drive my husband from his right,

Under the color of a forged letter. 80

Leir.

Who ever heard the like impiety?

Perillus.

You are our debtor of more patience:

We were more patient when we stay'd for you,

Within the thicket two long hours and more.

Ragan.

What hours? what thicket? 85

Perillus.

There, where you sent your servant with your letters,

Seal'd with your hand, to send us both to heaven,

Where, as I think, you never mean to come.

Ragan.

Alas, you’re grown a child again with age,

Or else your senses dote for want of sleep. 90

Perillus.

Indeed you made us rise betimes, you know.

Yet had a care we should sleep where you bade us stay,

But never wake more till the latter day.

Gonorill.

Peace, peace, old fellow, thou art sleepy still.

Mumford. [To Perillus.]

Faith, and if you reason till to-morrow, you get no other

answer at their hands.

[To all.]

'Tis pity two such good faces should have so little grace between them.

Well, let’s see if their husbands with their hands

Can do as much as they do with their tongues.

[Ragan pushes her husband forward.]

Ragan.

Ay, with their swords they'll make your tongues unsay

What they have said, or else they'll cut them out.

Gallian King.

To't, gallants, to't, let's not stand brawling thus.

[All cheer.]

[Exeunt both armies.

ACT V. SCENE XI. A Battlefield outside the walls of Dover.

Sound Alarum: excursions.

Mumford chases Cambria away:

Then the Alarums cease.

Enter Cornwall alone.

Cornwall.

The day is lost, our friends do all revolt,

And join against us with the adverse part:

There is no means of safety but by flight,

And therefore, I'll to Cornwall with my queen.

[Exit Cornwall.

Enter Cambria.

Cambria.

I think, there is a devil in the camp hath haunted

me to-day: he hath so tired me, that in a manner I can

fight no more. 7

Enter Mumford.

Zounds! here he comes, I'll take me to my horse.

[Exit Cambria.

[Mumford chases him to the door

And then returns.

Mumford.

Farewell, Welshman, give thee but thy due,

Thou hast a light and nimble pair of legs:

Thou art more in debt to them than to thy hands:

But if I meet thee once again to-day,

I'll cut them off, and set them to a better heart.

Exit.

ACT V. SCENE XII. The Same.

Alarums and excursions; then sound victory. Enter Leir, Perillus, Gallian King, Cordella, and Mumford.

Gallian King.

Thanks be to God, your foes are overcome,

And you again possessed of your right.

Leir.

First to the heavens; next, thanks to you, my son,

By whose good means I repossess the same:

Which if it please you to accept yourself, 5

With all my heart I will resign to you:

For it is yours by right, and none of mine.

First, have you raised, at your own charge, a power

Of valiant soldiers; this comes all from you;

Next have you ventur'd your own person's scathe; 10

And lastly, worthy Gallia never stain'd,

My kingly title I by thee have gain'd.

Gallian King.

Thank heavens, not me, my zeal to you is such,

Command my utmost, I will ne’er begrudge.

Cordella.

He that with all kind love entreats his queen, 15

Will not be to her father unkind seen.

Leir.

Ah, my Cordella, now I call to mind,

The modest answer, which I took unkind:

But now I see, I am no whit beguil'd,

Thou lovedst me dearly, and as ought a child. 20

And thou, Perillus, partner once in woe,

Thee to requite, the best I can, I'll do!

Yet all I can, ay, were it ne'er so much,

Were not sufficient, thy true love is such.

Thanks, worthy Mumford, to thee last of all, 25

Not greeted last 'cause thy desert was small;

No, thou hast lion-like laid on to-day,

Chasing the Cornwall king and Cambria away;

Who with my daughters, daughters did I say?

To save their lives, the fugitives did play. 30

Come, son and daughter, who did me advance,

Repose with me awhile, and then for France.

[All cheer.]

[Sound drums and trumpets.

Exeunt.

Finis.

APPENDIX:

by Sidney Lee - 1908

THE following is the full text of Warner's story of King Lear as narrated in his Albion's England, Bk. III. ch. xiv. (1586), which was clearly very familiar to the old dramatist. (See Introduction, p. xxxi.) The spelling is modernized.

About a thirty years and five did Leir rule this land

When, doting on his daughters three, with them he fell in

hand

To tell how much they loved him. The eldest did esteem

Her life inferior to her love; so did the second deem.

The youngest said her love was such as did a child behoove,

And that how much himself was worth, so much she him

did love.

The foremost two did please him well; the youngest did

not so;

Upon the prince of Albany the first he did bestow;

The middle on the Cornish prince; their dowry was his

throne

At his decease; Cordella's part was very small or none.

Yet for her form and virtuous life a noble Gallian king

Did her, undowed, for his queen into his country bring.

Her sisters, sick of father's health, their husbands by consent

Did join in arms; from Leir so by force the sceptre went;

Yet, for they promise pensions large, he rather was content.

In Albany the quondam king at eldest daughter's court

Was settled scarce, when she repines and lessens still his port.

His second daughter then, he thought, would show herself more kind;

To whom he, going, for a while did frank allowance find.

Ere long, abridging almost all, she keepeth him so low,

That of two bads, for better's choice, he back again did go.

But Gonorill at his return not only did attempt

Her father's death, but openly did hold him in contempt.

His aged eyes pour out their tears, when holding up his

hands,

He said: " O God, whoso thou art, that my good hap

withstands,

Prolong not life, defer not death, myself I overlive,

When those, that owe to me their lives, to me my death

would give.

Thou town, whose walls rose of my wealth, stand evermore to tell

Thy founder's fall, and warn that none do fall as Leir fell.

Bid none any in friends, for say, his children wrought his

wrack;

Yea, those that were to him most dear did loathe and let

him lack.

Cordella, well Cordella said, she loved me as a child;

But sweeter words we seek than sooth, and so are men

beguiled.

She only rests untried yet; but what may I expect

From her to whom I nothing gave, when these do me

reject?

Then die, nay try, the rule may fail and Nature may ascend,

Nor are they ever surest friends on whom we most do spend."

He ships himself to Gallia then, but maketh known

before

Unto Cordella his estate, who rueth him so poor,

And kept his there arrival close till she provided had

To furnish him in every want. Of him her king was glad,

And nobly entertained him; the queen, with tears among,

Her duty done, conferreth with her father of his wrong.

Such duty, bounty, kindness and increasing love he found

In that his daughter and her lord, that sorrows more abound

For his unkindly using her, than for the others' crime;

And kinglike thus in Agamp's court did Leir dwell, till

time

The noble king his son-in-law transports an army great

Of forcy Gauls, possessing him of dispossessed seat.

To whom Cordella did succeed, not reigning long in queat.

Not how her nephews war on her and one of them

slew t'other

Shall follow; but I will disclose a most tyrannous mother.

Warner, omitting several generations, proceeds to tell the tale of Iden, the cruel wife of king Gorboduc, and mother of Ferrex and Porrex.

January 1908

[1] prompt and eager.

[2] Parlous is both a synonym and a derivative of perilous; it came to be as an alteration of perilous in Middle English. (Webster.)

[3] Jason’s father, he regained his youth after drinking an elixir prepared by Medea.

0 notes