A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vii Part 8

Thou know'st our mind: our heart cannot be eas'd, But with the slaughter of this Palurin.

[The KING hasteth into his palace.

GUISCARD. O thou great G.o.d, who from thy highest throne Hast stooped down, and felt the force of love, Bend gentle ears unto the woful moan Of me poor wretch, to grant that I require!

Help to persuade the same great G.o.d, that he So far remit his might, and slack his fire From my dear lady's kindled heart, that she May hear my death without her hurt. Let not Her face, wherein there is as clear a light As in the rising moon: let not her cheeks, As red as is the party-colour'd rose, Be paled with the news hereof: and so I yield myself, my seely soul and all, To him, for her, for whom my death shall show I liv'd; and as I liv'd, I died her thrall.

Grant this, thou Thunderer: this shall suffice, My breath to vanish in the liquid skies.

[GUISCARD _is led to prison_.

CHORUS 1. Who doth not know the fruits of Paris' love, Nor understand the end of Helen's joy?

He may behold the fatal overthrow Of Priam's house and of the town of Troy-- His death at last and her eternal shame; For whom so many n.o.ble knights were slain.

So many a duke, so many a prince of fame Bereft his life, and left there in the plain.

Medea's armed hand, Eliza's sword, Wretched Leander drenched in the flood.

Phillis, so long that waited for her lord: All these too dearly bought their loves with blood.

CHORUS 2. But he in virtue that his lady serves.

Ne wills but what unto her honour 'longs, He never from the rule of reason swerves; He feeleth not the pangs ne raging throngs Of blind Cupid: he lives not in despair, As done his servants; neither spends his days In joy and care, vain hope and throbbing fear: But seeks alway what may his sovereign please In honour: he that thus serves, reaps the fruit Of his sweet service; and no jealous dread, Nor base suspect of aught to let his suit, Which causeth oft the lover's heart to bleed, Doth fret his mind, or burneth in his breast: He waileth not by day, nor wakes by night, When every other living thing doth rest; Nor finds his life or death within her sight.

CHORUS 3. Remember thou in virtue serve therefore Thy chaste lady: beware thou do not love, As whilom Venus did the fair Adone, But as Diana lov'd th'Amazon's son; Through whose request the G.o.ds to him alone Restor'd new life. The twine that was undone, Was by the sisters twisted up again.

The love of virtue in thy lady's looks, The love of virtue in her learned talk; This love yields matter for eternal books.

This love enticeth him abroad to walk, There to invent and write new roundelays Of learn'd conceit, her fancies to allure To vain delights: such humours he allays, And sings of virtue and her garments pure.

CHORUS 4. Desire not of thy sovereign the thing Whereof shame may ensue by any mean; Nor wish thou aught that may dishonour bring.

So whilom did the learned Tuscan[73] serve His fair lady; and glory was their end.

Such are the praises lovers done deserve, Whose service doth to virtue and honour tend.

FINIS ACTUS IV. COMPOSUIT CH. HAT.[74]

ACT V., SCENE 1.

RENUCHIO _cometh out of the palace_.

RENUCHIO. O cruel fate! O miserable chance!

O dire aspect of hateful destinies!

O woe may not be told! Suffic'd it not That I should see, and with these eyes behold So foul, so b.l.o.o.d.y, and so base a deed: But more to aggravate the heavy cares Of my perplexed mind, must only I, Must I alone be made the messenger, That must deliver to her princely ears Such dismal news, as when I shall disclose, I know it cannot but abridge her days?

As when the thunder and three-forked fire, Rent through the clouds by Jove's almighty power, Breaks up the bosom of our mother earth, And burns her heart, before the heat be felt.

In this distress, whom should I most bewail, My woe, that must be made the messenger Of these unworthy and unwelcome news?

Or shall I moan thy death, O n.o.ble Earl?

Or shall I still lament the heavy hap, That yet, O Queen, attends thy funeral?

CHORUS 1. What moans be these?

Renuchio, is this Salerne I see?

Doth here King Tancred hold the awful crown?

Is this the place where civil people be?

Or do the savage Scythians here abound?

CHORUS 2. What mean these questions? whither tend these words?

Resolve us maidens, and release our fears.

Whatever news thou bring'st, discover them.

Detain us not in this suspicious dread!

"The thought whereof is greater than the woe."

RENUCHIO. O, whither may I cast my looks? to heaven?

Black pitchy clouds from thence rain down revenge.

The earth shall I behold, stain'd with the gore Of his heart-blood, that died most innocent?

Which way soe'er I turn mine eyes, methinks His butcher'd corpse stands staring in my face.

CHORUS 3. We humbly pray thee to forbear these words, So full of terror to our maiden hearts: "The dread of things unknown breeds the suspect Of greater dread, until the worst be known."

Tell therefore what hath chanc'd, and whereunto This b.l.o.o.d.y cup thou holdest in thy hand.

RENUCHIO. Since so is your request, that I shall do, Although my mind so sorrowful a thing Repines to tell, and though my voice eschews To say what I have seen; yet since your will So fixed stands to hear for what I rue, Your great desires I shall herein fulfil.

Fast by Salerne city, amids the plain, There stands a hill whose bottom, huge and round.

Thrown out in breadth, a large s.p.a.ce doth contain: And gathering up in height, small from the ground, Still less and less it mounts: there sometime was A goodly tower uprear'd, that flower'd in fame While fate and fortune serv'd; but time doth pa.s.s, And with his sway suppresseth all the same: For now the walls be even'd with the plain, And all the rest so foully lies defac'd, As but the only shade doth there remain Of that, which there was built in time forepa.s.s'd: And yet that shows what worthy work tofore Hath there been rear'd. One parcel of that tower[75]

Yet stands, which eating time could not devour: A strong turret, compact of stone and rock, Hugy without, but horrible within: To pa.s.s to which, by force of handy stroke, A crooked strait is made, that enters in, And leads into this ugly loathsome place.

Within the which, carved into the ground, A deep dungeon[76] there runs of narrow s.p.a.ce.

Dreadful and dark, where never light is found: Into this hollow cave, by cruel hest Of King Tancred, were divers servants sent To work the horror of his furious breast, Erst nourish'd in his rage, and now stern bent To have the same perform'd. I woful man, Amongst the rest, was one to do the thing.

That to our charge so straitly did belong, In sort as was commanded by the king.

Within which dreadful prison when we came, The n.o.ble County Palurin, that there Lay chain'd in gyves,[77] fast fetter'd in his bolts, Out of the dark dungeon we did uprear, And hal'd him thence into a brighter place, That gave us light to work our tyranny.

But when I once beheld his manly face, And saw his cheer, no more appall'd with fear Of present death, than he whom never dread Did once amate:[78] my heart abhorred then To give consent unto so foul a deed: That wretched death should reave so worthy a man.

On false fortune I cried with loud complaint, That in such sort o'erwhelms n.o.bility.

But he, whom never grief ne fear could taint, With smiling cheer himself oft willeth me To leave to plain his case, or sorrow make For him; for he was far more glad apaid Death to embrace thus for his lady's sake, Than life or all the joys of life, he said.

For loss of life, quoth he, grieves me no more Than loss of that which I esteemed least: My lady's grief, lest she should rue therefore, Is all the cause of grief within my breast.

He pray'd therefore, that we would make report To her of those his last words he would say: That, though he never could in any sort Her gentleness requite, nor never lay Within his power to serve her as he would; Yet she possess'd his heart with hand and might, To do her all the honour that he could.

This was to him, of all the joys that might Revive his heart, the chiefest joy of all, That to declare the faithful heart which he Did bear to her, fortune so well did fall, That in her love he should both live and die.

After these words he stay'd, and spake no more, But joyfully beholding us each one, His words and cheer amazed us so sore, That still we stood; when forthwith thereupon: But, why slack you, quoth he, to do the thing For which you come? make speed, and stay no more: Perform your master's will. Now tell the king He hath his life, for which he long'd so sore: And with those words himself with his own hand Fast'ned the bands about his neck. The rest Wond'ring at his stout heart, astonied[79] stand To see him offer thus himself to death.

What stony breast, or what hard heart of flint Would not relent to see this dreary sight?

So goodly a man, whom death nor fortune's dint Could once disarm, murder'd with such despite; And in such sort bereft, amidst the flowers Of his fresh years, that ruthful was to seen: "For violent is death, when he devours Young men or virgins, while their years be green."

Lo! now our servants seeing him take the bands, And on his neck himself to make them fast; Without delay set to their cruel hands, And sought to work their fierce intent with haste.

They stretch the b.l.o.o.d.y bands; and when the breath Began to fail his breast, they slack'd again: Thrice did they pull, and thrice they loosed him, So did their hands repine against their hearts: And ofttimes loosed to his greater pain.

"But date of death, that fixed is so fast, Beyond his course there may no wight extend;"

For strangled is this n.o.ble Earl at last, Bereft of life, unworthy such an end.

CHORUS. O d.a.m.ned deed!

RENUCHIO. What, deem you this to be All the sad news that I have to unfold?

Is here, think you, end of the cruelty That I have seen?

CHORUS. Could any heavier woe Be wrought to him, than to destroy him so?

RENUCHIO. What, think you this outrage did end so well?

The horror of the fact, the greatest grief, The ma.s.sacre, the terror is to tell.

CHORUS. Alack! what could be more? they threw percase The dead body to be devour'd and torn Of the wild beasts.

RENUCHIO. Would G.o.d it had been cast a savage prey To beasts and birds: but lo, that dreadful thing Which e'en the tiger would not work, but to Suffice his hunger, that hath the tyrant king Withouten ruth commanded us to do, Only to please his wrathful heart withal.

Happy had been his chance, too happy, alas!