A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xi Part 118

This is far distant from the paths of men: Nothing breathes here but wild and ravening beasts, With airy monsters, whose shadowing wings do seem To cast a veil of death on wicked livers;[388]

Which I live dreadless of, and every hour Strive to meet death, who still unkind avoids me: But that now gentle famine doth begin For to give end to my calamities.

See, here is carv'd upon this tree's smooth bark Lines knit in verse, a chance far unexpected!

a.s.sist me, breath, a little to unfold What they include.

_The Writing._

_I that have writ these lines am one, whose sin Is more than grievous; for know, that I have been A breaker of my faith with one, whose breast Was all compos'd of truth: but I digress'd, And fled th' embrace[389] of his dear friends.h.i.+p's love, Clasping to falsehood, did a villain prove; As thus shall be express'd. My worthy friend Lov'd a fair beauty, who did condescend In dearest affection to his virtuous will; He then a night appointed to fulfil Hymen's bless'd rites, and to convey away His love's fair person, to which peerless prey I was acquainted made, and when the hour Of her escape drew on, then l.u.s.t did pour Enraged appet.i.te through all my veins, And base desires in me let loose the reins To my licentious will: and that black night, When my friend should have had his chaste delight, I feign'd his presence, and (by her thought him), Robb'd that fair virgin of her honour's gem: For which most heinous crime upon each tree I write this story, that men's eyes may see None but a d.a.m.n'd one would have done like me._ Is Albert then become so penitent, As in these deserts to deplore his facts, Which his unfeign'd repentance seems to clear?

How good man is when he laments his ill!

Who would not pardon now that man's misdeeds, Whose griefs bewail them thus? could I now live, I would remit thy fault with Carracus: But death no longer will afford reprieve Of my abundant woes: wrong'd Carracus, farewell; Live, and forgive thy wrongs, for the repentance Of him that caused them so deserves from thee; And since my eyes do witness Albert's grief, I pardon Albert, in my wrongs the chief.

_Enter_ ALBERT, _like a hermit_.

ALB. How! pardon me? O sound angelical!

But see, she faints. O heavens! now show your power, That these distilled waters, made in grief, May add some comfort to affliction: Look up, fair youth, and see a remedy.

MAR. O, who disturbs me? I was hand in hand, Walking with death unto the house of rest.

ALB. Let death walk by himself; if he want company, There's many thousands, boy, whose aged years Have ta'en a surfeit of earth's vanities; They will go with him when he please to call.

Do drink, my boy; thy pleasing, tender youth Cannot deserve to die; no, it is for us, Whose years are laden by our often sins, Singing the last part of our bless'd repentance, Are fit for death; and none but such as we Death ought to claim; for when a' s.n.a.t.c.heth youth, It shows him but a tyrant; but when age, Then is he just, and not compos'd of rage.

How fares my lad?

MAR. Like one embracing death with all his parts, Reaching at life but with one little finger; His mind so firmly knit unto the first, That unto him the latter seems to be, What may be pointed at, but not possess'd.

ALB. O, but thou shalt possess it.

If thou didst fear thy death but as I do, Thou wouldst take pity: though not of thyself, Yet of my aged years. Trust me, my boy, Thou'st struck such deep compa.s.sion in my breast, That all the moisture which prolongs my life Will from my eyes gush forth, if now thou leav'st me.

MAR. But can we live here in this desert wood?

If not, I'll die, for other places seem Like tortures to my griefs. May I live here?

ALB. Ay, thou shalt live with me, and I will tell thee Such strange occurrents of my fore-pa.s.s'd life, That all thy young-sprung griefs shall seem but sparks To the great fire of my calamities.

MAR. Then I'll live only with you for to hear, If any human woes can be like mine.

Yet, since my being in this darksome desert, I have read on trees most lamentable stories.[390]

ALB. 'Tis true indeed, there's one within these woods Whose name is Albert; a man so full of sorrow, That on each tree he pa.s.ses by he carves Such doleful lines for his rash follies pa.s.s'd, That whoso reads them, and not drown'd in tears, Must have a heart fram'd forth of adamant.

MAR. And can you help me to the sight of him?

ALB. Ay, when thou wilt; he'll often come to me, And at my cave sit a whole winter's night, Recounting of his stories. I tell thee, boy, Had he offended more than did that man, Who stole the fire from heaven, his contrition Would appease all the G.o.ds, and quite revert Their wrath to mercy. But come, my pretty boy, We'll to my cave, and after some repose Relate the sequel of each other's woes. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ CARRACUS.

CAR. What a way have I come, yet I know not Whither: the air's so cold this winter season, I'm sure a fool--would any but an a.s.s Leave a warm-matted chamber and a bed, To run thus in the cold? and (which is more) To seek a woman--a slight thing call'd woman?

Creatures, which curious nature fram'd, as I suppose, For rent-receivers to her treasury.

And why I think so now, I'll give you instance; Most men do know that nature's self hath made them Most profitable members; then if so, By often trading in the commonwealth They needs must be enrich'd; why, very good!

To whom ought beauty then repay this gain, Which she by nature's gift hath profited, But unto nature? why, all this I grant.

Why then they shall no more be called women, For I will style them thus, scorning their leave, Those that for nature do much rent receive.

This is a wood, sure; and, as I have read, In woods are echoes which will answer men To every question which they do propound. Echo.[391]

ECHO. _Echo._

CAR. O, are you there? have at ye then, i' faith.

Echo, canst tell me whether men or women Are for the most part d.a.m.n'd?

ECHO. _Most part d.a.m.n'd._

CAR. O,[392] both indeed; how true this echo speaks!

Echo, now tell me, if amongst a thousand women There be one chaste or none?

ECHO. _None._

CAR. Why, so I think; better and better still.

Now farther: Echo, in the world of men, Is there one faithful to his friend, or no?

ECHO. _No._

CAR. Thou speak'st most true, for I have found it so.

Who said thou wast a woman, Echo, lies; Thou couldst not then answer so much of truth.

Once more, good Echo; Was my Maria false by her own desire, Or was't against her will?

ECHO. _Against her will._

CAR. Troth, it may be so; but canst thou tell, Whether she be dead or not?

ECHO. _Not._

CAR. Not dead!

ECHO. _Not dead._

CAR. Then without question she doth surely live.

But I do trouble thee too much; therefore, Good speak-truth, farewell.

ECHO. _Farewell._

CAR. How quick it answers! O, that councillors Would thus resolve men's doubts without a fee!

How many country clients then might rest Free from undoing! no plodding pleader then Would purchase great possessions with his tongue.

Were I some demiG.o.d, or had that power, I would straight make this echo here a judge: He'd spend his judgment in the open court, As now to me, without being once solicited In his private chamber; 'tis not bribes could win Him to o'ersway men's right, nor could he be Led to d.a.m.nation for a little pelf; He would not harbour malice in his heart, Or envious hatred, base despite, or grudge, But be an upright, just, and equal judge.

But now imagine that I should confront Treacherous Albert, who hath rais'd my front!

But I fear this idle prate hath made me Quite forget my _cinque pace_.[393] [_He danceth._

_Enter_ ALBERT.

ALB. I heard the echo answer unto one, That by his speech cannot be far remote From off this ground; and see, I have descri'd him: O heavens! it's Carracus, whose reason's seat Is now usurp'd by madness and distraction; Which I, the author of confusion, Have planted here by my accursed deeds.

CAR. O, are you come, sir! I was sending The tavern-boy for you; I have been practising Here, and can do none of my lofty tricks.

ALB. Good sir, if any spark do yet remain Of your consumed reason, let me strive----