A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vi Part 32

Is it not right and lawful both to help thy brother's woe?

FIDELIA.

It's neither right nor lawful, sir, to help my deadly foe.

DUKE.

If he have been thy foe, he may become thy friend.

FIDELIA.

And when I see that come to pa.s.s, I may some succour send.

DUKE.

But wherefore shouldst thou be so cruel unto him?

FIDELIA.

Because unto my dearest friend so spiteful he hath been.

DUKE.

Nay, stubborn girl, but then I will constrain thee, I.

Lay hold on her: myself will then, sith she doth it deny.

FIDELIA.

a.s.sist me, righteous G.o.ds, in this extremity.

BOMELIO. [_To DUKE, aside_.]

Ah, pardon-a, pardon-a: please you, let me a while wit' her alone, And me warrant me make her consent to you anon; Else me give her a powder with a little drink, Whish make her sleep; and den, when she noting tink, Wit' de sharp rasher, me p.r.i.c.k her by and by, And stop it again, and she no feel why.

Please you begone, and let us two alone here.

Me make her consent, you no point fear.

DUKE.

Do it, Master Doctor, and I am bound to you for aye.

Ungracious girl, that dost deny the father to obey.

Look to her, sir, and send me word when thou hast done the deed.

[Exeunt.

BOMELIO.

Awe, awe; i'fait', i'fait', me make her bleed.

FIDELIA.

O wretched girl! what hope remains behind?

What comfort can recomfort now thy mind?

Forsaken thus of father and of friend, Why seek'st thou not to bring thy life to end?

Can greater woes befall unto thy share?

Come, gentleman, despatch, and do not spare: If it be so his pleasure and thy will, 1 am content my dearest blood to spill.

Defer not then: hold, take thine aim at me, And strike me through; for I desire to die.

BOMELIO.

The heavens forbid, fair maiden; no, not I: I am thy friend, I am no enemy.

Fear not, stand up: it is only for thy sake That I this toil and travail undertake.

Thy love, my son, is at my cave with me, Safe and in health, long looking there for thee.

Trust to my words, fair maid, for I am he, That overtook thee in the wood last day; And till thy coming, Hermione, I say, Is in my cave--

FIDELIA.

What joyful words be these!

And is Hermione your son? do, then, as you shall please.

Behold me ready, prest to follow any way: Good father, do not thus delude a simple maid, I pray.

I trust unto your words: my life is in your power, And till I see Hermione, each minute is an hour.

BOMELIO.

Daughter, dismay no whit; but trust to me; What I have said performed thou shalt see.

I have dissembled with thy father here, The better that I might with thee confer.

And since thou art so faithful to thy love, As I may well report I did thee prove, Let us be gone now closely as we may.

FIDELIA.

Yea, my good father, even when you will, I pray.

Thrice-blessed be the hour I met with you!

My father now and brother both adieu: Unkind to her, most kind that you should be, I leave them all, my dear, to come to thee.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ HERMIONE, _with books under his arm_.

HERMIONE.

O G.o.ds! that deepest griefs are felt in closest smart; That in the smiling countenance may lurk the wounded heart, 1 see the n.o.ble mind can counterfeit a bliss, When overwhelmed with a care his soul perplexed is.

It is for dastard knights, that stretch on feather beds, Despairing in adversity so low to hang their heads.

The better born, the more his magnanimity: The fiercer fight, the deeper wound, the more undaunted he.

So I perceive it now; I well perceive it here: What I myself could not, I learn by thee, my father dear.

He that in golden age, I mean his l.u.s.ty youth, Was thought to spend in pleasure's lap without regard of ruth; He that had lost his time as bravely as the best, Only devising how to make his joys surmount the rest: Not in that wanton youth, not in that pleasant mate, Could Fortune with her fickleness his wonted mind abate.

He rather challengeth to do her very worst, And makes a semblance of delight, although indeed accurs'd.

My father thereupon devised how he might Revenge and wreak himself on her, that wrought him such despite: And therefore, I perceive, he strangely useth it, Enchanting and transforming that his fancy did not fit.

As I may see by these his vile blasphemous books; My soul abhors as often as mine eye upon them looks.

What gain can countervail the danger that they bring, For man to sell his soul to sin, is't not a grievous thing?

To captivate his mind, and all the gifts therein, To that which is of others all the most ungracious sin; Which so entangleth them that thereunto apply, As at the last forsaketh them in their extremity.

Such is this art, such is the study of this skill, This supernatural device, this magic, such it will.

In ransacking his cave these books I lighted on, And with his leave I'll be so bold, while he abroad is gone, To burn them all; for best that serveth for this stuff.

I doubt not but at his return to please him well enough.

And, gentlemen, I pray, and so desire I shall, You would abhor this study, for it will confound you all.

[_Exit_.

_Enter_ LENTULO _with a ring in his mouth, a marigold in his hand, a fair suit of apparel on his back; after he hath a while made dumb-show_, PENULO _cometh, running in with two or three other_.

PENULO.

Run, for the love of G.o.d! search, villains, out of hand: Run, I say, rascals: look about ye; how, do you stand?

The Duke's daughter is gone again, and all the court is in an uproar.

A pox on such a physician; he shall counsel her no more.

SERJEANT.

See you, Master Penulo, who is that yonder so brave?