Chapters 5
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1 01 - Act 1 25:23
The Birth of Merlin, The Child Hath Found His Father by William Shakespeare and William Rowley. The Scene, Britain Dramatis Personae. Aurelius, King of Britain. Read by Mike Manalakis. Vortiga, King of Welsh Britain. Read by Craig Franklin. Uther Pendragon, The Prince, Brother to Aurelius. Read by Jackson Burkhouse. Donabert, A Nobleman and Father to Constantia and Modesta. Read by Vocal Penguin. The Earl of Gloucester. and father to Edwin.
Aedol Earl of Chester and General to King Aurelius.
Cawdor, Earl of Cornwall and suitor to Constantia.
Edwin, son to the Earl of Gloucester and suitor to Modesta. Tochlio, nobleman. Read by Adrian Stevens. Oswald, Nobleman. Read by Andrew Garth. Merlin the Prophet. Read by Alan Mapstone. Amselm the Hermit after Bishop of Winchester. Read by Jim Locke. Clown. Brother to Joan, mother of Merlin.
Sir Nicodemus Nothing, a courtier. The Devil, Father of Merlin. Austorius, the Saxon General. A Saxon Nobleman. Tchaikovsky.
A Saxon Magician, read by Scott McKinley. Bishop, read by Derek Trial. Saxon Lord One, read by Grace Buchanan. Second Saxon Lord. Read by Alan Mapstone. Edel's Captain. Read by Derek Trial. Gentleman One. Read by Wayne Cook. Gentleman Two. Read by Shacquill. A Little Antic Spirit. Read by Dvorah Allen. Artesia, sister to Oestorius, the Saxon general. Read by Jen Broda. Constantia, daughter to Donaubert. Read by Lydia. Modesta, daughter to Donaubert. Read by Linda Olsen-Faitak. Joan Gotuit, mother of Merlin. Read by Sonia. A Waiting Woman to Artesia. Read by Joanna Michael Hoyt. Lucina, Queen of the Shades, read by Ava'i. Armel, read by Sandra. Plesketh, read by Grace Buchanan. Messenger, read by Grace Buchanan.
Stage Directions, read by David Purdy. Actus One, Scene One. A Room in the Castle of Lord Donobert. Enter Donobert, Gloucester, Cater, Edwin. Constancia and Modestia. You teach me language, sir, as one that knows the debt of love I owe unto her virtues, wherein, like a true courtier, I have fed myself with hope of fair success, and now attend your wished consent to my long suit. Believe me, youthful lord, time could not give an opportunity more fitting your desires, always provided my daughter's love be suited with my grant. "'Tis the condition, sir, her promise sealed." "'Ist so, Constantia?" I was content to give him words for oaths. He swore so oft he loved me. That thou believest him? He is a man, I hope.
That's in the trial, girl. However, I am a woman, sir. The laws on thy side, then, shall have a husband, ay, and a worthy one. Take her, brave Cornwall, and make our happiness great as our wishes. Sir, I thank you. Double the fortunes of the day, my lord, and crown my wishes too. I have a son here who in my absence would protest no less unto your other daughter. Ha! Gloucester, is it so? What says Lord Edwin? Will she protest as much to thee? Else must she warn some of her sister's face, sir. Of her credulity much rather, sir. My lord, you are a soldier. And methinks the height of that profession should diminish all heat of love's desires, being so late employed in blood and ruin. The more my conscience tires me to repair the world's losses in a new succession.
Necessity, it seems, tires your affections, then, and at that rate I would unwillingly be thrust upon you. A wife is a dish soon cloys, sir. Weak and diseased appetites it may. Most of your making have dull stomachs, sir. If that be all, girl, thou shalt quicken him. Be kind to him, Modesta. Noble Edwin, let it suffice, what's mine in her speaks yours. For her consent, let your fair suit go on. She is a woman, sir, and will be one. You give me comfort, sir. Enter Tocleo. Now, Tocleo? The king, my honoured lords. requires your presence, and calls a council for return of answer unto the parling enemy, whose ambassadors are on the way to court. So suddenly? Chester, it seems, has plied them hard at war they sue so fast for peace, which by my advice they ne'er shall have unless they leave the realm.
Come, noble Gloucester, let's attend the King. It lies, sir, in your son to do me pleasure, and save the charges of a wedding dinner. If you'll make haste to end your love affairs, one cost may give discharge to both my cares. Exit Donobert, Gloucester. I'll do my best. Now, Tocleo, what's stirring news at court? Oh, my lord, the court's all filled with rumor, the city with news, and the country with wonder. And all the bells in the kingdom must proclaim it. We have a new holy day a-coming. A holy day? For whom? For thee? Me, madam. Soot, I'd be loath that any man should make a holy day for me, yet, in brief, tis thus. There's here arrived at court, sent by the Earl of Chester to the king, a man of rare esteem for holiness.
A reverent hermit, that by miracle not only saved our army, but without aid of man or through the pagan host, and with such wonder, sir, as might confirm a kingdom to his faith. This is strange news indeed. Where is he? In conference with the king that much respects him. Trust me, I long to see him. Faith. You will find no great pleasure in him, for aught that I can see, lady. They say he is half a prophet, too. Would he could tell me of any news of the lost prince? There's twenty talents offered to him that finds him. Such news was breeding in the morning. And now it has birth and life, sir. If fortune bless me, I'll once more search those woods where we lost him. I know not yet what fate may follow me.
Fortune go with you, sir. Come, fair mistress. Your sister and Lord Edwin are in game, and all their wits at stake to win the set. My sister has the hand yet. We had best leave them. She will be out and on as well as I. He wants but cunning to put in a die. You are a cunning gamester, madam. It is a desperate game, indeed, this marriage, where there is no winning without loss to either. Why, what but your perfection, noble lady, can bar the worthiness of this my suit? If so you please, I count my happiness from difficult obtaining. You shall see my duty and observance. There shall be place to neither, noble sir. I do beseech you. Let this mild reply give answer to your suit. For here I vow, if ever I change my virgin name by you, it gains or loses.
My wishes have their crown. Let them confine you, then. As to my promise, you give faith and credence. In your command my willing absence speaks it. Exit. Noble and virtuous. Could I dream of marriage? I should affect thee, Edwin. O my soul! Here something tells me that these best of creatures, these models of the world, weak man and woman, should have their souls, their making, life, and being to some more excellent use. If what the sense calls pleasure were our ends, we might justly blame great nature's wisdom, who reared a building of so much art and beauty to entertain a guest, so far uncertain, so imperfect. If only speech distinguish us from beast, who know no inequality of birth or place, but still to fly from goodness.
Oh, how base were life at such a rate! No, no, that power that gave to man his being, speech, and wisdom, gave it for thankfulness. To him alone that made me thus. May I whence truly know I'll pay to him, not man, the love I owe. Exit. Scene Two. The British Court. Flourish Cornets. Enter Aurelius, King of Britain. Donobert. Gloucester. Cater. Edwin. Tocleo. Oswald. Attendance. No tiding of our brother yet? Tis strange. So near the court, and in our own land too, and yet no news of him. Oh, this loss tempers the sweetness of our happy conquests with much untimely sorrow. Royal Sir, his safety being unquestioned should to time leave the redress of sorrow. Were he dead, or taken by the foe, our fatal loss had wanted no quick herald to disclose it.
That hope alone sustains me. Nor will we be so ingrateful unto heaven to question what we fear with what we enjoy. Is answer of our message yet returned from that religious man, the holy hermit, sent by the Earl of Chester to confirm us in that miraculous act? For t'was no less, our army being enroute, nay, quite overthrown. As Chester writes, even then this holy man, armed with his cross and staff, went smiling on, and boldly fronts the foe, at sight of whom the Saxon stood amazed. For to their seeming, above the hermit's head appeared such brightness, such clear and glorious beams, as if our men marched all in fire, wherewith the pagans fled, and by our troops were all to death pursued. "'Tis full of wonder, sir."
Oh, Gloucester, he's a jewel worth a kingdom. Where is Oswald with his answer? "'Tis here, my royal lord." In writing, will he not sit with us? His orisons performed, he bade me say, he would attend with all submission. Proceed to counsel, then, and let some give order. The ambassador is being come to take our answer. They have admittance. Oswald, Tocleo, be at your charge. Exeunt Oswald and Tocleo. And now, my lords, observe the holy counsel of this reverend hermit. Reads. As you respect your safety. Limit not that only power that hath protected you. Trust not an open enemy too far. He's yet a loser, and knows you have won. Mischiefs not ended are but then begun. Anselm the Hermit. Powerful and pithy, which my advice confirms.
No man leaves physic when his sickness slakes, but doubles the receipts. The word of peace seems fair to bloodshot eyes, but being applied with such a medicine as blinds all the sight argues desire of cure, but not of art. You argue from defects. If both the name and the condition of the peace be won, it is to be preferred. And in the offer made by the Saxon, I see naught repugnant. The time of truce required for thirty days carries suspicion in it. Since half that space will serve to strengthen their weakened regiment. Who in less time will undertake to free our country from them? Leave that unto our fortune. Is not our bold and hopeful general still master of the field? Their legions fallen, the rest entrenched for fear, half-starved and wounded?
And shall we now give o'er our fair advantage? For heaven, my lord! The danger is far more entrusting to their words than to their weapons. Enter Oswald. The ambassadors are come, sir. Conduct them in. We are resolved, my lords. Since policy failed in the beginning, it shall have no hand in the conclusion. That heavenly power that hath so well begun, their fatal overthrow, I know, can end it. From which fair hope myself will give them answer. Flourish Cornets. Enter Artesia with the Saxon lords. What's here? A woman orator? Peace, Donnebert. Speak. What are you, lady? The sister of the Saxon general, warlike Ostorius, the East Anglese king. My name... Artesia, who in terms of love brings peace and health to great Aurelius, wishing she may return as fair a present as she makes tender of.
The fairest present ere mine eyes were blessed with. Command a chair there for this Saxon beauty. Sit, lady, we'll confer. Your warlike brother sues for a peace, you say? With endless love unto your state and person. Sent a moving orator, believe me. What thinks thou, Dunabert? Believe me, sir, were I but young again, this gilded pill might take my stomach quickly. True, thou art old. How soon we do forget our own defects. Fair damsel, my tongue turns traitor and will betray my heart. Sister to our enemy. S'death, her beauty mazes me. I cannot speak if I but look on her. What's that we did conclude? This, royal lord. Pish, thou canst not utter it. Fairest of creatures, tell the king your brother that we, in love, ha, and honor to our country, command his armies to depart our realm.
But if you please, fair soul, Lord Donobert, deliver you our pleasure. I shall, sir. Lady, return, and certify your brother. Thou art too blunt and rude. Return so soon? Fie, let her stay and send some messenger to certify our pleasure. What means, Your Grace? To give her time to rest to her long journey. We would not willingly be thought uncivil. Great King of Britain, let it not seem strange to embrace the princely offers of a friend, whose virtues with thine own, in fairest merit, both states in peace and love, may now inherit. She speaks of love again. Sure, tis my fear, she knows I do not hate her. Be then, thyself, most great Aurelius, and let not envy, nor a deeper sin in these counsellors deprive thy goodness of that fair honour we in seeking peace give first to thee, who never used to sue but force our wishes.
Yet if this seem light, O let my sex, though worthless your respect, take the report of thy humanity. She has an angel's tongue. Speak still. Lady is gross, sir. Hear no more on it. Lady, these childish compliments are needless. You have your answer, and believe it, madam, his grace, though young, doth wear within his breast Too grave a counselor to be seduced by smoothing flattery or oily words. I come not, sir, to woo him. Twere folly, if you should. You must not wed him. Shame take thy tongue, being old and weak thyself. Thou dotest, and looking on thine own defects, speak'st what thou didst wish in me. Do I command the deeds of others mine own act not free? Be pleased to smile or frown, we respect neither.
My will and rule shall stand and fall together. Most fair Artesia, see the king descends to give thee welcome with these warlike Saxons. And now on equal terms both sues and grants. Instead of truce, let a perpetual league seal our united bloods in holy marriage. Send the East Angles king this happy news, that thou with me hast made a league forever, and added to his state a friend and brother. Speak, dearest love. Dare you confirm this title? I were no woman to deny a good so high and noble to my fame and country. Live, then, a queen in Britain. He means to marry her. Death. He shall marry the devil first. Marry a pagan? An idolater? He has won her quickly. She was wooed afore she came, sure, or came of purpose to conclude the match.
Who dares oppose our will? My lord of Gloucester, be you ambassador unto our brother, the brother of our queen, Artesia. Tell him, for such our entertainment looks him. Our marriage adding to the happiness of our intended joys, man's good or ill in this like waves agree. Come double still. Enter Hermit. Who's this, the Hermit? Welcome, my happiness. Our country's hope, most reverent holy man, I wanted but thy blessing to make perfect the infinite sum of my felicity. Alack, sweet prince, that happiness is yonder. Felicity and thou art far asunder. This world can never give it. Thou art deceived. See here what I have found. Beauty, alliance, peace, and strength of friends. All in this all-exceeding excellence.
The leagues confirmed. With whom, dear Lord? With the great brother of this beauteous woman, the royal Saxon king. Oh, then I see, and fear thou art too near thy misery. What magic could so link thee to this mischief? By all the good that thou hast reaped by me, stand further from destruction. Speak as a man, and I shall hope to obey thee. Idolaters get hence, bon-king, let go. Thou hug'st thy ruin, and thy country's woe. Well spoke, old father. To him, bade him soundly. Now, by heaven's blest lady, I can scarce keep patience. What devil is this? That cursed Christian, by whose hellish charms our army was o'erthrown. Why do you dally, sir? O, tempt not heaven. Warm not a serpent in your naked bosom.
Discharge them from your court. Thou speak'st like madness. Command the frozen shepherd to the shade. When he sits warm in the sun, the fever sick to add more heat unto his burning pain, these may obey. Tis less extremity than thou enjoins to me. Cast but thine eye upon this beauty. Do it. I'll forgive thee, though jealousy in others finds no pardon. They say thou dost not love. I shall then swear that thou art immortal and no earthly man. O blame then my mortality, not me. It is thy weakness brings thy misery, unhappy prince. Be milder in thy doom. Tis you that must endure the heaven's doom, which fawn remembers just. Thou shalt not live to see it. How fares, my lord! If my poor presence breed dislike, great prince, I am no such neglected soul, will seek to tie you to your word.
My word, dear love, may my religion, crown, state, and kingdom fail when I fail thee. Command Earl Chester to break up the camp without disturbance to our Saxon friends. Send every hour swift posts to hasten on, the king, her brother, to conclude this league, this endless happy peace of love and marriage, till when provide for revels and give charge that nought be wanting which may make our triumphs sportful and free to all. If such fair blood engender ill, man must not look for good. Reading in a book. How low a price bears goodness! All that should make man absolute shines in him. Much reverent, sir, may I without offence give interruption to your holy thoughts? What would you, lady? That which till now now found a language in me.
I am in love. In love? With what? With virtue. There's no blame in that. Nay, sir, with you, with your religious life, your virtue, goodness. If there be a name to express affection greater than that, that would I learn and utter, reverend sir. If there be anything to bar my suit, be charitable and expose it. Your prayers are the same orisons which I will number. Holy Sir, keep not instruction back from willingness. Possess me of that knowledge leads you on to this humility. For well I know, were greatness good, you would not live so low. Are you a virgin? Yes, sir. Your name? Modesta. Your name and virtues meet a modest virgin. Live ever in the sanctimonious way, to heaven and happiness. There's goodness in you.
I must instruct you further. Come, look up. Behold yon firmament. There sits a power, whose footstool is this earth. Oh, learn this lesson, and practice it. He that will climb so high must leave no joy beneath to move his eye. Exit. I apprehend you, sir. On heaven I fix my love. Earth gives us grief. Our joys are all above. For this was man in innocence naked born. To show us wealth hinders our sweet return.
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2 02 - Act 2 36:23
Actus II, Scene I, A Forest. Enter Clown and his sister, great with child. Away, follow me no further. I am none of thy brother. What, with child? Great with child, and knows not who's the father, aunt. I am ashamed to call thee sister. Believe me, brother, he was a gentleman. Nay, I believe that. He gives arms and legs, too, and has made you the herald to blaze him. But Joan, Joan, Sister Joan, can you tell me his name that did it? How shall we call my cousin, your bastard, when we have it? Alas, I know not the gentleman's name, brother. I met him in these woods, the last great hunting. He was so kind and proffered me so much as I had not the heart to ask him more. Not his name? Why, this shows your country breeding now.
Had you been brought up in the city, you'd have got a father first and a child afterwards. Hast thou no marks to know him by? He had most rich attire. A fair hat and feather, a gilt sword, and most excellent hangers. Pox on his hangers! Would he have been gilt for his labor? Had you but heard him swear, you would have thought— Aye, as you did. Swearing and lying goes together still. Did his oaths get you with child? We shall have a roaring boy then, ye faith. Well, sister, I must leave you. Dear brother, stay. Help me to find him out. I'll ask no further. Sifut, who should I find? Who should I ask for? Alas, I know not. He uses in these woods, and these are witness of his oath and promise. We are like to have a hot suit on.
We're not best witnesses, but a knight of the post. Do but inquire this forest. I'll go with you. Some happy fate may guide us till we meet him. Meet him? And what name shall we have for him when we meet him? Sefort, thou neither knowest him nor canst tell what to call him. Was ever man tried with such a business, to have a sister gut with child, and not know who did it? Well, you shall see him. I'll do my best for you. I'll make proclamation. If these woods and trees, as you say, will bear any witness, let them answer. Oh, yes. If there be any man that wants a name will come in for conscience' sake and acknowledge himself to be a whoremaster, he shall have that laid to his charge in an hour.
He shall not be rid on in an age. If he have lands, he shall have an heir. If he have patience, he shall have a wife. If he has neither lands nor patience, he shall have a whore. So ho, boy, so ho, so, so. Prince Uther. Within. So ho, boy, so ho, so, so. Hark! Hark, sister! There's one hollows to us. What a wicked world's this! A man cannot so soon name a whore, but a knave comes presently. And see where he is? Stand close a while, sister. Enter Prince Uther. How like a voice that echoes spake! But, oh, my thoughts are lost forever in amazement! Could I but meet a man to tell her beauties these trees would bend their tops to kiss the air that from my lips should give her praises up? He talks of a woman, sister.
This may be he, brother. View him well. You see, he has a fair sword, but his hangers are fawn. Here did I see her first. Here view her beauty. Oh, had I known her name, I had been happy. Sister, this is he, sure. He knows not thy name neither. A couple of wise fools, ye faith, to get children and not know one another. You weeping leaves, upon whose tender cheeks doth stand a flood of tears at my complaint, who heard my vows and oaths. La, la, he has been a great swearer, too. Tis he, sister. For having overtook her, as I have seen a forward bloodhound strip the swifter of the cry, ready to seize his wished hopes, upon the sudden view, struck with astonishment at his arrived prey, instead of seizure, stands at fearful bay.
Or like to marry a soldier's, who, or took the eyesight-killing Gorgon, at one look, made everlasting stand. So feared my power. Whose cloud aspired the sun dissolved a shower. Pygmalion. Then I tasted thy sad fate, whose ivory picture in my fair were one. Our dotage past imagination, I saw and felt desire. Poxa, your fingering. Did he feel, sister? But enjoyed not. O fate, thou hadst thy days and nights to feed on calm affection. One poor sight, whose all converts my pleasure to perpetual thrall. Embracing thine, thou lostest breath and desire, so I, relating mine, will here expire. For here I vow to you, mournful plants, who were the first made happy by her fame, never to part hence till I know her name.
Give me thy hand, sister. The child has found his father. This is he, sure, as I am a man. Had I been a woman, these kind words would have won me. I should have had a great belly, too, that's certain. Well, I'll speak to him.
Most honest and fleshly-minded gentleman, give me your hand, sir. What art thou that thus rude and boldly darest take notice of a wretch so much allied to misery as I am? Nay, sir, for our alliance I shall be found to be a poor brother-in-law of your worships. The gentlewoman you spake on is my sister. You see what a clue she spreads. Her name is Joan Gotoot. I am her elder. But she has been at it before me. Tis a woman's fault. Box of this bashfulness. Come forward, Jug, pre-think. Speak to him. Have you ever seen me, lady? Seen ye?
It seems she has felt you, too. Here's a young go-to-it a-comin', sir. She is my sister. We all love to go to it, as well as your worship. She's a maid yet, but you may make her a wife when you please, sir. I am amazed with wonder. Tell me, woman, what sin have you committed worthy this? Do you not know me, sir? Know thee? As I do thunder, hell, and mischief, witch, scullion, hag. I see he will marry her. He speaks so like a husband. Death! I will cut their tongues out for this blasphemy. Strumpet, villain, where have you ever seen me? Speak for yourself, with a pox to ye. Slaves, I'll make you curse yourselves for this temptation. Oh, sir, if ever you did speak to me, it was in smoother phrase, in fairer language.
Lightning consume me if I ever saw thee. My rage o'erflows my body. All patience flies me. Beats her. Hold. I beseech you, sir. I have nothing to say to you. Help! Help! Murder! Murder! Enter Tocleo and Oswald. Make haste, sir. This way the sound came. It was at the wood. See where she is, and the prince the price of all our wishes. The prince, you say? He's made a poor subject of me, I am sure. Sweet prince, noble Uta, speak, how fair you, sir. Dear sir, recall yourself. Your fearful absence hath won too much already on the grief of our sad king, from whom our laboring search hath had this fair success in meeting you. His silence and his looks argue distraction. Nay, he's mad, sure. He will not acknowledge my sister, nor the child, neither.
Let us entreat your grace along with us. Your sight will bring new life to the king, your brother. Will you go, sir? Yes. Any weather, guide me, all's hell I see. Man may change air, but not his misery. Exit Prince, Tocleo. Lend me one word with you, sir. Well said, sister. He has a feather, and fair hangers, too. This may be he. What would you, fair one? Sure, I have seen you in these woods, Eerdice. Trust me, never. I never saw this place till at this time my friend conducted me. The more's my sorrow, then. Would I could comfort you. I am a bachelor, but it seems you have a husband. You have been foully o'ershot else. A woman's fault. We are all subject to go to it, sir. Enter Tarklio. Oswald, away.
The prince will not stir a foot without you. I am coming. Farewell, woman. Prithee, make haste. Exit Oswald. Good sir, but one word with you ere you leave us. With me, fair soul? She'll have a fling at him, too. The child must have a father. Have you never seen me, sir? Seen thee? Svut, I have seen many fair faces in my time. Prithee, look up, and do not weep so. Sure, pretty wanton, I have seen this face before. It is enough, though you'll never see me more.
Sinks down. Svut, she's fallen. This place is enchanted. Sure, look to the woman, fellow. Oh, she's dead, she's dead. As you are a man, stay and help, sir. Joan, Joan, Sister Joan. Why, Joan, go to it, I say. Will you cast away yourself, and your child, and me, too? What do you mean, sister? Oh, give me pardon, sir. T'was too much joy oppressed my loving thoughts. I know you were too noble to deny me. Where is he? Who, the gentleman? He's gone, sister. Oh, I am undone, then. Run! Tell him I did but faint for joy. Dear brother, haste! Why dost thou stay? Oh, never cease till he give answer to thee. He? Which he? What do you call him, Troll? Unnatural, brother! Show me the path he took. Why dost thou dally?
Speak! Oh! Which way went he? This way, that way, through the bushes there. Oh, worry through fire, the journey's easy, winged with sweet desire. Heyday, there's some hope of this yet. I'll follow her for kindred's sake. If she miss of her purpose now, she'll challenge all she finds, I see. For if ever we meet with a two-legged creature in the whole kingdom... The child shall have a father. That's certain. Exit. Scene Two. An antechamber at the British Court. Loud music. Enter two with the sword and mace. Cater. Edwin. Two bishops. Aurelius. Austorius. Leading Artesia. Crowned. Constantia. Modestia. Octa. Proximus, a magician. Donobert. Gloucester. Oswald. Tocleo. All pass over the stage. Manet.
Donobert. Gloucester. Edwin. Cater. Come, Gloucester, I do not like this hasty marriage. She was quickly wooed and won. Not six days since arrived an enemy to sue for peace. And now crown Queen of Britain. This is strange. Her brother, too, made us quick-speed in coming, leaving his Saxons and his starved troops to take the advantage whilst was offered. For heaven, I fear the King's too credulous. Our army is discharged, too. Yes, and our general commanded home, son Edwin. Have you seen him since? He's come to court. But will not view the presence, nor speak unto the king. He is so discontent at this so strange alliance with the Saxon, as nothing can persuade his patience. You know his humour will endure no check.
No, if the king oppose it. All crosses feeds both his spleen and his impatience. Those affections are in him like powder, apt to inflame with every little spark, and blow up all his reason. Edel of Chester is a noble soldier. So is he by the rude ever most faithful to the king and kingdom, however his passions guide him. Enter Edel with captains. See where he comes, my lord. Welcome to the court, brave Earl. Do not deceive me by your flatteries. Is not the Saxon here? The League confirmed? The marriage ratified? The court divided with pagan infidels, the least part Christians, at least to their commands. O, the gods! It is a thought that takes away my sleep and dulls my senses, so I scarcely know you.
Prepare my horses. I'll away to Chester. What shall we do with our companies, my lord? Keep them at home to increase cuckolds, and get some cases for your captainships. Smooth up your brows. The wars have spoiled your faces, and few will now regard you. Preserve your patience, sir. Preserve your honours, lords, your country's safety, your lives and lands from strangers. What black devil could so bewitch the king so to discharge a royal army in the height of conquest? Nay, even already made victorious to give such credit to an enemy, a starved foe, a straggling fugitive, beaten beneath our feet, so low-dejected, so servile, and so base, as hope of life had won them all to leave the land for ever.
It was the King's will. It was your want of wisdom that should have laid before his tender youth the dangers of a state, where foreign powers bandy for sovereignty with lawful kings, who, being settled once to assure themselves, will never fall to seek the blood and life of all competitors. Your words sound well, my lord, and point at safety, both for the realm and us. But why did you, within whose power it lay as general, with full commission to dispose the war, lend ear to parley with the weakened foe. O, the good gods! And on that parley came this embassy. You will hear me. Your letters did declare it to the king, both of the peace and of conditions brought by the Saxon lady, whose fond love has thus bewitched him.
I will curse you all as black as hell unless you hear me. Your gross mistake would make wisdom herself run madding through the streets and quarrel with her shadow. Death! Why killed ye not that woman? Mr. Brown. O my lord! The great devil, take me quick, had I been by, and all the women of the world were barren, she should have died, ere he had married her on these conditions. Mr. Brown. It is not reason that directs you thus. Then have I none, for all I have directs me. Never was man so Palpably abused, so basely martyred, bought and sold to scorn, my honour, fame, and hopeful victories, the loss of time, expenses, blood, and fortunes, all vanished into nothing. This rage is vain, my lord. What the king does, nor they, nor you, can help.
My sword must fail me, then. Against whom will you expose it? What's that to you? Against all the devils in hell to guard my country. These are airy words. Sir, you tread too hard upon my patience. I speak the duty of a subject's faith, and say again, had you been here in presence, what the king did, you had not dared to cross it. I will trample on his life and soul that says it. My lord, come, come. Now before heaven. Dear sir. Not dare? Thou liest beneath thy lungs. No more, son Edwin. I have done, sir. I take my leave. But thou shalt not. You shall take no leave of me, sir. For wisdom's sake, my lord. Sir, I leave him, and you, and all of you, the court and king, and let my sword and friends shuffle for Edole's safety.
Stay, you here, and hug the Saxons till they cut your throats, or bring the land to servile slavery. Such yokes and baseness Chester must not suffer. Go, and repent betimes these foul misdeeds, for in this league all our whole kingdom bleeds, which I'll prevent or perish. Exit Edel, Captains. See how his rage transports him. These passions set apart. A braver soldier breathes not in the world this day. I wish his own worth do not court his ruin. The king must rule, and we must learn to obey. True virtue still directs the noble way. Scene III. Hall of State in the Palace. Loud music. Enter Aurelius, Artesia, Austorius, Octa, Proximus, Tocleo, Oswald. Hermit. Why is the court so dull? Methinks each room and angle of our palace should appear stuck full of objects fit for mirth and triumphs, to show our high content.
Oswald, fill wine! Must we begin the revels? Be it so, then. Reach me the cup. I'll now begin a health to our loved queen, the bright Artesia, the royal Saxon king, our warlike brother. Go and command all the whole court to pledge it. Fill to the hermit there, most reverend Anselm. We'll do thee honor first to pledge my queen. I drink no healths, great king, and if I did, I would be loth to part with health to those that have no power to give it back again. Mistake not. It is the argument of love and duty to our queen and us. But he owes none, it seems. I do to virtue, madam, temperate minds, covets that health to drink, which nature gives in every spring to man. He that doth hold his body, but a tenement at will, bestows no cost, but to repair what's ill.
Yet if your healths or heat of wine, fair princes, could this old frame or these crass limbs restore, or keep out death or sickness, then fill more. I'll make fresh way for appetite, if no on such a prodigal who would wealth bestow. He speaks not like a guest to grace a wedding. Enter Takleo. No, sir, but like an envious impostor. A Christian slave, a cynic. What virtue could decline your kingly spirit to such respect of him? Whose magic spells met with your vanquished troops, and turned your arms to that necessity of fight, which through despair of any hope to stand but by his charms, had been defeated in a bloody conquest. "'Twas magic, hell-bred magic, did it, sir, and that's a course, my lord, which we esteem, in all our Saxon wars unto the last and lowest ebb of servile treachery."
Sure, you are deceived. It was the hand of heaven that in his virtue gave us victory. Is there a power in man that can strike fear through a general camp or create spirits in requiem bosoms above present sense? To blind the sense there may, with apparition of well-armed troops within themselves are air, formed into human shapes, and such that day were by that sorcerer raised to cross our fortunes. There is a law tells us that words want force to make deeds void. Examples must be shown by instances alike, ere I believe it. "'Tis easily performed, believe me, sir. Propose your own desires, and give but way to what our magic here shall straight perform, and then let his or our deserts be censured."
We could not wish a greater happiness than what dissatisfaction brings with it. Let him proceed, fair brother. He shall, sir. Come, learned Proximus, this task be thine. Let thy great charms confound the opinion this Christian by his spells hath falsely won. Great King, propound your wishes, then. What persons, of what state, what numbers, or how armed, please your own thoughts? They shall appear before you. Strange art! What think'st thou, Reverend Hermit? Let him go on, sir. Wilt thou behold his cunning? Right gladly, sir. It would be my joy to tell that I was here to laugh at him and hell. I like thy confidence. His saucy impudence. Proceed to the trial. Speak your desires, my lord, and be it placed in any angle under the moon, the center of the earth, the sea, the air.
The region of the fire, nay, held itself, and I'll present it. We'll have no sight so fearful, only this. If all thy art can reach it, show me here the two great champions of the Trojan War, Achilles and brave Hector, our great ancestor, both in their warlike habits. Armor, shield, and weapons, then in use for fight. "'Tis done, my lord. Commander, halt in silence, as each man will respect his life or danger." Armel, plesketh. Enter spirits. Quidris, attend me. The apparition comes. On our displeasure, let all keep place in silence. Within, drums beat marches. Enter Proximus, bringing in Hector, attired and armed after the Trojan manor, with target, sword, and battleaxe, a trumpet before him.
And a spirit in flame colors with a torch. At the other door, Achilles with his spear and falchion, a trumpet, and a spirit in black before him. Trumpets sound alarm, and they manage their weapons to begin the fight. And after some charges, the hermit steps between them, at which, seeming amazed, the spirits tremble. Thunder within. What means this day, bright Armel, Plesgith? Why fear you and fall back? Renew the alarms and enforce the combat, or hell or darkness circles you forever. We dare not. Ha! Our charms are all dissolved, Armel away. Tis worse than hell to us whilst here we stay. Exit spirits. What? At a nonplus, sir? Command them back for shame. What power are all my spells? Return you, hellhounds!
Amel! Blazgeth! Double damnation sound you! By all the infernal powers, the prince of devils is in the hermit's habit. What else could force my spirits quake or tremble thus? Weak argument to hide your want of skill. Does the devil fear the devil, or war with hell? They have not been acquainted long, it seems. No, misbelieving pagan, even that power that overthrew your forces still lets you see he only can control both hell and thee. Disgrace and mischief. I'll enforce new charms, new spells and spirits raised from the low abyss of his unbottomed depths. We have enough, sir. Give all your charms. We'll find some other time to praise your art. I dare not but acknowledge that heavenly power my heart stands witness to.
Be not dismayed, my lords, at this disaster, nor thou, my fairest queen, will change the scene to some more pleasing sports. Lead to your chamber. Howe'er in this thy pleasures find a cross, our joy's too fixed here to suffer loss. Which I shall add to, sir, with news I bring. The prince, your brother, lives. And comes to grace this high and heaven-knit marriage. Why dost thou flatter me to make me think such happiness attends me? Enter Prince Uther and Oswald. His presence speaks my truth, sir. Force me, tis he. Look, Gloucester. A blessing beyond hope, sir. Ha, tis he! Welcome, my second comfort. Artesia, dearest love, it is my brother, my princely brother. All my kingdom's hope. O give him welcome, as thou lovest my health.
You have so free a welcome, sir, from me. Has this your presence has such power? I swear, or me a stranger, that I must forget my country, name, and friends, and count this place my joy and birthright. Tis she, tis she, I swear. O ye good gods, tis she, that face within these woods. Where first I saw her, captive my senses, and thus many months barred me from all society of men. How came she to this place, Brother Aurelius? Speak that angel's name, her heaven-blessed name, oh, speak it quickly, sir. It is Artesia, the royal Saxon princess. A woman, and no deity, no feigned shape, to mock the reason of admiring sense, on whom a hope as low as mine may live. Love and enjoy, dear brother, may it not?
She is all the good or virtue thou canst name, my wife, my queen. Ha! Your wife! Which you shall find, sir, if that time and fortune may make my love but worthy of your trial. Oh! What troubles you, dear brother? Why was so strange and fixed an eye dost thou behold my joys? You are not well, sir. Yes. Yes, oh, you immortal powers! Why has poor man so many entrances for sorrow to creep in at, when our sense is much too weak to hold his happiness? Oh, say I was born deaf, and let your silence confirm in me the knowing my defect. At least be charitable to conceal my sin, for hearing is no less in me, dear brother. No more. I see thou art a rival in the joys of my high bliss. Come, my Artesia, the days most praised when tis eclipsed by night.
Great good must have as great ill opposite. Stay, hear but a word. Yet now I think on it, this is your wedding night, and word mine I should be angry with least loss of time. Envy speaks no such words, has no such looks. Sweet rest unto you both. Light to our nuptial chamber. Could you speak so? I would not fear how much my grief did grow. Light to our chamber. On, on, set on. Exeunt. Manet Prince. Could you speak so? I would not fear how much my griefs did grow. Those were her very words. Sure, I am waking. She wrung me by the hand and spake them to me. With a passionate affection. Perhaps she loves me, and now repents her choice in marriage with my brother. O fond man, how darest thou trust thy traitor's thoughts, thus to betray thyself?
Twas but a waking dream, wherein thou madest thy wishes speak, not her, in which thy foolish hope strives to prolong a wretched being. So sickly children play with health-loved toys. which for a time delay, but do not cure the fit. Be then a man, meet that destruction which thou canst not flee. From naught to live, make it thy best to die, and call her now, whom thou didst hope to wed, thy brother's wife. Thou art too near a kin, and such an act above all names a sin not to be blotted out. Heaven pardon me. Enter waiting gentlewoman with a jewel. The noble prince, I take it, sir. You speak me what I should be, lady. No, by that name, sir, Queen Artesia greets you. Alas, good virtue, how is she mistaken?
Commending her affection in this jewel, sir. She binds my service to her. Ha! A jewel! Tis a fair one, trust me, and methinks it much resembles something I have seen with her. It is an artificial crab, sir. A creature that goes backward. True, from the way it looks. There is no moral in it alludes to herself. Tis your construction gives you that, sir. She's a woman. And, like this, may use her legs and eyes, too several ways. Just like the sea crab, which on the mussel prays while he builds at a stone. Prithee, tell me, art thou honest? I hope I seem no other, sir. And those that seem so are sometimes bad enough? If they will accuse themselves for want of witness, let them. I am not so foolish.
I see thou art wise. Come, speak me truly. What is the greatest sin? That which man never acted. What has been done is at the least common to all as one. Dost think thy lady is of thy opinion? She's a bad scholar else. I have brought her up, and she dares owe me still. Ay, tis a fault in greatness they dare owe. Many ere they pay one. But darest thou expose thy scholar to my examining? Yes, in good troth, sir, and pray put her to it, too. "'Tis a hard lesson if she answer it not." "'Thou knowest the hardest." "'As far as a woman may, sir." "'I commend thy plainness. When wilt thou bring me to thy lady?" "'Next opportunity I attend you, sir." "'Thanks. Take this, and commend me to her." "'Think of your sea-crab, sir, I pray."
Exit. "'Oh, by any means, lady, what should all this tend to?' If it be love or lust that thus incites her, the sin is horrid and incestuous. If to betray my life, what hopes she by it? Yes, it may be a practice twixt themselves to expel the Britains and ensure the state through our destructions. All this may be valid with a deeper reach in villainy than all my thoughts can guess at. However, I will confer with her. And if I find lust hath given life to envy in her mind, I may prevent the danger, so men wise by the same step by which they fell may rise. Vices are virtues if so thought and seen, and trees with phallus roots branch soonest green. Exit. End of act two.
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3 03 - Act 3 46:54
Before the palace of King Aurelius, Enter Clown and his sister. Come, sister, thou art all fool, all mad woman. Prithee, have patience. We are now at court. At court?
That proves thy madness. Was there ever any woman in thy taking travel to court for a husband? Slid. "'Tis enough for them to get children, and the city to keep them, and the country to find nurses. Everything must be done in his due place, sister." Be but content a while. For sure I know this journey will be happy. Oh, dear brother, this night my sweet friend came to comfort me. I saw him and embraced him in mine arms. Why did you not hold him and call me to help you? Alas, I thought I had been with him still, but when I waked... Ah, pox of all loggerheads, then you were but in a dream all this while, and we may still go look him. Well, since you are come to court, cast your cat's eyes about you and...
Either find him out you dreamt on, or some other, for I'll trouble myself no further. Enter Donobert, Cater, Edwin, and Tocleo. See, see, here comes more couriers. Look about you. Come, pray, view em' all well. The old man has none of the marks about him. The other have both swords and feathers. What thinkest thou of that tall young gentleman? He much resembles him, but sure, my friend, brother, was not so high of stature. Oh, beast! Was thou got a child with a short thing, too? Come, come. I'll hear no more on it. Go, Lord Edwin. Tell her this day her sister shall be married to Cador, Earl of Cornwall. So shall she to thee, brave Edwin, if she'll have my blessing. She is addicted to a single life.
She will not hear of marriage. Fear it not. Go you from me to her. Use your best skill, my lord, and if you fail, I have a trick shall do it. Haste, haste about it. Sir, I am gone. My hope is in your help more than my own. And worthy Tocleo, to your care I must commend this business for lights and music and what else is needful. I shall, my lord. We would untreat a word, sir. Come forward, sister. Exit Donobert. Tocleo. Cater. What lack'st thou, fellow? I lack a father for a child, sir. How? A godfather? No, sir. We mean the own father. It may be you, sir, for anything we know. I think the child is like you. Like me? Prithee, where is it? Nay, tis not born yet, sir. Tis forthcoming, you see. The child must have a father.
What do you think of my sister? Why, I think if she ne'er had husband, she's a whore, and thou a fool. Farewell. Exit. I thank you, sir. Well, pull up thy heart, sister. If there be any law on the court, this fellow shall father it, because he uses me so scurbly. There's a great wedding towards, they say. "'Will amongst them for a husband for thee." Enter Sir Nicodemus with a letter. If we miss there, I'll have another bout with him that abused me. See, look, there comes another hat and feather. This should be a close lecture. He's reading of a love letter. Earl Cador's Marriage, and I'm Asked to Grace It. So-so. This night shall make me famous for presentments. How now? What are you? A couple of Great Britons, you may see, by our bellies, sir.
And what of this, sir? Why, thus the matter stands, sir. There's one of your courtiers, hunting nags, has made a gap through another man's enclosure. Now, sir, here's the question. Who should be at charge of a furbrush to stop it? Ha! Ha! This is out of my element. The law must end it. Your Worship says well. For surely I think some lawyer had a hand in the business. We have such a troublesome issue. But what's thy business with me now? Nay, sir, the business is done already, you may see by my sister's belly. Oh, now I find thee. This gentlewoman, it seems, has been humbled. As low as the ground would give her leave, sir, and your worship knows this. Though there be many fathers without children— Yet to have a child without a father were most unnatural.
That's true, in faith. I never heard of a child yet that e'er begot his father. Why, true, you say wisely, sir. And therefore I conclude that he that got the child is, without all question, the father of it. Aye, now you come to the matter, sir, and our suit is to your worship for the discovery of this father. Why, lives he in the court here? Yes, sir, and I desire but marriage. And does the knave refuse it? Come, come, be merry, wench, he shall marry thee, and keep the child too. If my knighthood can do anything, I am bound by mine orders to help distressed ladies, and can there be a greater injury to a woman with child than to lack a father for it? I am ashamed of your simpleness. Come, come, give me a courtier's fee for my pains, and I'll be thy advocate myself, and justice shall be found.
Nay! I'll sue the law for it, but give me my fee first. If all the money I have the world will do it, you shall have it, sir. An angel does it. Nay, there's two for your better eyesight, sir. Why, well said. Give me thy hand, wench. I'll teach thee a trick for all this. Shall get a father for thy child presently. In this it is. Mark now. You meet a man, as you meet me now. Thou claimest marriage of me, and layest the child to my charge. I deny it. Push! There's nothing. Hold thy claim fast. Thy words carries it, and no law can withstand it. Is't possible? Hast all opposition. Her own word carries it. Let her challenge any man. The child shall call him father. There's a trick for your money now.
Truth, sir, we thank you. We'll make use of your trick, and go no further to seek the child a father, for we challenge you, sir. Sister, lay it to him. He shall marry thee. I shall have a worshipful old man to my brother. Ha! I like thy pleasantness. Nay, indeed, sir, I do challenge you. You think we jest, sir? Ay, by my troth do I. I like thy wit in faith. Thou shalt live at court with me. Didst never hear of Nicodemus nothing? I am the man. Nothing? Slid, we are out again. Thou wast never got with child with nothing, sir.
I know not what to say. Never grieve, wench. Show me the man, and process shall fly out. Tis enough for us to find the children. We look that you should find the father. And therefore either do us justice, or we'll stand to our first challenge. Would you have justice without an adversary? Unless you can show me the man, I can do you no good in it. Why, then I hope you'll do us no harm, sir. You'll restore my money. What? My fee? Marry. Law forbid it. Find out the party, and you shall have justice. Your fault closed up, and all shall be amended. The child, his father, and the law defended. Exit. Well, he has deserved his fee, indeed, for he has brought our suit to a quick end, I promise you. And yet— The child has never a father, nor we have no more money to seek after him.
A shame of all lecherous plequets. Now you look like a cat had newly kittened. What will you do now, Tro? Follow me no further, lest I beat your brains out. Oh, impose upon me any punishment rather than leave me now. Well, I think I am bewitched with thee. I cannot find in my heart to forsake her. There was never a sister would have abused a poor brother as thou hath done. I am even pined away with fretting. There's nothing but flesh and bones about me. Well. And I had my money again, it were some comfort. Thunder. Hark, sister. Does it not thunder? Oh, yes, most fearfully. What shall we do, brother? Marry, in get some shelter, ere the storm catch us. Away, let's away, I prithee. Enter the devil in man's habit, richly attired.
His feet and his head horrid. "'Tis he! Stay, brother! Dear brother, stay!" What's the matter now? My love, my friend is come. Yonder he goes. Where, where? Show me where. I'll stop him, if the devil be not in him. Look there! Look yonder! Oh, dear friend! Pity my distress, for heaven and goodness do but speak to me. She calls me, and yet drives me headlong from her. Poor mortal! thou and I are much uneven. Thou must not speak of goodness, nor of heaven, if I confer with thee, but be of comfort, whilst men do breathe, and Britain's name be known. The fatal fruit thou bearest within thy womb shall here be famous. Till the day of doom. Slid! Who's that talk so? I can see nobody. Then art thou blind or mad?
See where he goes and beckons me to come. Oh, lead me forth. I'll follow thee in spite of fear or death. Exit. Oh, brave! She'll run to the devil for a husband. She's dark mad, sure, and talks to a shadow, for I could see no substance. Well, I'll after her. The child was got by chance, and the father must be found at all adventure.
Enter Hermit, Modesta, and Edwin. O Reverend Sir, by you my heart hath reached at the large hopes of holy piety, and for this I craved your company, here in your sight religiously to vow my chaste thoughts up to heaven, and make you now the witness of my faith. Angels assist thy hopes. What means my love? Thou art my promised wife. To part with willingly what friends and life can make no good assurance of. O find remorse, fair soul, to love and merit, and yet recant thy vow. Never! This world and I are parted now for ever. To find the way to bliss, O happy woman, thou hast learned the hardest lesson well I see. Now show thy fortitude in constancy, let these thy friends Thy sad departure weep.
Thou shalt but loose the wealth thou couldst not keep. My contemplation calls me. I must leave ye. Reverend, sir, persuade not her to leave me. My lord, I do not, nor to cease to love ye. I only pray her faith may fix its stand. Marriage was blessed, I know. With Heaven's own hand. Exit. You hear him, lady? T'is not a virgin state, but sanctity of life must make you happy. Good sir. You say you love me, gentle Edwin. Even by that love I do beseech you. Leave me. Think of your father's tears, your weeping friends, whom cruel grief makes pale and bloodless for you. Would I were dead to all! Why do you weep? Oh, who would live to see how men with care and cost seek misery? Why do you seek it, then?
What joy, what pleasure can give you comfort in a single life? The contemplation of a happy death, which is to me so pleasing that I think no torture could divert me. What's this world wherein you'd have me walk but a sad passage to a dread judgment seat? From whence, even now, we are but bailed upon our good a-bearing, till that great sessions come when death, the crier, will surely summon us and all to appear, to plead us guilty, or our bail to clear. Soft Music. What music's this? Enter two bishops. Donobert. Gloucester. Cater. Constancia. Oswald. Tocleo. Have now resolve and think upon my love. This sounds the marriage of your beauteous sister, virtuous Constantia, the noble Cador. Look and behold this pleasure.
Cover me with night. It is a vanity not worth the sight. See, see, she's yonder. Pass on, son Cador, daughter Constantia. I beseech you all, unless she first moves speech, salute her not. Edwin, what good success? Nothing as yet, unless this object take her. See, see, her eye is fixed upon her sister. Seem careless all, and take no notice of her. On afore there. Come, my Constantia. Not speak to me, nor deign to cast an eye to look on my despised poverty. I must be more charitable. Pray, stay, lady. Are not you she whom I did once call, sister? I did acknowledge such a name to one, whilst she was worthy of it, in whose folly, since you neglect your fame and friends together, in you I drowned a sister's name forever.
Your looks did speak no less. It now begins to work. This sight has moved her. I knew this trick would take or nothing. Though you disdain in me a sister's name. Your charity, methinks, should be so strong to instruct, ere you reject. I am a wretch, even Folly's instance, who perhaps have erred, not having known the goodness bears so high and fair a show in you, which being expressed, I may recount this low, despised life, and please those friends whom I moved to grief. She is coming, you Faith. Be merry, Edwin. Since you desire instruction, you shall have it. What is should make you thus desire to live, vowed to a single life? Because I know I cannot fly from death. O my good sister, I beseech you, hear me.
This world is but a mask, catching weak eyes, with what is not ourselves, but our disguise, a vizard that falls off. The dance being done, and leaves death's glass for all to look upon. Our best happiness here lasts but a night, whose burning tapers makes false wear seem right. Who knows not this, and will not know. Now provide some better shift before his shame be spied, and knowing this vain world at last will leave him, shake off these robes that help but to deceive him. Her words are powerful. I am amazed to hear her. Her soul's enchanted with infected spells. Leave her, best girl, for now in thee I'll seek the fruits of age, posterity. Out of my sight! Sure, I was half asleep or drunk when I begot thee.
Good sir, forbear! What say you to that, sister? The joy of children, a blessed mother's name. Oh, who without much grief can lose such fame? Who can enjoy it without sorrow, rather? And that most certain were the joys unsure, seeing the fruit that we beget endure so many miseries that oft we pray the heavens to shut up their afflicted day. At best we do but bring forth airs to die and fill the coffins of our enemy. Oh, my soul! Hear her no more, Constantia. She's sure bewitched with error. Leave her, girl. Then must I leave all goodness, sir, away? Stand off, I say. How's this? I have no father, friend, no husband now. All are but borrowed robes, in which we mask, to waste and spend the time when all our life is but one good betwixt two ague days, which from the first air we have time to praise.
A second fever takes us. O my best sister, my soul's eternal friend, forgive the rashness of my distempered tongue. For how could she, knew not herself, know thy felicity, from which worlds cannot now remove me? Art thou mad too, fond woman? What's thy meaning? To seek eternal happiness in heaven, which all this world affords not. Think of thy vow. Thou art my promised wife. Pray trouble me no further. Strange alteration. Why do you stand at gaze, you sacred priests? You holy men, be equal to the gods. and consummate my marriage with this woman. Her self gives bar, my lord, to your desires and our performance. Tis against the law and orders of the church to force a marriage. How am I wronged?
Was this your trick, my lord? I am abused past sufferance. Grief and amazement strive which sense of mine shall loose her being first. Yet let me call thee daughter. Me, wife. Your words are air. You speak of want to wealth, and wish her sickness newly raised to health. Bewitched girls, tempt not an old man's fury, that hath no strength to uphold his feeble age but what your sights give life to. Oh, beware, and do not make me curse you. Modesta, kneeling. Dear father, here at your feet we kneel. Grant us but this. That in your sight and hearing the good hermit may plead our cause, which, if it shall not give such satisfaction as your age desires, we will submit to you. You gave us life. Save not our bodies, but our souls from death.
This gives some comfort yet. Rise with my blessings. Have patience, noble Cador, worthy Edwin. Send for the hermit that we may confer. For sure religion ties you not to leave your careful father thus. If so it be, take you content, and give all grief to me. Exeunt. Scene Three. A Cave in the Forest. Thunder and Lightning. Enter Devil. Mix light and darkness, earth and heaven dissolve. Be of one piece again, and turn— to chaos. Break all your works, you powers, and spoil the world. Or, if you will maintain Earth still, give way and life to this abortive birth now coming, whose fame shall add unto your oracles. Lucina, Hecate, dreadful queen of night, bright proserpine, be pleased for Ceres' love.
From Stygian darkness, summon up the fates, and in a moment bring them quickly hither, lest death do vent her birth and her together. Thunder. Assist you, spirits of infernal deeps, squint-eyed Erecto, midnight incubus. Rise, rise to aid this birth prodigious. Enter Lucina and the Three Fates. Thanks, Hecate. Hail, sister to the gods. There lies your way. Haste with the fates and help. Give quick dispatch unto her laboring throes, to bring this mixture of infernal seed to humane being. Exit fates. And to beguile her pains, till back you come. Antics shall dance, and music fill the room. Dance. Thanks, Queen of Shades. Farewell, great servant to the Infernal King. In honour of this child the fates shall bring, all their assisting powers of knowledge, arts, learning wisdom, all the hidden parts of all admiring prophecy, to foresee the event of times to come, his art shall stand a wall of brass to guard the Britain land.
Even from this minute, all his arts appears, manlike in judgment, person, state, and years. Upon his breast the fates have fixed his name, and since his birthplace was this forest here, they now have named him Merlin Sylvester. And Merlin's name in Brittany shall live, whilst men inhabit here, or fates can give power to amazing wonder. Envy shall weep, and mischief sit and shake her ebon wings, whilst all the world of Merlin's magic sings. Exit. Scene Four. The Forest. Enter Clown. Well, I wonder how my poor sister does after all this thundering. I think she's dead, for I can hear no tidings of her. Those woods yield small comfort for her. I could meet nothing but a swineherd's wife, keeping hogs by the forest side.
But neither she nor none of her sows would stir a foot to help us. Indeed, I think she durst not trust herself among the trees with me, for I must needs confess I offered some kindness to her. Well, I would fain know what's become of my sister. If she have brought me a young cousin, his face may be a picture to find his father by. So, oh, Sister Joan, Joan, go to it. Where art thou? Here, here, brother. Stay by the while. I'll come to thee. Oh, brave, she is alive still. I know her voice. She speaks, and speaks cheerfully, methinks. How now? What moon-calf has she got with her? Enter Joan and Merlin with a book. Come, my dear Merlin, why dost thou fix thine eyes so deeply on that book? To sound the depths of arts, of learning, wisdom, knowledge.
Oh, my dear, dear son, those studies fit'st thee when thou art a man. Why, mother, I can be but half a man at best, and that is your mortality. The rest in me is spirit. "'Tis not meat nor time that gives this growth and bigness. No, my years shall be more strange than yet my birth appears." Look, mother, there's my uncle. How dost thou know him, son? Thou never sawest him. Yet I know him, and know the pains he has taken for ye to find out my father. Give me your hand, good uncle.
I'd laugh at that, you faith. Do you know me, sir? Yes. By the same token that e'en now you kissed the swineherd's wife in the woods, and would have done more, if she would have let you, uncle. A witch. A witch. A witch, sister. Read him out of your company. He is either a witch or a conjurer. He could never have known this else. Pray love him, brother. He is my son.
This is worse than all the rest, your faith. By his beard, he is more like your husband. Let me see. Is your great belly gone? Yes, and this the happy fruit. What? This harder joke? A child born with a beard on his face? Yes, and strong legs to go, and teeth to eat. You can nurse up yourself, then. There's some charges save for soap and cattle. Slid, I have heard of some that has been born with teeth, but never none with such a talking tongue before. Come, come. You must use him kindly, brother. Did you but know his worth, you would make much of him? Make much of a monkey? This is worse than Tom Thumb, the little fart in his mother's belly. A child to speak, eat, and go the first hour of his birth.
Nay, such a baby as had need of a barber before he was born, too. Why, sister! This is monstrous, and shames all our kindred. That thus, against nature and our common births he comes thus furnished to salute the world, is power of fate and gift of his great father. Why, of what profession is your father, sir? He keeps a hothouse in the Low Countries. Will you see him, sir? See him? Why, sister, has the child found his father? Yes, and I'll fetch him, uncle. Exit. Do not uncle me till I know your kindred. For my conscience some baboon begot thee. Surely thou art horribly deceived, sister. This urchin cannot be of thy breeding. I shall be ashamed to call him cousin, though his father be a gentleman.
Enter Merlin and Devil. Now, my kind uncle, see? The child has found his father. This is he. The Devil it is. Is this your sweetheart, sister? Have we run through the country, haunted the city, and examined the court, to find out a gallant with a hat and feather, and a silken sword and golden hangers? And do you now bring me to a ragamuffin with a face like a frying pan? Fie, brother, you mistake! Behold him better. How's this? Do you juggle with me, or are mine eyes matches? Hat and feather, sword and hangers, and all. This is a gallant indeed, sister. This has all the marks of him we look for. And you have found him now, sir. Give me your hand. I now must call you brother. Mr. Not till you have married my sister, for all this while she's still but your horse, sir.
Mr. Thou art too plain. I'll satisfy that wrong to her and thee, and all with liberal hand. Come, why art thou fearful? Mr. Nay, I am not afraid, and you were the devil, sir. Mr. Thou need'st not. Keep with thy sister still, and I'll supply your wants. You shall lack nothing that gold and wealth can purchase. Thank you, brother. We have gone many a weary step to find you. You may be a husband for a lady, for you are far-fetched and dear bought, I assure you. Pray, how should I call your son my cousin here? His name is Merlin. Merlin? Your hand, cousin Merlin. For your father's sake, I accept you to my kindred. If you grow in all things as your beard does, you shall be talked on. By your mother's side, cousin, you come of the go-to-its, Suffolk-bred.
But our standing house is at Harkle in the Hole and Layton Buzzard. For your father, no doubt you may from him claim titles of worship, but I cannot describe it. I think his ancestors came first from Helbry in Wales, cousin. No matter whence we do derive our name. All brittany shall ring of Merlin's fame, and wonder at his acts. Go hence to Wales. There live a while. There, Vortiger, the king, builds castles and strongholds, which cannot stand unless supported by young Merlin's hand. There shall thy fame begin. Wars are a breeding. The Saxons practice treason, yet unseen, which shortly shall break out. Fair love, farewell. Dear son and brother, here must I lead you all. Yet still I will be near at Merlin's call.
Exit. Will you go, uncle? Yes, I'll follow you, cousin. Well, I do most horribly begin to suspect my kindred. This brother-in-law of mine is the devil, sure. And though he hides his horns with his hat and feather, I spied his cloven foot for all his cunning. Exit. Scene Five. The British Court. Enter Astorius, Octa, and Proximus. Come, come, time calls our close complots to action. Go, Proximus, with winged speed, fly hence. Hide thee to whales. Salute great Vortiger with these our letters. Bid the King to arms, tell him we have new friends. More forces landed in Norfolk and Northumberland. Bid him make haste to meet us. If he keep his word, we'll part the realm between us. Bend all thine art to quit that late disgrace the Christian Hermit gave thee.
Make thy revenge both sure and home. That thought, sir, spurs me on. Till I have wrought their swift destruction.
Go, then, and prosper. Okta, be vigilant. Speak. Are the forts possessed? The guards made sure. Revolve, I pray, on how large consequence, the bare event and sequel of our hopes, jointly consists, that have embarked our lives upon the hazard of the least miscarriage. All sure, the queen your sister hath contrived, the cunning plot so sure, as at an instant the brothers shall be both surprised and taken. And both shall die, yet one a while must live, till we by him have gathered strength and power to meet bold Iedal, their stern general, that now, contrary to the king's command, hath reunited all his cashier troops, and this way beats his drums to threaten us. Then are plots discovered. Come, thou art a fool.
His army and his life is given unto us. Where is the queen, my sister? In conference with the prince. Bring the guards nearer. All is fair and good. Their conference, I hope, shall end in blood. Exeunt Scene Six. A Room in the Palace. Enter Prince and Artesia. Come, come, you do but flatter. What you term love is but a dream of blood, Wakes with enjoying, and with open eyes forget, Condemned and lost. I must be wary, her words are dangerous. True. We'll speak of love no more, then. Nay, if you will, you may, Tis but in jest, and yet so children play, With fiery flames, and covet what is bright. But feeling his effects abhor the light. Pleasure is like a building. The more high, the narrower still it grows.
Cedars do die soonest at the top. How does your instance suit? From art and nature to make sure the root and lay a fast foundation, ere I try the uncertain changes of a wavering sky. Make your example thus. You have a kiss. Kiss. Was it not pleasing? Above all name to express it. Yet now the pleasure's gone, and you have lost your joy's possession. Yet when you please, this flood may ebb again. But where it never ebbs, there runs the main. Who can attain such hopes? I'll show the way to it, give you a taste once more of what you may enjoy. Kiss. Impudent whore. I were more false than atheism can be, should I not call this high felicity. If I should trust your faith, alas I fear, you soon would change belief.
I would covet martyrdom to make it confirmed. Give me your hand on that. You'll keep your word? I will. Enough! Help, husband! King Aurelius! Help! Rescue! Betrayed! Artesia! Nay. Then tis I them betrayed, I see. Yet with thy blood I'll end thy treachery. How now? What troubles you? Is this you, sir? But that even now would suffer martyrdom to win your hopes? And is there now such terror in the names of men to fright you? Nay, then I see what metal you are made on. Ha! Was it betrayal? Then I ask your pardon. What a dull slave was I to be so fearful? I'll trust her no more, yet try the utmost. I am resolved. No brother, no man breathing, were he my blood's begetter, should withhold me from your love.
I'd leap into his bosom, and from his breast pull forth that happiness heaven had reserved in you for my enjoying. Ay, now you speak a lover like a prince. Treason! Treason! Again? Help, Saxon princes! Dreesen! Enter Austorius, Octa, etc. Rescue the queen! Strike down the villain! Enter Edel, Aurelius, Donobert, Cater, Edwin, Tocleo, Oswald at the other door. Call in the guards! The prince in danger! Fall back, dear sir, my breast shall buckle you! Beat down their weapons! Slave, wert thou made of brass, my soul shall bite thee. Withdraw on pain of death. Where is the traitor? Oh, save your life, my lord. Let it suffice. My beauty forced mine own captivity. Who did attempt to wrong thee? Hear me, sir.
Oh, my sad soul! Was thou—? Oh, do not stand to speak. One minute's stay prevents a second speech forever. Make our guard strong. My dear Artesia, let us know thy wrongs and our own dangers. The prince, your brother, with these Britain lords, have all agreed to take me hence by force and marry me to him. The devil shall wed thee first. Thy baseness and thy lust confound and rot thee. He courted me even now, and in my ear shamed not to plead his most dishonest love and their attempts to seize your sacred person. Either to shut you up within some prison, or, which is worse, I fear, to murder you. Tis all as false as hell. And as foul as she is. You know me, sir. Yes, deadly sin, we know you, and shall discover all your villainy.
Chester, forbear. Their treasons, sir, are plain. Why are their soldiers lodged so near the court? Nay, why came he in arms so suddenly? You fleering antics, do not wake my fury. Fury? Ratsbane, do not urge me. Good sir, keep farther from them. O my sick heart, she is a witch by nature, a devil by art. Bite thine own slanderous tongue, tis thou art false. I have observed your passions long ere this. Stand on your guard, my lord. We are your friends. And all our force is yours. To spoil and rob the kingdom. Sir, be silent. Silent? How long, till doomsday, shall I stand by and hear mine honour blasted with foul treason, the state half lost and your life endangered, yet be silent? Yes, my blunt lord, unless you speak your treasons.
Sir, let your guards, as traitors, seize them all. And then let tortures and devulsive racks force a confession from them. Wildfire and brimstone eat thee. Hear me, sir. Sir, I'll not hear you. But you shall not hear me. Were the world's monarch Caesar living, he should hear me. I tell you, sir, these serpents have betrayed your life and kingdom. Does not every day bring tidings of more swarms of lousy slaves, the awful fugitives of barren Germany that land upon our coasts and by our neglect settled in Norfolk and the Thumberland? They come as aids and safeguards to the king. Has he not need, when Vortigar's in arms, and Eurasid powers, tis thought to join with him? Peace, you pernicious rat!
Prithee, forbear. Away! Suffer a gilded rascal, a low-bred despicable creeper, an insulting toad to spit his poison venom in my face. Sir, sir. Do not reply, you cur, for by the gods, though the king's presence guard thee, I shall break all patience, and like a lion roused to spoil shall run foul mouth upon thee and devour thee quick. Speak, sir. Will you forsake these scorpions, or stay till they have stung you to the heart? You're traitors all. This is our wife, our queen. Brother Astorius, troop your Saxons up. We'll hence to Winchester, and raise more powers to man with strength the castle Camelot. Go hence, false men. Join you with Vortigar, the murderer of our brother Constantine. We'll hunt both him and you with dreadful vengeance.
Since Britain fails, We'll trust the foreign friends, and guard our person from your traitorous ends. Exeunt Aurelius, Austorius, Octa, Artesia, Tocleo, Oswald. He is sure bewitched. What counsel now for safety? Only this, sir. With all the speed we can, preserve the person of the King and Kingdom. Which to effect... "'Tis best march hence to Wales, and set on Vortiger before he join his forces with the Saxons." On men with speed for Wales and Vortiger. That tempest once her blown, we come, O Storius, to meet thy traitorous Saxons, thee and them, that with advantage thus have won the King, to back your factions and to work our ruins. This by the gods and my good sword I'll set in bloody lines upon thy burgeonet."
Exeunt. End of Act 3
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4 04 - Act 4 34:27
Before a ruined castle in Wales. Enter Clown, Merlin. And a little anticspirit. How now, Uncle? Why do you search your pockets so? Do you miss anything? Ah, Cousin Merlin, I hope your beard does not overgrow your honesty. I pray remember you are made up of sister's thread. I am your mother's brother. whosoever was your father. Why? Wherein can you task my duty, uncle? Yourself, or your page it must be. I have kept no other company, since your mother bound your head to my protectorship. I do feel a fault of one side. Either it was that sparrow-hawk, or a cast of Merlins. For I find a covey of cardookas sprung out of my pocket. Why, do you want any money, uncle? Sirrah, had you any from him? Deny it not, for my pockets are witness against you.
Yes, I had, to teach you better wit to look to it. Pray, use your fingers better, and my wit may serve as it is, sir. Well, restore it. There it is. Aye, there's some honesty in this. It was a token from your invisible father, cousin, which I would not have to go invisibly from me again. Well, you are sure you have it now, Uncle? Yes. And mean to keep it now from your page's filching fingers, too. If you have it so sure, pray show it me again. Yes, my little juggler, I dare show it. Ah, cleanly conveyance again. Ye have no invisible fingers, have ye? It is gone, certainly. Why, sir, I touched you not. Why, look you, uncle, I have it now. How ill you look to it. Here, keep it safer.
This is fine, you faith. I must keep some other company, if you have these sleights of hand. Come, come, uncle, tis all my art, which shall not offend you, sir, only I give you a taste of it to show you sport. Oh, but tis ill-jesting with a man's pocket, though. But I am glad to see you cunning, cousin, for now will I warrant thee a living till thou diest. You have heard the news in Wales here? Uncle, let me prevent your care and counsel. T'will give you better knowledge of my cunning. You would prefer me now, in hope of gain, to Vortigar, King of the Welsh Britons, to whom are all the artists summoned now that seek the secrets of futurity. The bards, the druids, wizards, conjurers, not an Orospex with its whistling spells, no capnomancer with his musty fumes, no witch or juggler, but is thither sent to calculate the strange and feared event of his prodigious castle now in building.
Where all the laborers of the painful day are ruined still in the night, and to this place you would have me go. Well, if thy mother were not my sister, I would say she was a witch that begot thee. But this is thy father, not thy mother wit. Thou hast taken my tale into thy mouth, and spake my thoughts before me. Therefore, away. Shuffle thyself amongst the conjurers, and be a made man before thy comest to age. Nay, but stay, uncle. You o'erslip my dangers. The prophecies and all the cunning wizards have certified the king that his castle can never stand till the foundations laid with mortar tempered with the fatal blood of such a child whose father was no mortal. What's this to thee? If the devil were thy father, was not thy mother born at Carmorden?
Diggin' for that, then? And then it must be a child's blood. And who will take thee for a child with such a beard of thy face? Is there not diggin' for that too, cousin? I must not go. Lend me your ear a while. I'll give you reasons to the contrary. Enter Two Gentlemen. Sure, this is an endless piece of work the king has sent us about. King's may do it, man. The like has been done to find out the unicorn. Which will be sooner found, I think, than this fiend begotten child we seek for. Pucks of those conjurers that would speak of such a one, and yet all their cunning could not tell us where to find him. In Wales they say assuredly he lives. Come, let us inquire further. Uncle, your persuasions must not prevail with me.
I know mine enemies better than you do. I say, Th'art a bastard, then, if thou disobey thine uncle. Was not, Joan Goetuit, thy mother, my sister? If the devil were thy father— What kin art thou to any man alive but bailies and brokers? And they are but brothers-in-law to thee neither. How's this? I think we shall speed here. Aye, and unlooked-for too. Go near and listen to them. Hast thou a beard to hide it? Wilt thou show thyself a child? Wilt thou have more hair than wit? Wilt thou deny thy mother, because nobody here knows thy father? Or will thine uncle be an ass? Blessed friend, play, what call you this small gentleman's name? Small, sir? A small man may be a great gentleman. His father may be of an ancient house, for aught we know, sir.
Why do you not know his father? No, nor you neither, I think, unless the devil be in ye. What is his name, sir? His name is my cousin, sir. His education is my sister's son, but his manners are his own. Why ask ye, gentlemen? My name is Merlin. Yes. And Agossack was his father, for what we know. For I am sure his mother was a wind-sucker. He has a mother, then? As sure as I have a sister, sir. But his father you leave doubtful. Well, sir, as wise men as you doubt whether he had a father or no. Sure, this is he we seek for. I think no less. And, sir, we let you know. The king hath sent for you. The more child he, and he hath been ruled by me, he should have gone before he was sent for. May we not see his mother?
Yes, and feel her too, if you anger her. A devilish thing, I can tell ye, she has been. I'll go fetch her to ye. Exit. Sir, it were fit you did resolve for speed. You must unto the king. My service, sir, shall need no strict command. It shall obey most peaceably. But needless tis to fetch what is brought home. My journey may be stayed. The king is coming hither with the same quest you bore before him. Hark! This drum will tell ye. Within, drums beat a low march. This is some cunning indeed, sir. Flourish. Enter Vortiger, reading a letter. Proximus, with drum and soldiers, etc. Still in our eye your message, Proximus, we keep to spur our speed. Astorius Anocta we shall salute, with succour against Prince Uther and Aurelius, whom now we here encamps at Winchester.
There's nothing interrupts our way so much as doth the erection of this fatal castle, that spite of all our art and daily labor, the night still ruin is. As erst I did affirm, still I maintain, the fiend begotten child must be found out, whose blood gives strength to the foundation. It cannot stand else. Enter Clown and Joan. Merlin. Ha! Ist so? Then, Proximus, by this intelligence he should be found. Speak. Is this he you tell of? Yes, sir, and I his uncle, and she his mother. And who is his father? Why, she his mother can best tell you that. And yet I think the child be wise enough, for he has found his father. Woman, is this thy son? It is, my lord. What was his father? Oh, where lives he?
Mother, speak freely and unastonished. That which you dared to act, dread not to name? In which I shall betray my sin and shame. But since it must be so, Then no great king, all that myself yet knows of him, is this. In pride of blood and beauty I did live. My glass the altar was, my face the idol. Such was my peevish love unto myself, that I did hate all other. Such disdain was in my scornful eye, that I supposed no mortal creature worthy to enjoy me. Thus with the peacock I beheld my train, but never saw the blackness of my feet. Oft have I chid the winds for breathing on me, and cursed the sun, fearing to blast my beauty. In midst of this most leprous disease, a seeming fair young man appeared unto me, in all things suiting my aspiring pride, and with him brought along a conquering power, To which my frailty yielded, from whose embraces this issue came.
What more he is, I know not. Some incubus or spirit of the night begot him, then? For sure no mortal did it. No matter who, my lord, leave further quest, since tis as hurtful as unnecessary more to inquire. Go to the cause, my lord, why you have sought me thus. I doubt not, but thou knowest. Yet to be plain, I sought thee for thy blood. By whose direction? By mine. My art infallible instructed me. Upon thy blood must the foundation rise of the king's building. It cannot stand else. Hast thou such leisure to inquire my fate, and let thine own hang careless over thee? Knowest thou what pendulous mischief roofs thy head, how fatal, and how sudden? Pish, bearded abortive, thou foretell my danger?
My lord, he trifles to delay his own. No, I yield myself. And here before the king make good thine augury, as I shall mine. If thy fate fall not, thou hast spoke all truth, and let my blood satisfy the king's desires. If thou thyself wilt write thine epizaph, dispatch it quickly. There's not a minute's time twixt thee and thy death. Ha ha ha ha ha! A stone falls and kills Proximus. Aye, so thou mayest die laughing. Ha! This is above admiration. Look, is he dead? Yes, sir. There's brains to make mortar on, if you'll use them. Cousin Merlin, there's no more of this stone fruit ready to fall, is there? I pray, give your uncle a little fair warning. Remove that shape of death. And now, my lord, for clear satisfaction of your doubts, Merlin will show the fatal cause that keeps your castle down, and hinders your proceedings.
Stand there, and by an apparition see the labours and the end of all your destiny. Mother and uncle, you must be absent. Is your father coming, cousin? Nay, you must be gone. Come, you'll offend him, brother. I would fain see my brother-in-law. If you were married, I might lawfully call him so.
Two dragons appear, a white and a red. They fight a while, and pause. What means this stay? Be not amazed, my lord, for on the victory, of loss or gain, as these two champions ends, your fate, your life, and kingdom all depends. Therefore observe it well. I shall. Heaven be auspicious to us. Thunder. The two dragons fight again, and the white dragon drives off the red. The conquest is on the white dragon's part. Now, Merlin, faithfully expound the meaning. Your grace must then not be offended with me. It is the weakest part I found in thee to doubt of me so slightly. Shall I blame my profit that foretells me of my dangers? "'Thy cunning I approve most excellent.' "'Then know, my lord, there is a dampish cave, the nightly habitation of these dragons, vaulted beneath where you would build your castle, whose enmity and nightly combats there maintain a constant ruin of your labours.' To make it more plain, the dragons, then, yourself betoken, and the Saxon king.
The vanquished red is, sir, your dreadful emblem. Oh, my fate! Nay, you must hear with patience, royal sir. You slew the lawful king, Constantius. Twas a red deed, your crown his blood did cement. The English Saxon first brought in by you for aid against Constantius' brethren is the white horror who now, knit together, have driven and shut you up in these wild mountains. And though they now seek to unite with friendship, it is to wound your bosom, not embrace it, and with an utter extirpation to rout the Britons out and plant the English. Seek for your safety, sir, and spend no time to build the airy castles, for Prince Uter, armed with vengeance for his brother's blood, is hard upon you. If you mistrust me, and to my words crave witness, sir, then know here comes a messenger to tell you so.
Exit Merlin. Enter Messenger. My lord, Prince Uder. And who else, sir? Edol, the great general. The great devil? They are coming to meet us? With a full power, my lord. With a full vengeance they mean to meet us. So, we are ready to their confront. At full march, double-footing, we'll lose no ground, nor shall their numbers fright us. If it be fate, it cannot be withstood. We got our crown so, be it lost in blood. Exeunt. Scene Two. Open country in Wales. Enter Prince Uter, Edel, Cader, Edwin, Tocleo, with drum and soldiers. Stay and advise. Hold drum. Beat, slave. Why do you pause? Why make us stand? Where are our enemies? Or do you mean we fight amongst ourselves? Nay, noble Edo, let us here take counsel.
It cannot hurt. It is the surest garrison to safety. Fie on such slow delays! So fearful men that are to pass over a flowing river, stand on the brink to parley of the danger till the tide rise, and then be swallowed. Is not the king in field? Proud Vortiger, the traitor, is in the field. The murderer and usurper. Let him be the devil so I may fight with him, for heaven's love, sir, march on. O my patience! Will you delay until the Saxons come to aid his party? Atucket. There's no such fear. Prithee, be calm a while. Hark! It seems by this he comes, or sends to us. If it be for parley I will drown the summons, if all our drums and hoarseness choke me not. Enter, Captain. Nay, prithee, hear. From whence art thou?
From the King, Vorteger. Traitor, there's none such. Alarm-drum, strike, slave, or by mine honor I will break thy head, and beat thy drum's heads both about thine ears. Hold, noble Edol. Let's hear what articles he can enforce. What articles or what conditions can you expect to value half your wrongs, unless he kill himself by thousand tortures, and send his carcass to appease your vengeance for the foul murder of Constantius, and that's not a tenth pardon, either? Tis true. My brother's blood is crying to me now. I do applaud thy counsel. Hence, begone. Exit Captain. We'll hear no parley now but by our swords. And those shall speak home in death-killing words. Alarm to the fight! Sound! Sound the Alarm!
Exeunt.
Scene Three. A Field of Battle. Alarm. Enter Edel, driving all Vortigar's force before him, then exit. Enter Prince Uther, pursuing Vortigar. Dost thou follow me? Yes, to thy death I will. Stay, be advised. I would not be the only fall of princes. I slew thy brother. Thou didst, black traitor, and in that vengeance I pursue thee. Take mercy for thyself, and fly my sword. Save thine own life for satisfaction, which here I give thee for thy brother's death. Give what's thine own, a traitor's heart and head. That's all thou art right lord of. The kingdom which thou usurpest, thou most unhappy tyrant, is leaving thee. The Saxons, which thou broughtest to back thy usurpations, are grown great, and where they seat themselves do hourly seek to blot the records of old Brute and Britons from memory of men, calling themselves Hingist men and Hingist land, that no more the Britons' name be known.
All this by thee, thou base destroyer of thy native country. Enter Edel. What? Stand you talking?
Hold, Adel. Hold out, my sword, and listen not to king or prince's word. There's work enough abroad. This task is mine.
Prosper thy valor, as thy virtues shine.
Scene Four. Another part of the field of battle. Enter Cater and Edwin. Bright victory herself fights on our part, and buckled in a golden beaver, rides triumphantly before us. Justice is with her. Whoever takes the true and rightful cause, let us not lag behind them. Enter prince. Here comes the prince. How goes our fortune, sir? Hopeful and fair, brave Kador. Proud fortiger, beat down by Edel's sword, was rescued by the following multitudes, and now... For safety fled unto a castle, here standing on the hill. But I have sent a cry of hounds as violent as hunger to break his stony walls, or, if they fail, will send in wild fire to dislodge him thence, or burn them all with flaming violence. Exeunt.
Scene Five. Another part of the field. Blazing Star appears. Flourish trumpets. Enter Prince Uther, Edel, Cader, Edwin, Tocleo, with drum and soldiers. Look, Edel. Still this fiery exhalation shoots his frightful horrors on the mazed world. See, In the beam that's about his flaming ring, a dragon's head appears, from out whose mouth two flaming flakes of fire stretch east and west. And see from forth the body of the star, seven smaller, blazing streams directly point on this affrighted kingdom. "'Tis a dreadful meteor, and doth portend strange fears." This is no crown of peace. This angry fire hath something more to burn than Vortiger. If it alone pointed at his fall, it would pull in his blazing pyramids and be appeased, for Vortiger is dead.
These never come without their large effects. The will of heaven be done. Our sorrow's this. We want a mystic python to expound this fiery oracle. Oh no, my lord, you have the best that ever Britain bred, and durst I prophesy to your prophet, sir, none like him shall succeed him. You mean Merlin? True, sir. Wondrous Merlin. He met us in the way, and did foretell the fortunes of this day successful to us. He's sure about the camp. Send for him, sir. He told the bloody Vortiger his fate. And truly, too, and if I could give faith to any wizard's skill, it should be Merlin. Enter Merlin and Clown. And see, my lord, as if to satisfy your highness' pleasure, Merlin is come. See, the comet's in his eye.
Disturb him not. With what a piercing judgment he beholds it. Whither will heaven and fate translate this kingdom? What revolutions, rise and fall of nations is figured yonder in that star that sings the change of Britain's state and death of kings? Ah, he's dead already. How swiftly mischief creeps! Thy fatal end, sweet prince, even Merlin weeps. He does foresee some evil. His actions show it, for ere he does expound, he weeps the story. There's another weeps, too. Sirrah, dost thou understand what thou lamentest for? No, sir. I am his uncle, and weep because my cousin weeps. Flesh and blood cannot forbear. Gentle Merlin, speak thy prophetic knowledge and explanation of this fiery horror, from which we gather from thy mournful tears much sorrow and disaster in it.
Tis true, fair prince, but you must hear the rest with patience. I vow I will, though it portend my ruin. There's no such fear. This brought the fiery fall of Vortiger, and yet not him alone. This day is fallen a king more good, the glory of our land, the mild and gentle sweet Aurelius. Our brother! Offend it, Heaven! He at his royal palace, sir, at Winchester, this day is dead and poisoned. By whom? Or what means, Merlin? By the traitorous Saxons. Mr. Brown. I ever feared as much that devil Astorius and that damned witch Arctesia sure has done it. Poisoned? Oh, look further, gentle Merlin. Behold the star again, and do but find revenge for me, though it cost thousand lives, and mine the foremost.
Comfort yourself. The heavens have given it fully. All the portentous ills to you is told. Now hear a happy story, sir, from me to you and to your fair posterity. Methinks, I see something like a peeled onion. It makes me weep again. Be silent, uncle. You'll be forced, else— Can you not find in the star, cousin? Whether I can hold my tongue or no? Yes, I must cut it out. You speak without books, sir. My cousin Merlin knows. True, I must tie it up. Now speak your pleasure, uncle.
So, so. Now observe, my lord, and therefore behold, Above yon flame-haired beam that upward shoots appears a dragon's head, out of whose mouth two streaming lights point their flame-featured darts, contrary ways, yet both shall have their aims. Again, behold, from the igniferent body seven splendid and illustrious rays are spread, All speaking heralds to this britain isle, and thus they are expounded. The dragon's head is the hieroglyphic that figures out your princely self that here must reign a king. Those biformed fires that from the dragon's mouth shoot east and west emblem two royal babes, which shall proceed from you a son and daughter. Her pointed constellation, NW Bending, crowns her a queen in Ireland, of whom first springs that kingdom's title to the Briton kings.
But of your son thus fate and Merlin tells. All after times shall fill their chronicles with fame of his renown, whose warlike sword shall pass through fertile France and Germany. Nor shall his conquering foot be forced to stand, till Rome's imperial wreath hath crowned his flame, with monarch of the West, From whose seven hills, with conquest and contributory kings, he back returns to enlarge the Briton bounds, his heraldry adorned with thirteen crowns.
He to the world shall add another worthy, and as a loadstone for his prowess draw a train of martial lovers to his court. It shall be then the best of knighthood's honour, at Winchester to fill his castle-hall, and at his royal table sit and feast, in warlike orders, all their arms round hurled, as if they meant to circumscribe the world. He touches the clown's mouth with his wand. Mm, mm, mm. Oh, that I could speak a little. I know your mind, uncle. Again be silent. Strikes again. Thou speakest of wonders, Merlin. Prithee, go on, declare at full this constellation. These seven beams pointing downwards, sir, betoken the troubles of this land, which then shall meet with other fate. War and dissension strives to make division till seven kings agree to draw this kingdom to a heptarchy.
Thine art hath made such proof that we believe thy words authentical. Be ever near us, my prophet and the guide of all my actions. My service shall be faithful to your person, and all my studies for my country's safety.
Come, you are released, sir. Cousin, pray, help me to my tongue again. You do not mean I shall be dumb still, I hope. Why, hast thou not thy tongue? Ah, yes, I feel it now. I was so long dumb, I could not well tell whether I spake or no. Is thy advice we presently pursue the bloody Saxons that have slain my brother? With your best speed, my lord, prosperity will keep you company. Take, then, your title with you, royal prince. T'will add unto our strength. Long live King Buter! Put the addition to it that heaven hath given you. The dragon is your emblem. Bear it bravely, and so lived long and ever happy, styled Uther Pendragon, lawful King of Britain. Thanks, Adol. We embrace the name and title, and in our shield and standard shall the figure of a red dragon still be born before us to fright the bloody Saxons.
O my Aurelius, sweet rest thy soul. Let thy disturbed spirit expect revenge. Think what it would, it hath the dragon's coming in his fiery wrath.
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5 05 - Act 5 15:55
A barren waste, a huge rock appearing. Thunder. Then music. Enter Joan, fearfully, the devil following her. Hence, thou black horror, is thy lustful fire kindled again? Not thy loud-throated thunder, nor thy adulterate infernal music shall ever bewitch me more. Oh, too, too much is past already. Why dost thou fly me? I come a lover to thee, to embrace. And gently twine thy body in mine arms. Out thou hellhound! What hound so ere I be, fawning and sporting as I would with thee? Why should I not be stroked and played withal? Wilt thou not think the lion might devour thee, if he shall let thee pass? Yes, thou art he. Free me, and I'll thank thee. Why? Whither wouldst? I am at home with thee. Thou art my own.
Have we not charge of family together? Where is your son? O darkness, cover me. There is a pride which thou hast won by me. The mother of a fame shall never die. Kings shall have need of written chronicles to keep their names alive, but Merlin none. Ages to ages shall, like Sabalists, report the wonders of his name and glory, while there are tongues and times to tell his story. Oh, rot my memory before my flesh! Let him be called some hell- or earth-bred monster that never had hapless woman for a mother. Sweet Death, deliver me! Hence for my sight! Why shouldst thou now appear? I had no pride nor lustful thought about me to conjure and call thee to my ruin, when, as at first thy cursed person became visible.
I am the same I was. But I am changed. Again I'll change thee to the same thou wert, to quench my lust. Come forth, by thunder led, my coadjutors in the spoils of mortals. Thunder. Enter Spirit. Clasp in your ebon arms that prize of mine, Mount her as high as pallid hectate, And on this rock I'll stand to cast up fumes, And darkness o'er the blue-faced firmament. From Britain and from Merlin I'll remove her, They ne'er shall meet again. Help me, son saving hand! If not too late, I cry. Let mercy come. Enter Merlin. Stay, you black slaves of night. Let loose your hold. Set her down safe, or by the infernal sticks I'll bind you up with exorcisms so strong that all the black pentagram of hell shall ne'er release you.
Save yourselves and vanish. Exit Spirit. What's he? The child has found his father. Do you not know me? Merlin! Oh, help me, gentle son. Fear not, they shall not hurt you. Relievest thou her to disobey thy father? Obedience is no lesson in your school. Nature and Kind to her command my duty. The part that you begot was against Kind, so all I owe to you is to be unkind. I'll blast thee, slave, to death, and on this rock stick thee an eternal monument. Ha-hum! Thy power's too weak. What art thou, devil, but an inferior lustful incubus, taking advantage of the wanton flesh, wherewith thou dost beguile the ignorant? Put off the form of thy humanity, and crawl upon thy speckled belly, serpent, or I'll unclasp the jaws of Acheron, and fix thee ever in the local fire.
Traitor to Hell! Curse that I e'er begot thee! Thou didst beget thy scourge. Storm not nor stir, the power of Merlin's art is all confirmed in the fate's decretals. I'll ransack Hell, and make thy masters bow unto my spells. Thou first shalt taste it. Thunder and lightning in the rock.
The rock encloses the devil. So there beget earthquakes or some noisome damps, for never shalt thou touch a woman more. How cheer you, mother? O, now my son is my deliverer, yet I must name him with my deepest sorrow. Alarum, afar off. Take comfort now. Past times are ne'er recalled. I did foresee your mischief and prevent it. Hark, how the sounds of war now call me hence to aid Pendragon that in battle stands against the Saxons, from whose aid Merlin must not be absent. Leave this soil, and I'll conduct you to a place retired, which I by art have raised called Merlin's Bower. There shall you dwell with solitary sighs, with groans and passions your companions, to weep away this flesh you have offended with, and leave all bare unto your aerial soul.
And when you die, I will erect a monument upon the verdant plains of Salisbury. No king shall have so high a sepulchre. With pendulous stones that I will hang by art, where neither lime nor mortar shall be used, a dark enigma of the memory, for none shall have the power to number them. A place that I will hollow for your rest, where no night-hag shall walk, nor werewolf tread, where Merlin's mother shall be sepulchred. Exeunt. Scene Two. The British Camp. Enter Donobert, Gloucester, and Hermit. Sincerely, Gloucester, I have told you all. My daughters are both vowed to single life, and this day gone unto the nunnery, though I begot them to another end, and fairly promised them in marriage, one to Earl Cador, the other to your son, my worthy friend, the Earl of Gloucester.
Those lost, I am lost. They are lost. All's lost. Answer me this, then. Is it a sin to marry? Oh, no, my lord. Go to, then. I'll go no further with you. I persuade you to no ill. Persuade you, then, that I persuade you well. "'Twill be a good office in you, sir." Enter Cater and Edwin. Which, since they thus neglect— My memory shall lose them now forever. See, see, the noble lords, their promised husbands. Had fate so pleased, you might have called me father. Those hopes are past, my lord, for even this minute we saw them both enter the monastery, secluded from the world and men forever. "'Tis both our griefs we cannot, sir, but from the king take you the time's joy from us. The Saxon king Astorius slain, and Octa fled.
That woman-fury, Queen Artesia, is fast in hold, and for it to re-deliver London and Winchester, which she had fortified, to princely Uther, lately styled Pendragon, who now triumphantly is marching hither to be invested with the Briton crown. The joy of this shall banish from my breast. All thought that I was father to two children, two stubborn daughters that have left me thus. Let my old arms embrace and call you sons, for by the honor of my father's house I'll part my estate most equally betwixt you. Sir, you are most noble. Flourish trumpets. Enter Edel with drum and colors, Oswald bearing the standard, Tocleo the shield, with the red dragon pictured in him, two bishops with the crown. Prince Uther, Merlin, Artesia Bound, Guard, and Clown.
Set up our shield and standard, noble soldiers. We have firm hope that though our dragons sleep, Merlin will us and our fair kingdom keep. As his uncle lives, I warrant you. Happy Restorer of the Britons fame. Uprising sun, let us salute thy glory. Ride in the day perpetual about us, and no night be in thy throne's zodiac. Why do we stay to bind those princely brows with this imperial honor? Stay, noble Gloucester. That monster first must be expelled our eye, or we shall take no joy in it. If that be hindrance, give her quick judgment, and send her hence to death. She has long deserved it. Let my sentence stand for all. Take her hence, and stake her carcass in the burning sun till it be parched and dry, and then flay off her wicked skin and stuff the pelt with straw to be shown up and down at fairs and markets.
Toppence a piece to see so foul a monster will be a fair monopoly and worth the begging.
Dost laugh, Erychthele? Yes, at thy poor invention. Is there no better torture monger? Burn her to dust. That's a phoenix death, and glorious. Aye, that's too good for her. Alive she shall be buried, circled in a wall, thou murderous of a king, there starve to death. Then I'll starve to death when he comes for his prey, and in the meantime I'll live upon your curses. Ay, tis diet good enough. Away with her. With joy my best of wishes is before. Thy brother's poisoned, but I wanted more.
Why does our prophet Merlin stand apart? Sadly observing these our ceremonies, and not applaud our joys with thy hid knowledge. Let thy divining art now satisfy some part of my desires, for well I know tis in thy power to show the full event that shall both end our reign and chronicle. Speak. Learned Merlin, and resolve my fears, whether by war we shall expel the Saxons, or govern what we hold with beauteous peace in Wales and Britain. Long happiness attend Pendragon's reign. What heaven decrees fate hath no power to alter? The Saxons, sir, will keep the ground they have, and by supplying numbers still increase till Britain be no more. So please your grace, I will in visible apparitions present you prophecies which shall concern succeeding princes, which my art shall raise, till men shall call these times the latter days.
Do it, my Merlin, and crown me with much joy and wonder. Merlin strikes, ho boys. Enter a king in armor, his shield quartered with thirteen crowns. At the other door enters diverse princes, who present their crowns to him at his feet, and do him homage. Then enters death, and strikes him. He, growing sick, crowns Constantine. Exeunt. This king, my lord, presents your royal son. Who in his prime of years shall be so fortunate that thirteen several princes shall present their several crowns unto him, and all kings else shall so admire his fame and victories, that they shall all be glad, either through fear or love, to do him homage. But Death, who neither favours the weak nor valiant, in the midst of all his glories soon shall seize him, scarcely permitting him to appoint one in all his purchased kingdoms to succeed him.
Thanks to our prophet for this so wished-for satisfaction. And hereby now we learn that always fate must be observed, Whatever that decree, all future times shall still record this story of Merlin's learned worth and Arthur's glory. End of Act V. End of the Birth of Merlin, The Child Hath Found His Father, by William Shakespeare and William Rowley.