King Leir

Scene 1 Video Sc. 1 Enter King Leir, Skalliger, Perillus and a Nobleman Leir Thus to our grief, the obsequies performed Of our—too late—deceased and dearest queen, Whose soul, I hope, possessed of heavenly joys, Doth ride in triumph ’mongst the cherubim. Let us request your grave advice, my lords, For the disposing of our princely daughters, For whom our care is specially employed, As nature bindeth, to advance their states In royal marriage with some princely mates; For wanting now their mother’s good advice, Under whose government they have received A perfect pattern of a virtuous life— Left, as it were, a ship without a stern, Or silly sheep without a pastor’s care— Although ourselves do dearly tender them, Yet are we ignorant of their affairs, For fathers best do know to govern sons, But daughters’ steps the mother’s counsel turns. A son we want for to succeed our crown, And course of time hath cancellèd the date Of further issue from our withered loins; One foot already hangeth in the grave, And age hath made deep furrows in my face. The world of me, I of the world am weary, And I would fain resign these earthly cares And think upon the welfare of my soul, Which by no better means may be effected Than by resigning up the crown from me In equal dowry to my daughters three. Skalliger A worthy care, my liege, which well declares The zeal you bare unto our quondam queen. And since your grace hath licensed me to speak, I censure thus: your majesty, knowing well What several suitors your princely daughters have, To make them each a jointure—more or less, As is their worth—to them that love profess. Leir No more nor less, but even all alike. My zeal is fixed: all fashioned in one mould, Wherefore unpartial shall my censure be; Both old and young shall have alike from me. A Nobleman My gracious lord, I heartily do wish That God had lent you an heir indubitate, Which might have set upon your royal throne When Fates should loose the prison of your life, By whose succession all this doubt might cease And, as by you, by him we might have peace. But after-wishes ever come too late And nothing can revoke the course of fate; Wherefore, my liege, my censure deems it best, To match them with some of your neighbor kings, Bord’ring within the bounds of Albion, By whose united friendship, this our state, May be protected ’gainst all foreign hate. Leir Herein, my lords, your wishes sort with mine, And mine, I hope, do sort with heavenly powers, For at this instant two near-neighboring kings, Of Cornwall and of Cambria, motion love To my two daughters, Gonorill and Ragan. My youngest daughter, fair Cordella, vows No liking to a monarch unless love allows. She is solicited by divers peers, But none of them her partial fancy hears. Yet, if my policy may her beguile, I’ll match her to some king within this isle And so establish such a perfect peace As Fortune’s force shall ne’er prevail to cease. Perillus Of us and ours, your gracious care, my lord, Deserves an everlasting memory To be enrolled in chronicles of fame By never-dying perpetuity; Yet, to become so provident a prince, Lose not the title of a loving father. Do not force love where fancy cannot dwell, Lest streams, being stopped, above the banks do swell. Leir I am resolved, and even now my mind Doth meditate a sudden stratagem To try which of my daughters loves me best, Which, till I know, I cannot be in rest. This granted, when they jointly shall contend, Each to exceed the other in their love, Then at the vantage will I take Cordella, Even as she doth protest she loves me best; I’ll say, Then, daughter, grant me one request: To show thou lov’st me as thy sisters do, Accept a husband whom myself will woo. This said, she cannot well deny my suit, Although, poor soul, her senses will be mute. Then will I triumph in my policy, And match her with a king of Brittany. Skalliger Aside I’ll to them before and bewray your secrecy. Perillus Aside Thus, fathers think their children to beguile, And oftentimes themselves do first repent When heavenly powers do frustrate their intent. Exeunt.

Scene 2 Video Sc. 2 Enter Gonorill and Ragan Gonorill I marvel, Ragan, how you can endure To see that proud pert peat, our youngest sister, So slightly to account of us, her elders, As if we were no better than herself! We cannot have a quaint device so soon, Or new-made fashion of our choice invention, But, if she like it, she will have the same, Or study newer to exceed us both. Besides, she is so nice and so demure, So sober, courteous, modest, and precise, That all the court hath work enough to do To talk how she exceedeth me and you. Ragan What should I do? Would it were in my power To find a cure for this contagious ill: Some desperate medicine must be soon applied To dim the glory of her mounting fame, Else, ere’t be long, she’ll have both prick and praise, And we must be set by for working days. Do you not see what several choice of suitors She daily hath, and of the best degree? Say, amongst all, she hap to fancy one, And have a husband whenas we have none; Why, then, by right, to her we must give place, Though it be ne’er so much to our disgrace. Gonorill By my virginity, rather than she shall have A husband before me, I’ll marry one or other in his shirt. And yet I have made half a grant already Of my good will unto the king of Cornwall. Ragan Swear not so deeply, sister. Here cometh my Lord Skalliger. Something his hasty coming doth import. Enter Skalliger Skalliger Sweet princesses, I am glad I met you here so luckily, Having good news which doth concern you both And craveth speedy expedition. Ragan For God’s sake, tell us what it is, my lord! I am with child until you utter it. Skalliger To Ragan Madam, to save your longing, this it is: Your father, in great secrecy, today Told me he means to marry you out of hand Unto the noble prince of Cambria.— You, madam, to the king of Cornwall’s grace.— Your younger sister he would fain bestow Upon the rich king of Hibernia, But that he doubts she hardly will consent, For hitherto she ne’er could fancy him. If she do yield, why then, between you three, He will divide his kingdom for your dowries. But yet there is a further mystery Which, so you will conceal, I will disclose. Gonorill Whate’er thou speakst to us, kind Skalliger, Think that thou speak’st it only to thyself. Skalliger He earnestly desireth for to know Which of you three do bear most love to him, And on your loves he so extremely dotes As never any did, I think, before. He presently doth mean to send for you To be resolved of this tormenting doubt, And look whose answer pleaseth him the best, They shall have most unto their marriages. Ragan Oh, that I had some pleasing mermaid’s voice For to enchant his senseless senses with! Skalliger For he supposeth that Cordella will, Striving to go beyond you in her love, Promise to do whatever he desires; Then will he straight enjoin her, for his sake, Th’Hibernian king in marriage for to take. This is the sum of all I have to say, Which, being done, I humbly take my leave, Not doubting but your wisdoms will foresee What course will best unto your good agree. Gonorill Thanks, gentle Skalliger; thy kindness undeserved Shall not be unrequited, if we live. Exit Skalliger. Ragan Now have we fit occasion offered us To be revenged upon her unperceived. Gonorill Nay, our revenge we will inflict on her Shall be accounted piety in us. I will so flatter with my doting father As he was ne’er so flattered in his life. Nay, I will say that if it be his pleasure To match me to a beggar, I will yield, For why I know—whatever I do say— He means to match me with the Cornwall king. Ragan I’ll say the like, for I am well assured, Whate’er I say to please the old man’s mind, Who dotes as if he were a child again, I shall enjoy the noble Cambrian prince; Only, to feed his humor, will suffice To say I am content with anyone Whom he’ll appoint me. This will please him more Than e’er Apollo’s music pleasèd Jove. Gonorill I smile to think in what a woeful plight Cordella will be when we answer thus, For she will rather die than give consent To join in marriage with the Irish king. So will our father think she loveth him not Because she will not grant to his desire, Which we will aggravate in such bitter terms That he will soon convert his love to hate, For he, you know, is always in extremes. Ragan Not all the world could lay a better plot; I long till it be put in practice. Exeunt.

Scene 3 Video Sc. 3 Enter Leir and Perillus Leir Perillus, go seek my daughters. Will them immediately Come and speak with me. Perillus I will, my gracious lord. Exit. Leir Oh, what a combat feels my panting heart ’Twixt children’s love and care of common weal! How dear my daughters are unto my soul None knows but He that knows my thoughts and secret deeds. Ah, little do they know the dear regard Wherein I hold their future state to come. When they securely sleep on beds of down, These agèd eyes do watch for their behalf. While they, like wantons, sport in youthful toys, This throbbing heart is pierced with dire annoys. As doth the sun exceed the smallest star, So much the father’s love exceeds the child’s. Yet my complaints are causeless, for the world Affords not children more conformable, And yet methinks my mind presageth still I know not what, and yet I fear some ill. Enter Perillus, with the three daughters, Gonorill, Ragan and Cordella Well, here my daughters come. I have found out A present means to rid me of this doubt. Gonorill Our royal lord and father, in all duty We come to know the tenor of your will, Why you so hastily have sent for us. Leir Dear Gonorill, kind Ragan, sweet Cordella, Ye flourishing branches of a kingly stock, Sprung from a tree that once did flourish green, Whose blossoms now are nipped with winter’s frost, And pale, grim Death doth wait upon my steps, And summons me unto his next assizes. Therefore, dear daughters, as ye tender the safety Of him that was the cause of your first being, Resolve a doubt which much molests my mind: Which of you three to me would prove most kind, Which loves me most, and which, at my request, Will soonest yield unto their father’s hest? Gonorill I hope my gracious father makes no doubt Of any of his daughters’ love to him; Yet, for my part, to show my zeal to you, Which cannot be in windy words rehearsed, I prize my love to you at such a rate, I think my life inferior to my love. Should you enjoin me for to tie a millstone About my neck and leap into the sea, At your command I willingly would do it. Yea, for to do you good, I would ascend The highest turret in all Brittany, And from the top leap headlong to the ground. Nay, more, should you appoint me for to marry The meanest vassal in the spacious world, Without reply I would accomplish it. In brief, command whatever you desire, And if I fail, no favor I require. Leir Oh, how thy words revive my dying soul! Cordella Aside Oh, how I do abhor this flattery! Leir But what saith Ragan to her father’s will? Ragan Oh, that my simple utterance could suffice To tell the true intention of my heart, Which burns in zeal of duty to your grace And never can be quenched but by desire To show the same in outward forwardness. Oh, that there were some other maid that durst But make a challenge of her love with me: I’d make her soon confess she never loved Her father half so well as I do you. Ay, then my deeds should prove in plainer case How much my zeal aboundeth to your grace. But, for them all, let this one mean suffice To ratify my love before your eyes: I have right noble suitors to my love, No worse than kings, and happily I love one; Yet, would you have me make my choice anew, I’d bridle fancy, and be ruled by you. Leir Did never Philomel sing so sweet a note? Cordella Aside Did never flatterer tell so false a tale? Leir Speak now, Cordella, make my joys at full, And drop down nectar from thy honey lips. Cordella I cannot paint my duty forth in words; I hope my deeds shall make report for me. But look what love the child doth owe the father: The same to you I bear, my gracious lord. Gonorill Here is an answer answerless indeed! Were you my daughter, I should scarcely brook it. Ragan Dost thou not blush, proud peacock as thou art, To make our father such a slight reply? Leir Why, how now, minion, are you grown so proud? Doth our dear love make you thus peremptory? What, is your love become so small to us As that you scorn to tell us what it is? Do you love us as every child doth love Their father? True indeed, as some Who by disobedience short their fathers’ days, And so would you; some are so father-sick That they make means to rid them from the world, And so would you; some are indifferent Whether their agèd parents live or die, And so are you. But didst thou know, proud girl, What care I had to foster thee to this, Ah, then thou wouldst say as thy sisters do: Our life is less than love we owe to you. Cordella Dear father, do not so mistake my words, Nor my plain meaning be misconstrued; My tongue was never used to flattery. Gonorill You were not best say I flatter: if you do, My deeds shall show I flatter not with you. I love my father better than thou canst. Cordella The praise were great, spoke from another’s mouth, But it should seem your neighbors dwell far off. Ragan Nay, here is one that will confirm as much As she hath said, both for myself and her. I say thou dost not wish my father’s good. Cordella Dear father— Leir Peace, bastard imp, no issue of King Leir! I will not hear thee speak one tittle more. Call not me father if thou love thy life, Nor these thy sisters once presume to name; Look for no help henceforth from me nor mine; Shift as thou wilt and trust unto thyself. My kingdom will I equally divide ’Twixt thy two sisters to their royal dower, And will bestow them worthy their deserts. This done, because thou shalt not have the hope To have a child’s part in the time to come, I presently will dispossess myself And set up these upon my princely throne. Gonorill I ever thought that pride would have a fall. Ragan Plain-dealing sister, your beauty is so sheen, You need no dowry to make you be a queen. Exeunt Leir, Gonorill, Ragan. Cordella Now whither—poor, forsaken—shall I go, When mine own sisters triumph in my woe, But unto Him which doth protect the just? In Him will poor Cordella put her trust. These hands shall labor for to get my spending, And so I’ll live until my days have ending. Perillus Oh, how I grieve to see my lord thus fond To dote so much upon vain flattering words. Ah, if he but with good advice had weighed The hidden tenor of her humble speech, Reason to rage should not have given place, Nor poor Cordella suffer such disgrace. Exit.

Scene 4 Video Sc. 4 Enter the King of Gallia with Mumford and three Nobles more. Gallia Dissuade me not, my lords, I am resolved This next fair wind to sail for Brittany In some disguise, to see if flying Fame Be not too prodigal in the wondrous praise Of these three nymphs, the daughters of King Leir. If present view do answer absent praise, And eyes allow of what our ears have heard, And Venus stand auspicious to my vows, And Fortune favor what I take in hand, I will return seized of as rich a prize As Jason when he won the golden fleece. Mumford Heavens grant you may: the match were full of honor And well beseeming the young Gallian king. I would your grace would favor me so much As make me partner of your pilgrimage. I long to see the gallant British dames And feed mine eyes upon their rare perfections, For till I know the contrary, I’ll say Our dames in France are more fair than they. Gallia Lord Mumford, you have saved me a labor In off’ring that which I did mean to ask, And I most willingly accept your company. Yet, first I will enjoin you to observe Some few conditions which I shall propose. Mumford So that you do not tie mine eyes for looking After the amorous glances of fair dames, So that you do not tie my tongue from speaking, My lips from kissing when occasion serves, My hands from congees, and my knees to bow To gallant girls—which were a task more hard Than flesh and blood is able to endure— Command what else you please, I rest content. Gallia To bind thee from a thing thou canst not leave Were but a mean to make thee seek it more, And therefore speak, look, kiss, salute for me; In these myself am like to second thee. Now hear thy task: I charge thee, from the time That first we set sail for the British shore, To use no words of dignity to me, But, in the friendliest manner that thou canst, Make use of me as thy companion, For we will go disguised in palmers’ weeds, That no man shall mistrust us what we are. Mumford

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

Gallia Thy pleasant company will make the way seem short.— It resteth now that in my absence hence I do commit the government to you, My trusty lords and faithful counsellors. Time cutteth off the rest I have to say: The wind blows fair, and I must needs away. Noblemen Heavens send your voyage to as good effect As we your land do purpose to protect. Exeunt.

Scene 5 Video Sc. 5 Enter the King of Cornwall and his man, Servant 1, booted and spurred; a riding wand and a letter in Cornwall’s hand Cornwall But how far distant are we from the court? Servant 1 Some twenty miles, my lord, or thereabouts. Cornwall It seemeth to me twenty thousand miles; Yet hope I to be there within this hour. Servant 1 To himself Then are you like to ride alone for me. I think my lord is weary of his life. Cornwall Sweet Gonorill, I long to see thy face, Which hast so kindly gratified my love. Enter the King of Cambria, booted and spurred with a wand and a letter, and his man, Servant 2 Cambria He looks at the letter. Get a fresh horse, for, by my soul I swear, I am past patience longer to forbear The wished sight of my beloved mistress, Dear Ragan, stay and comfort of my life. Servant 2 To himself Now what in God’s name doth my lord intend? He thinks he ne’er shall come at’s journey’s end. I would he had old Daedalus’ waxen wings That he might fly, so I might stay behind; For ere we get to Troynovant, I see, He quite will tire himself, his horse, and me. Cornwall and Cambria look one upon another and start to see each other there. Cornwall Brother of Cambria, we greet you well, As one whom here we little did expect. Cambria Brother of Cornwall, met in happy time. I thought as much to have met with the Sultan of Persia As to have met you in this place, my lord. No doubt it is about some great affairs That makes you here so slenderly accompanied. Cornwall To say the truth, my lord, it is no less. And, for your part, some hasty wind of chance Hath blown you hither thus upon the sudden. Cambria My lord, to break off further circumstances, For at this time I cannot brook delays, Tell you your reason, I will tell you mine. Cornwall In faith, content; and, therefore, to be brief, For I am sure my haste’s as great as yours: I am sent for to come unto King Leir, Who, by these present letters, promiseth His eldest daughter, lovely Gonorill, To me in marriage and for present dowry The moiety of half his regiment. The lady’s love I long ago possessed, But until now I never had the father’s. Cambria You tell me wonders, yet I will relate Strange news, and henceforth we must brothers call. Witness these lines: his honorable age, Being weary of the troubles of his crown, His princely daughter Ragan will bestow On me in marriage, with half his seigniories, Whom I would gladly have accepted of With the third part, her complements are such. Cornwall If I have one half and you have the other, Then between us we must needs have the whole. Cambria The hole! How mean you that? ’Sblood, I hope We shall have two holes between us. Cornwall Why, the whole kingdom. Cambria Ay, that’s very true. Cornwall What then is left for his third daughter’s dowry, Lovely Cordella, whom the world admires? Cambria ’Tis very strange. I know not what to think, Unless they mean to make a nun of her. Cornwall ’Twere pity such rare beauty should be hid Within the compass of a cloister’s wall; But, howsoe’er, if Leir’s words prove true, It will be good, my lord, for me and you. Cambria Then let us haste, all danger to prevent, For fear delays do alter his intent. Exeunt.

Scene 6 Video Sc. 6 Enter Gonorill and Ragan Gonorill Sister, when did you see Cordella last, That pretty piece that thinks none good enough To speak to her because, sir-reverence, She hath a little beauty extraordinary? Ragan Since time my father warned her from his presence, I never saw her that I can remember. God give her joy of her surpassing beauty; I think her dowry will be small enough. Gonorill I have incensed my father so against her As he will never be reclaimed again. Ragan I was not much behind to do the like. Gonorill Faith, sister, what moves you to bear her such good will? Ragan In truth, I think the same that moveth you: Because she doth surpass us both in beauty. Gonorill Beshrew your fingers, how right you can guess. I tell you true, it cuts me to the heart. Ragan But we will keep her low enough, I warrant, And clip her wings for mounting up too high. Gonorill Whoever hath her shall have a rich marriage of her. Ragan She were right fit to make a parson’s wife, For they, men say, do love fair women well, And many times do marry them with nothing. Gonorill With nothing! Marry, God forbid! Why, are there any such? Ragan I mean, no money. Gonorill I cry you mercy, I mistook you much. And she is far too stately for the church: She’ll lay her husband’s benefice on her back Even in one gown, if she may have her will. Ragan In faith, poor soul, I pity her a little. Would she were less fair or more fortunate. Well, I think long until I see my Morgan, The gallant Prince of Cambria, here arrive. Gonorill And so do I until the Cornwall king Present himself to consummate my joys. Peace, here cometh my father. Enter Leir, Perillus, and others Leir Cease, good my lords, and sue not to reverse Our censure which is now irrevocable. We have dispatchèd letters of contract Unto the kings of Cambria and of Cornwall: Our hand and seal will justify no less. Then do not so dishonor me, my lords, As to make shipwreck of our kingly word. I am as kind as is the pelican That kills itself to save her young ones’ lives, And yet as jealous as the princely eagle That kills her young ones if they do but dazzle Upon the radiant splendor of the sun. Within this two days I expect their coming. Enter Kings of Cornwall and Cambria But in good time they are arrived already. This haste of yours, my lords, doth testify The fervent love you bear unto my daughters, And think yourselves as welcome to King Leir As ever Priam’s children were to him. Cornwall My gracious lord, and father too, I hope, Pardon for that I made no greater haste, But were my horse as swift as was my will, I long ere this had seen your majesty. Cambria No other ’scuse of absence can I frame Than what my brother hath informed your grace; For our undeserved welcome, we do vow Perpetually to rest at your command. Cornwall But you, sweet love, illustrious Gonorill, The regent and the sovereign of my soul, Is Cornwall welcome to your excellency? Gonorill As welcome as Leander was to Hero, Or brave Aeneas to the Carthage queen, So and more welcome is your grace to me. Cambria Oh, may my fortune prove no worse than his Since heavens do know my fancy is as much. Dear Ragan, say if welcome unto thee; All welcomes else will little comfort me. Ragan As gold is welcome to the covetous eye, As sleep is welcome to the traveler, As is fresh water to sea-beaten men, Or moistened showers unto the parchèd ground, Or anything more welcomer than this, So and more welcome lovely Morgan is. Leir What resteth, then, but that we consummate The celebration of these nuptial rites? My kingdom I do equally divide. Princes, draw lots, and take your chance as falls. Then they draw lots. These I resign as freely unto you As erst by true succession they were mine. And here I do freely dispossess myself And make you two my true adopted heirs. Myself will sojourn with my son of Cornwall And take me to my prayers and my beads. I know my daughter Ragan will be sorry Because I do not spend my days with her. Would I were able to be with both at once: They are the kindest girls in Christendom. Perillus I have been silent all this while, my lord, To see if any worthier than myself Would once have spoke in poor Cordella’s cause, But love or fear ties silence to their tongues. Oh, hear me speak for her my gracious lord, Whose deeds have not deserved this ruthless doom, As thus to disinherit her of all. Leir Urge this no more an if thou love thy life! I say she is no daughter that doth scorn To tell her father how she loveth him. Whoever speaketh hereof to me again, I will esteem him for my mortal foe. Come, let us in to celebrate with joy The happy nuptials of these lovely pairs. Exeunt omnes; Perillus remains. Perillus Ah, who so blind as they that will not see The near approach of their own misery? Poor lady, I extremely pity her, And, whilst I live, each drop of my heart blood Will I strain forth to do her any good. Exit.

Scene 7 Video Sc. 7 Enter the King of Gallia and Mumford, disguised like pilgrims. Mumford My lord, how do you brook this British air? Gallia My lord? I told you of this foolish humor And bound you to the contrary, you know. Mumford Pardon me for once, my lord, I did forget. Gallia My lord again? Then let’s have nothing else And so be ta’en for spies, and then ’tis well. Mumford ’Swounds, I could bite my tongue in two for anger! For God’s sake name yourself some proper name. Gallia Call me Tresillus; I’ll call thee Denapoll. Mumford Might I be made the monarch of the world, I could not hit upon these names, I swear. Gallia Then call me Will; I’ll call thee Jack. Mumford Well, be it so, for I have well deserved to be called Jack. Enter Cordella Gallia Stand close, for here a British lady cometh. A fairer creature ne’er mine eyes beheld. Cordella This is a day of joy unto my sisters, Wherein they both are married unto kings, And I, by birth as worthy as themselves, Am turned into the world to seek my fortune. How may I blame the fickle queen of chance That maketh me a pattern of her power? Ah, poor, weak maid, whose imbecility Is far unable to endure these brunts! Oh, father Leir, how dost thou wrong thy child Who always was obedient to thy will! But why accuse I Fortune and my father? No, no, it is the pleasure of my God, And I do willingly embrace the rod. Gallia It is no goddess, for she doth complain On Fortune and th’unkindness of her father. Cordella These costly robes, ill fitting my estate, I will exchange for other meaner habit. Mumford

Now if I had a kingdom in my hands, I would exchange it for a milkmaid’s smock and petticoat that she and I might shift our clothes together.

Cordella I will betake me to my thread and needle, And earn my living with my fingers’ ends. Mumford O brave! God willing, thou shalt have my custom, By sweet St. Denis here I sadly swear, For all the shirts and nightgear that I wear! Cordella I will profess and vow a maiden’s life. Mumford Then I protest thou shalt not have my custom. Gallia I can forbear no longer for to speak, For if I do I think my heart will break. Mumford ’Sblood, Will, I hope you are not in love with my sempster! Gallia I am in such a labyrinth of love As that I know not which way to get out. Mumford You’ll ne’er get out unless you first get in. Gallia I prithee, Jack, cross not my passions. Mumford Prithee, Will, to her and try her patience. Gallia Thou fairest creature, whatsoe’er thou art, That ever any mortal eyes beheld, Vouchsafe to me, who have o’erheard thy woes, To show the cause of these thy sad laments. Cordella Ah pilgrims, what avails to show the cause When there’s no means to find a remedy? Gallia To utter grief doth ease a heart o’ercharged. Cordella To touch a sore doth aggravate the pain. Gallia The silly mouse, by virtue of her teeth, Released the princely lion from the net. Cordella Kind palmer, which so much desir’st to hear The tragic tale of my unhappy youth, Know this in brief: I am the hapless daughter Of Leir, sometime king of Brittany. Gallia Why, who debars his honorable age From being still the king of Brittany? Cordella None but himself hath dispossessed himself, And given all his kingdom to the kings Of Cornwall and of Cambria with my sisters. Gallia Hath he given nothing to your lovely self? Cordella He loved me not and therefore gave me nothing, Only because I could not flatter him, And in this day of triumph to my sisters Doth Fortune triumph in my overthrow. Gallia Sweet lady, say there should come a king— As good as either of your sisters’ husbands— To crave your love: would you accept of him? Cordella Oh, do not mock with those in misery; Nor do not think, though Fortune have the power To spoil mine honor and debase my state, That she hath any interest in my mind, For if the greatest monarch on the earth Should sue to me in this extremity, Except my heart could love and heart could like Better than any that I ever saw, His great estate no more should move my mind Than mountains move by blast of every wind. Gallia Think not, sweet nymph, ’tis holy palmer’s guise To grievèd souls fresh torments to devise; Therefore, in witness of my true intent, Let heaven and earth bear record of my words: There is a young and lusty Gallian king, So like to me as I am to myself, That earnestly doth crave to have thy love And join with thee in Hymen’s sacred bonds. Cordella Aside The like to thee did ne’er these eyes behold. Oh, live to add new torments to my grief! Why didst thou thus entrap me unawares?— Ah, palmer, my estate doth not befit A kingly marriage as the case now stands. Whilom whenas I lived in honor’s height, A prince perhaps might postulate my love; Now misery, dishonor, and disgrace Hath light on me, and quite reversed the case. Thy king will hold thee wise if thou surcease The suit whereas no dowry will ensue. Then be advisèd, palmer, what to do: Cease for thy king, seek for thyself to woo. Gallia Your birth’s too high for any but a king. Cordella My mind is low enough to love a palmer Rather than any king upon the earth. Gallia Oh, but you never can endure their life, Which is so straight and full of penury. Cordella Oh, yes, I can, and happy if I might. I’ll hold thy palmer’s staff within my hand And think it is the scepter of a queen; Sometime I’ll set thy bonnet on my head And think I wear a rich imperial crown; Sometime I’ll help thee in thy holy prayers And think I am with thee in paradise: Thus I’ll mock Fortune as she mocketh me, And never will my lovely choice repent, For having thee, I shall have all content. Gallia Aside ’Twere sin to hold her longer in suspense Since that my soul hath vowed she shall be mine.— Ah, dear Cordella, cordial to my heart, I am no palmer as I seem to be But hither come in this unknown disguise To view th’admirèd beauty of those eyes. I am the king of Gallia, gentle maid, Although thus slenderly accompanied, And yet thy vassal by imperious Love, And sworn to serve thee everlastingly. Cordella Whate’er you be, of high or low descent, All’s one to me; I do request but this: That as I am, you will accept of me, And I will have you whatsoe’er you be. Yet well I know you come of royal race; I see such sparks of honor in your face. Mumford Have palmers’ weeds such power to win fair ladies? Faith, then I hope the next that falls is mine. Upon condition I no worse might speed, I would forever wear a palmer’s weed. I like an honest and plain-dealing wench That swears, without exceptions, I will have you.

These foppets that know not whether to love a man or no—except they first go ask their mothers’ leave—by this hand, I hate them ten times worse than poison.

Gallia What resteth, then, our happiness to procure? Mumford Faith, go to church to make the matter sure. Gallia It shall be so because the world shall say, King Leir’s three daughters were wedded in one day. The celebration of this happy chance We will defer until we come to France. Mumford I like the wooing that’s not long a doing.

Well, for her sake, I know what I know: I’ll never marry whilst I live except I have one of these British ladies. My humor is alienated from the maids of France.

Exeunt.

Scene 8 Video Sc. 8 Enter Perillus alone Perillus The king hath dispossessed himself of all, Those to advance which scarce will give him thanks. His youngest daughter he hath turned away, And no man knows what is become of her. He sojourns now in Cornwall with the eldest, Who flattered him until she did obtain That at his hands which now she doth possess; And, now she sees he hath no more to give, It grieves her heart to see her father live. Oh, whom should man trust in this wicked age When children thus against their parents rage? But he, the mirror of mild patience, Puts up all wrongs and never gives reply, Yet shames she not, in most opprobrious sort, To call him fool and dotard to his face, And sets her parasites of purpose oft In scoffing-wise to offer him disgrace. Oh, iron age! Oh, times! Oh, monstrous, vile, When parents are condemnèd of the child! His pension she hath half restrained from him And will, ere long, the other half, I fear, For she thinks nothing is bestowed in vain But that which doth her father’s life maintain. Trust not alliance, but trust strangers rather, Since daughters prove disloyal to the father. Well, I will counsel him the best I can. Would I were able to redress his wrong! Yet what I can unto my utmost power He shall be sure of to the latest hour. Exit.

Scene 9 Video Sc. 9 Enter Gonorill and Skalliger Gonorill I prithee, Skalliger, tell me what thou think’st: Could any woman of our dignity Endure such quips and peremptory taunts As I do daily from my doting father? Doth’t not suffice that I him keep of alms Who is not able for to keep himself, But, as if he were our better, he should think To check and snap me up at every word? I cannot make me a new-fashioned gown, And set it forth with more than common cost, But his old doting, doltish, withered wit Is sure to give a senseless check for it. I cannot make a banquet extraordinary To grace myself and spread my name abroad But he, old fool, is captious by and by, And saith the cost would well suffice for twice. Judge then, I pray, what reason is’t that I Should stand alone charged with his vain expense And that my sister Ragan should go free, To whom he gave as much as unto me? I prithee, Skalliger, tell me, if thou know, By any means to rid me of this woe. Skalliger Your many favors still bestowed on me Bind me in duty to advise your grace How you may soonest remedy this ill. The large allowance which he hath from you Is that which makes him so forget himself; Therefore, abridge it half and you shall see That, having less, he will more thankful be, For why abundance maketh us forget The fountains whence the benefits do spring. Gonorill Well, Skalliger, for thy kind advice herein, I will not be ungrateful if I live. I have restrainèd half his portion already And I will presently restrain the other, That, having no means to relieve himself, He may go seek elsewhere for better help. Exit Gonorill. Skalliger Go, viperous woman, shame to all thy sex, The heavens no doubt will punish thee for this. And me, a villain that, to curry favor, Have given the daughter counsel ’gainst the father. But us the world doth this experience give: That he that cannot flatter cannot live. Exit.

Scene 10 Video Sc. 10 Enter King of Cornwall, Leir, Perillus, and Nobles Cornwall Father, what aileth you to be so sad? Methinks you frolic not as you were wont. Leir The nearer we do grow unto our graves, The less we do delight in worldly joys. Cornwall But if a man can frame himself to mirth, It is a mean for to prolong his life. Leir Then welcome sorrow, Leir’s only friend, Who doth desire his troubled days had end. Cornwall Comfort yourself, father, here comes your daughter, Who much will grieve, I know, to see you sad. Enter Gonorill Leir But more doth grieve, I fear, to see me live. Cornwall My Gonorill, you come in wishèd time To put your father from these pensive dumps. In faith, I fear that all things go not well. Gonorill What, do you fear that I have angered him? Hath he complained of me unto my lord? I’ll provide him a piece of bread and cheese, For in a time he’ll practise nothing else Than carry tales from one unto another. ’Tis all his practice for to kindle strife ’Twixt you, my lord, and me your loving wife. But I will take an order, if I can, To cease th’effect where first the cause began. Cornwall Sweet, be not angry in a partial cause: He ne’er complained of thee in all his life.— Father, you must not weigh a woman’s words. Leir Alas, not I. Poor soul, she breeds young bones, And that is it makes her so touchy sure. Gonorill What, breeds young bones—already! You will make An honest woman of me then, belike. O vile old wretch! Whoever heard the like, That seeketh thus his own child to defame? Cornwall I cannot stay to hear this discord sound. Exit Cornwall. Gonorill To Leir and his attendants For anyone that loves your company, You may go pack and seek some other place To sow the seed of discord and disgrace. Exit Gonorill. Leir Thus, say or do the best that e’er I can, ’Tis wrested straight into another sense. This punishment my heavy sins deserve, And more than this ten thousand thousand times, Else agèd Leir them could never find Cruel to him to whom he hath been kind. Why do I overlive myself, to see The course of nature quite reversed in me? Ah, gentle Death, if ever any wight Did wish thy presence with a perfect zeal, Then come, I pray thee, even with all my heart, And end my sorrows with thy fatal dart. He weeps. Perillus Ah, do not so disconsolate yourself, Nor dew your agèd cheeks with wasting tears. Leir What man art thou that takest any pity Upon the worthless state of old Leir? Perillus One who doth bear as great a share of grief, As if it were my dearest father’s case. Leir Ah, good my friend, how ill art thou advised For to consort with miserable men. Go learn to flatter where thou mayst in time Get favor ’mongst the mighty, and so climb; For now I am so poor and full of want As that I ne’er can recompense thy love. Perillus What’s got by flattery doth not long endure, And men in favor live not most secure. My conscience tells me if I should forsake you, I were the hateful’st excrement on the earth, Which well do know, in course of former time, How good my lord hath been to me and mine. Leir Did I e’er raise thee higher than the rest Of all thy ancestors which were before? Perillus I ne’er did seek it, but by your good grace I still enjoyed my own with quietness. Leir Did I e’er give thee living to increase The due revenues which thy father left? Perillus I had enough, my lord, and having that, What should you need to give me any more? Leir Oh, did I ever dispossess myself And give thee half my kingdom in good will? Perillus Alas, my lord, there were no reason why You should have such a thought to give it me. Leir Nay, if thou talk of reason, then be mute, For with good reason I can thee confute. If they, which first by nature’s sacred law Do owe to me the tribute of their lives, If they to whom I always have been kind And bountiful beyond comparison, If they for whom I have undone myself And brought my age unto this extreme want, Do now reject, condemn, despise, abhor me, What reason moveth thee to sorrow for me? Perillus Where reason fails let tears confirm my love, And speak how much your passions do me move. Ah, good my lord, condemn not all for one: You have two daughters left to whom I know You shall be welcome, if you please to go. Leir Oh, how thy words add sorrow to my soul, To think of my unkindness to Cordella, Whom causeless I did dispossess of all Upon th’unkind suggestions of her sisters; And for her sake I think this heavy doom Is fallen on me, and not without desert. Yet unto Ragan was I always kind, And gave to her the half of all I had. It may be, if I should to her repair, She would be kinder and entreat me fair. Perillus No doubt she would, and practise, ere’t be long, By force of arms for to redress your wrong. Leir Well, since thou dost advise me for to go, I am resolved to try the worst of woe. Exeunt.

Scene 11 Video Sc. 11 Enter Ragan alone Ragan How may I bless the hour of my nativity Which bodeth unto me such happy stars! How may I thank kind Fortune that vouchsafes To all my actions such desired event! I rule the king of Cambria as I please; The states are all obedient to my will And look whate’er I say, it shall be so; Not anyone that dareth answer no. My eldest sister lives in royal state And wanteth nothing fitting her degree; Yet hath she such a cooling card withal As that her honey savoreth much of gall. My father with her is quartermaster still, And many times restrains her of her will, But, if he were with me, and served me so, I’d send him packing somewhere else to go: I’d entertain him with such slender cost That he should quickly wish to change his host. Exit.

Scene 12 Video Sc. 12 Enter Cornwall, Gonorill, and attendants Cornwall Ah, Gonorill, what dire unhappy chance Hath sequestered thy father from our presence That no report can yet be heard of him? Some great unkindness hath been offered him, Exceeding far the bounds of patience, Else all the world shall never me persuade He would forsake us without notice made. Gonorill Alas, my lord, whom doth it touch so near, Or who hath interest in this grief but I, Whom sorrow had brought to her longest home, But that I know his qualities so well? I know he is but stol’n upon my sister At unawares to see her how she fares And spend a little time with her, to note How all things go and how she likes her choice; And when occasion serves, he’ll steal from her And unawares return to us again. Therefore, my lord, be frolic and resolve To see my father here again ere long. Cornwall I hope so too, but yet to be more sure I’ll send a post immediately to know Whether he be arrivèd there or no. Exit Cornwall with attendants. Gonorill But I will intercept the messenger And temper him, before he doth depart, With sweet persuasions and with sound rewards, That his report shall ratify my speech And make my lord cease further to inquire. If he be not gone to my sister’s court, As sure my mind presageth that he is, He haply may, by travelling unknown ways, Fall sick, and as a common passenger Be dead and buried. Would God it were so well, For then there were no more to do but this: He went away, and none knows where he is. But say he be in Cambria with the king And there exclaim against me, as he will; I know he is as welcome to my sister As water is into a broken ship. Well, after him I’ll send such thunderclaps Of slander, scandal, and invented tales That all the blame shall be removed from me And, unperceived, rebound upon himself. Thus with one nail another I’ll expel, And make the world judge that I used him well. Enter the Messenger that should go to Cambria, with a letter in his hand. Gonorill My honest friend, whither away so fast? Messenger

To Cambria, madam, with letters from the king.

Gonorill

To whom?

Messenger

Unto your father, if he be there.

Gonorill

Let me see them.

She opens them. Messenger

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

Gonorill

’Twas I that opened them; it was not thou.

Messenger

Ay, but you need not care, and so must I, a handsome man, be quickly trussed up; and when a man’s hanged, all the world cannot save him.

Gonorill He that hangs thee were better hang his father, Or that but hurts thee in the least degree. I tell thee, we make great account of thee. Messenger I am o’erjoyed; I surfeit of sweet words. Kind Queen, had I a hundred lives, I would Spend ninety-nine of them for you for that word. Gonorill Ay, but thou wouldst keep one life still, And that’s as many as thou art like to have. Messenger

That one life is not too dear for my good queen: this sword, this buckler, this head, this heart, these hands, arms, legs, tripes, bowels, and all the members else whatsoever, are at your dispose. Use me, trust me, command me; if I fail in anything, tie me to a dung cart and make a scavenger’s horse of me, and whip me so long as I have any skin on my back.

Gonorill

In token of further employment, take that.

Flings him a purse. Messenger

A strong bond, a firm obligation, good in law, good in law. If I keep not the condition, let my neck be the forfeiture of my negligence.

Gonorill

I like thee well; thou hast a good tongue.

Messenger

And as bad a tongue, if it be set on it, as any oysterwife at Billingsgate hath. Why, I have made many of my neighbors forsake their houses with railing upon them, and go dwell elsewhere, and so, by my means, houses have been good cheap in our parish. My tongue being well whetted with choler is more sharp than a razor of Palermo.

Gonorill Oh, thou art a fit man for my purpose. Messenger Commend me not, sweet Queen, before you try me. As my deserts are, so do think of me. Gonorill

Well said. Then this is thy trial: instead of carrying the king’s letters to my father, carry thou these letters to my sister, which contain matter quite contrary to the other. There shall she be given to understand that my father hath detracted her, given out slanderous speeches against her, and that he hath most intolerably abused me, set my lord and me at variance, and made mutinies amongst the commons.

These things—although it be not so— Yet thou must affirm them to be true With oaths and protestations as will serve To drive my sister out of love with him And cause my will accomplishèd to be. This do, thou winn’st my favor forever, And makst a highway of preferment to thee And all thy friends. Messenger

It sufficeth; conceit, it is already done. I will so tongue-whip him that I will leave him as bare of credit as a poulter leaves a cony when she pulls off his skin.

Gonorill

Yet there is a further matter.

Messenger

I thirst to hear it.

Gonorill

If my sister thinketh convenient, as my letters importeth, to make him away, hast thou the heart to effect it?

Messenger Few words are best in so small a matter; These are but trifles. By this book I will. He kisses the paper. Gonorill About it presently; I long till it be done. Messenger I fly, I fly. Exeunt.

Scene 13 Video Sc. 13 Enter Cordella alone Cordella I have been over-negligent today In going to the temple of my God To render thanks for all his benefits Which he miraculously hath bestowed on me In raising me out of my mean estate Whenas I was devoid of worldly friends And placing me in such a sweet content As far exceeds the reach of my deserts. My kingly husband, mirror of his time For zeal, for justice, kindness, and for care To God, his subjects, me, and common weal, By His appointment was ordained for me. I cannot wish the thing that I do want, I cannot want the thing but I may have, Save only this which I shall ne’er obtain: My father’s love. Oh, this I ne’er shall gain. I would abstain from any nutriment And pine my body to the very bones; Barefoot, I would on pilgrimage set forth Unto the furthest quarters of the earth, And all my lifetime would I sackcloth wear, And mourning-wise pour dust upon my head, So he but to forgive me once would please, That his grey hairs might go to heaven in peace. And yet I know not how I him offended, Or wherein justly I have deserved blame. O sisters! You are much to blame in this: It was not he but you that did me wrong. Yet God forgive both him and you and me, E’en as I do in perfect charity. I will to church and pray unto my savior That, ere I die, I may obtain his favor. Exit.

Scene 14 Video Sc. 14 Enter Leir and Perillus faintly Perillus Rest on me, my lord, and stay yourself; The way seems tedious to your agèd limbs. Leir Nay, rest on me, kind friend, and stay thyself; Thou art as old as I, but more kind. Perillus Ah, good my lord, it ill befits that I Should lean upon the person of a king. Leir But it fits worse that I should bring thee forth, That had no cause to come along with me, Through these uncouth paths and tireful ways, And never ease thy fainting limbs a whit. Thou hast left all—ay, all—to come with me, And I, for all, have nought to guerdon thee. Perillus Cease, good my lord, to aggravate my woes With these kind words, which cut my heart in two To think your will should want the power to do. Leir Cease, good Perillus, for to call me lord, And think me but the shadow of myself. Perillus That honorable title will I give Unto my lord so long as I do live. Oh, be of comfort, for I see the place Whereas your daughter keeps her residence. And, lo, in happy time the Cambrian prince Is here arrived to gratify our coming. Enter the Prince of Cambria, Ragan, and Nobles; look upon them and whisper together. Leir Were I best speak or sit me down and die? I am ashamed to tell this heavy tale. Perillus Then let me tell it, if you please, my lord. ’Tis shame for them that were the cause thereof. Cambria What two old men are those that seem so sad? Methinks I should remember well their looks. Ragan No, I mistake not, sure it is my father. Aside I must dissemble kindness now of force. She runneth to him, and kneels down, saying: Father, I bid you welcome, full of grief, To see your grace used thus unworthily, And ill-befitting for your reverend age To come on foot a journey so indurable. Oh, what disaster chance hath been the cause To make your cheeks so hollow, spare, and lean?— He cannot speak for weeping. For God’s love, come, Let us refresh him with some needful things And at more leisure we may better know Whence springs the ground of this unlooked-for woe. Cambria Come, father; ere we any further talk, You shall refresh you after this weary walk. Exeunt all but Ragan. Ragan Comes he to me with finger in the eye To tell a tale against my sister here, Whom I do know he greatly hath abused? And now, like a contentious crafty wretch, He first begins for to complain himself, Whenas himself is in the greatest fault. I’ll not be partial in my sister’s cause, Nor yet believe his doting vain reports, Who, for a trifle, safely I dare say, Upon a spleen is stolen thence away, And here, forsooth, he hopeth to have harbor And to be moaned and made on like a child. But ere’t be long, his coming he shall curse, And truly say he came from bad to worse. Yet will I make fair weather to procure Convenient means, and then I’ll strike it sure. Exit.

Scene 15Video Sc. 15 Enter Messenger alone Messenger Now happily I am arrivèd here Before the stately palace of the Cambrian king. If Leir be here safe-seated and in rest, To rouse him from it I will do my best. Enter Ragan Now, bags of gold, your virtue is, no doubt, To make me in my message bold and stout.— The king of heaven preserve your majesty, And send your highness everlasting reign. Ragan Thanks, good my friend, but what imports thy message? Messenger Kind greetings from the Cornwall queen; The residue these letters will declare. She opens the letters. Ragan How fares our royal sister? Messenger I did leave her at my parting in good health. She reads the letter, frowns, and stamps. Aside See how her color comes and goes again, Now red as scarlet, now as pale as ash; See how she knits her brow, and bites her lips, And stamps, and makes a dumbshow of disdain Mixed with revenge and violent extremes. Here will be more work and more crowns for me. Ragan Aside Alas, poor soul, and hath he used her thus? And is he now come hither with intent To set divorce betwixt my lord and me? Doth he give out that he doth hear report That I do rule my husband as I list, And therefore means to alter so the case That I shall know my lord to be my head? Well, it were best for him to take good heed, Or I will make him hop without a head For his presumption, dotard that he is. In Cornwall he hath made such mutinies— First, setting of the king against the queen, Then stirring up the commons ’gainst the king— That had he there continued any longer, He had been called in question for his fact. So upon that occasion thence he fled, And comes thus slyly stealing unto us, And now already since his coming hither, My lord and he are grown in such a league That I can have no conference with his grace. I fear he doth already intimate Some forgèd cavillations ’gainst my state. ’Tis therefore best to cut him off in time, Lest slanderous rumors, once abroad dispersed, It is too late for them to be reversed.— To the Messenger Friend, as the tenor of these letters shows, My sister puts great confidence in thee. Messenger She never yet committed trust to me But that, I hope, she found me always faithful. So will I be to any friend of hers That hath occasion to employ my help. Ragan Hast thou the heart to act a stratagem, And give a stab or two if need require? Messenger I have a heart compact of adamant Which never knew what melting pity meant. I weigh no more the murd’ring of a man Than I respect the cracking of a flea When I do catch her biting on my skin. If you will have your husband or your father Or both of them sent to another world, Do but command me do’t: it shall be done. Ragan It is enough; we make no doubt of thee. Meet us tomorrow, here, at nine o’clock. Meanwhile, farewell, She gives him a purse. And drink that for my sake. Exit Ragan. Messenger Ay, this is it will make me do the deed. Oh, had I every day such customers, This were the gainful’st trade in Christendom! A purse of gold giv’n for a paltry stab! Why, here’s a wench that longs to have a stab. Well, I could give it her, and ne’er hurt her neither. Exit Messenger.

Scene 16 Video Sc. 16 Enter the King of Gallia and Cordella Gallia When will these clouds of sorrow once disperse And smiling joy triumph upon thy brow? When will this scene of sadness have an end And pleasant acts ensue to move delight? When will my lovely queen cease to lament And take some comfort to her grievèd thoughts? If of thyself thou deignst to have no care, Yet pity me whom thy grief makes despair. Cordella Oh, grieve not you, my lord, you have no cause. Let not my passions move your mind a whit, For I am bound by nature to lament For his ill will that life to me first lent. If so the stalk be drièd with disdain, Withered and sere the branch must needs remain. Gallia But thou art now graft in another stock: I am the stock and thou the lovely branch, And from my root continual sap shall flow To make thee flourish with perpetual spring. Forget thy father and thy kindred now, Since they forsake thee like inhumane beasts. Think they are dead since all their kindness dies, And bury them where black oblivion lies. Think not thou art the daughter of old Leir, Who did unkindly disinherit thee, But think thou art the noble Gallian queen, And wife to him that dearly loveth thee. Embrace the joys that present with thee dwell; Let sorrow pack and hide herself in hell. Cordella Not that I miss my country or my kin, My old acquaintance or my ancient friends— Doth any whit distemperate my mind, Knowing you, which are more dear to me Than country, kin and all things else can be? Yet pardon me, my gracious lord, in this, For what can stop the course of nature’s power? As easy is it for four-footed beasts To stay themselves upon the liquid air And mount aloft into the element And overstrip the feathered fowls in flight, As easy is it for the slimy fish To live and thrive without the help of water, As easy is it for the blackamoor To wash the tawny colour from his skin, Which all oppose against the course of nature, As I am able to forget my father. Gallia Mirror of virtue, Phoenix of our age! Too kind a daughter for an unkind father! Be of good comfort, for I will dispatch Ambassadors immediately for Britain, Unto the king of Cornwall’s court, whereas Your father keepeth now his residence, And in the kindest manner him entreat That, setting former grievances apart, He will be pleased to come and visit us. If no entreaty will suffice the turn, I’ll offer him the half of all my crown. If that moves not, we’ll furnish out a fleet And sail to Cornwall for to visit him, And there you shall be firmly reconciled In perfect love, as erst you were before. Cordella Where tongue cannot sufficient thanks afford, The king of heaven remunerate my lord. Gallia Only be blithe and frolic, sweet, with me; This and much more I’ll do to comfort thee.

Scene 17 Video Sc. 17 Enter Messenger alone Messenger It is a world to see, now I am flush, How many friends I purchase everywhere! How many seek to creep into my favor, And kiss their hands and bend their knees to me! No more, here comes the queen; now shall I know her mind, And hope for to derive more crowns from her. Enter Ragan Ragan My friend, I see thou mindst thy promise well And art before me here, methinks, today. Messenger I am a poor man, an it like your grace, But yet I always love to keep my word. Ragan Well, keep thy word with me and thou shalt see That of a poor man I will make thee rich. Messenger I long to hear it; it might have been dispatched If you had told me of it yesternight. Ragan It is a thing of right strange consequence, And well I cannot utter it in words. Messenger It is more strange that I am not by this Beside myself with longing for to hear it. Were it to meet the devil in his den And try a bout with him for a scratched face, I’d undertake it if you would but bid me. Ragan Ah, good my friend, that I should have thee do Is such a thing as I do shame to speak, Yet it must needs be done. Messenger I’ll speak it for thee, Queen; shall I kill thy father? I know ’tis that, an if it be so, say. Ragan Ay. Messenger Why, that’s enough. Ragan And yet that is not all. Messenger What else? Ragan Thou must kill that old man that came with him. Messenger Here are two hands; for each of them is one. Ragan And for each hand here is a recompense. Gives him two purses. Messenger Oh, that I had ten hands by miracle, I could tear ten in pieces with my teeth, So in my mouth you’d put a purse of gold. But in what manner must it be effected? Ragan Tomorrow morning ere the break of day, I by a wile will send them to the thicket That is about some two miles from the court, And promise them to meet them there myself Because I must have private conference About some news I have received from Cornwall. This is enough, I know, they will not fail, And then be ready for to play thy part, Which done, thou mayst right easily escape And no man once mistrust thee for the fact. But yet, before thou prosecute the act, Show him the letter which my sister sent; There let him read his own indictment first, And then proceed to execution. But see thou faint not, for they will speak fair. Messenger Could he speak words as pleasing as the pipe Of Mercury, which charmed the hundred eyes Of watchful Argos and enforced him sleep, Yet here are words so pleasing to my thoughts, To the purse As quite shall take away the sound of his. Exit Messenger. Ragan About it then, and when thou hast dispatched, I’ll find a means to send thee after him. Exit.

Scene 18 Video Sc. 18 Enter Cornwall and Gonorill Cornwall I wonder that the messenger doth stay Whom we dispatched for Cambria so long since. If that his answer do not please us well, And he do show good reason for delay, I’ll teach him how to dally with his king, And to detain us in such long suspense. Gonorill My lord, I think the reason may be this: My father means to come along with him And, therefore, ’tis his pleasure he shall stay For to attend upon him on the way. Cornwall It may be so, and therefore till I know The truth thereof, I will suspend my judgment. Enter Servant Servant 1 An’t like your grace, there is an ambassador Arrived from Gallia and craves admittance to your majesty. Cornwall From Gallia? What should his message Hither import? Is not your father haply Gone thither? Well, whatsoe’er it be, Bid him come in; he shall have audience. Enter Ambassador What news from Gallia? Speak, ambassador. Ambassador The noble king and queen of Gallia first salute, By me, their honorable father, my lord Leir; Next, they commend them kindly to your graces, As those whose welfare they entirely wish. Letters I have to deliver to my lord Leir, And presents too, if I might speak with him. Gonorill If you might speak with him? Why, do you think We are afraid that you should speak with him? Ambassador Pardon me, madam, for I think not so, But say so only ’cause he is not here. Cornwall Indeed, my friend, upon some urgent cause He is at this time absent from the court, But if a day or two you here repose ’Tis very likely you shall have him here, Or else have certain notice where he is. Gonorill Are not we worthy to receive your message? Ambassador I had in charge to do it to himself. Gonorill Aside It may be then ’twill not be done in haste.— To the Ambassador How doth my sister brook the air of France? Ambassador Exceeding well, and never sick one hour Since first she set her foot upon the shore. Gonorill I am the more sorry. Ambassador I hope not so, madam. Gonorill Didst thou not say that she was ever sick Since the first hour that she arrivèd there? Ambassador No, madam, I said quite contrary. Gonorill Then I mistook thee. Cornwall Then she is merry, if she have her health. Ambassador Oh no, her grief exceeds until the time That she be reconciled unto her father. Gonorill God continue it. Ambassador What, madam? Gonorill Why, her health. Ambassador Amen to that, but God release her grief And send her father in a better mind Than to continue always so unkind. Cornwall I’ll be a mediator in her cause, And seek all means to expiate his wrath. Ambassador Madam, I hope your grace will do the like. Gonorill Should I be a mean to exasperate his wrath Against my sister, whom I love so dear? No, no. Ambassador To expiate or mitigate his wrath, For he hath misconceived without a cause. Gonorill Oh, ay, what else? Ambassador ’Tis pity it should be so; would it were otherwise. Gonorill It were great pity it should be otherwise. Ambassador Than how, madam? Gonorill Than that they should be reconciled again. Ambassador It shows you bear an honorable mind. Gonorill Aside It shows thy understanding to be blind, And that thou hadst need of an interpreter. Well, I will know thy message ere’t be long, And find a mean to cross it, if I can. Cornwall Come in, my friend, and frolic in our court Till certain notice of my father come. Exeunt.

Scene 19 Video Sc. 19 Enter Leir and Perillus Perillus My lord, you are up today before your hour. ’Tis news to you to be abroad so rathe. Leir ’Tis news indeed; I am so extreme heavy, That I can scarcely keep my eyelids open. Perillus And so am I, but I impute the cause To rising sooner than we use to do. Leir Hither my daughter means to come disguised; I’ll sit me down and read until she come. Leir pulls out a book and sits down. Perillus She’ll not be long, I warrant you, my lord, But say a couple of these they call good-fellows Should step out of a hedge and set upon us. We were in good case for to answer them. Leir ’Twere not for us to stand upon our hands. Perillus I fear we scant should stand upon our legs. But how should we do to defend ourselves? Leir Even pray to God to bless us from their hands, For fervent prayer much ill hap withstands. Perillus I’ll sit and pray with you for company; Yet was I ne’er so heavy in my life. They fall both asleep. Enter the Messenger, or murderer, with two daggers in his hands Messenger

Were it not a mad jest if two or three of my profession should meet me and lay me down in a ditch and play rob-thief with me and perforce take my gold away from me whilst I act this stratagem, and by this means the gray-beards should escape? Faith, when I were at liberty again I would make no more to do but go to the next tree and there hang myself.

Sees them and starts But stay, methinks my youths are here already And with pure zeal have prayed themselves asleep. I think they know to what intent they came And are provided for another world. He takes their books away. Now could I stab them bravely, while they sleep, And in a manner put them to no pain, And doing so, I showed them mighty friendship, For fear of death is worse than death itself. But that my sweet queen willed me for to show This letter to them ere I did the deed. Mass, they begin to stir. I’ll stand aside; So shall I come upon them unawares. They wake and rise. Leir I marvel that my daughter stays so long. Perillus I fear we did mistake the place, my lord. Leir God grant we don’t miscarry in the place; I had a short nap, but so full of dread As much amazeth me to think thereof. Perillus Fear not, my lord: dreams are but fantasies And slight imaginations of the brain. Messenger Aside Persuade him so, but I’ll make him and you Confess that dreams do often prove too true. Perillus I pray, my lord, what was the effect of it? I may go near to guess what it portends. Messenger Aside Leave that to me: I will expound the dream. Leir Methought my daughters, Gonorill and Ragan, Stood both before me with such grim aspects, Each brandishing a falchion in their hands, Ready to lop a limb off where it fell, And in their other hands a naked poniard, Wherewith they stabbed me in a hundred places, And, to their thinking, left me there for dead; But then my youngest daughter, fair Cordella, Came with a box of balsam in her hand, And poured it into my bleeding wounds, By whose good means I was recovered well, In perfect health, as erst I was before; And with the fear of this I did awake, And yet for fear my feeble joints do quake. Messenger I’ll make you quake for something presently. Stand, stand! They reel. Leir We do, my friend, although with much ado. Messenger Deliver, deliver! Perillus Deliver us, good Lord, from such as he. Messenger You should have prayed before, while it was time, And then perhaps you might have ’scaped my hands; But you, like faithful watchmen, fell asleep The whilst I came and took your halberds from you He shows their books. And now you want your weapons of defence. How have you any hope to be delivered? This comes because you have no better stay But fall asleep when you should watch and pray. Leir My friend, thou seemst to be a proper man. Messenger Aside ’Sblood, how the old slave claws me by the elbow? He thinks, belike, to ’scape by scraping thus. Perillus And, it may be, are in some need of money. Messenger That to be false, behold my evidence. He shows his purses. Leir If that I have will do thee any good, Give it thee, even with a right good will. Messenger takes Leir’s purse. Perillus Here, take mine too, and wish with all my heart, To do thee pleasure, it were twice as much. Takes Perillus’ purse, and weighs them both in his hands Messenger I’ll none of them: they are too light for me. Puts them in his pocket Leir Why then, farewell, an if thou have occasion In anything to use me to the queen, ’Tis like enough that I can pleasure thee. They proffer to go. Messenger Do you hear? Do you hear, sir? If I had occasion to use you to the queen, Would you do one thing for me, I should ask? Leir Ay, anything that lies within my power; Here is my hand upon it. So farewell. He proffers to go Messenger Hear you, sir? Hear you? Pray, a word with you. Methinks a comely honest ancient man Should not dissemble with one for a vantage. I know when I shall come to try this gear, You will recant from all that you have said. Perillus Mistrust not him, but try him when thou wilt; He is her father, therefore may do much. Messenger I know he is, and therefore mean to try him. You are his friend too; I must try you both. Leir and Perillus Prithee do, prithee do. They proffer to go out. Messenger Stay, gray-beards, then, and prove men of your words. The queen hath tied me by a solemn oath Here in this place to see you both dispatched. Now, for the safeguard of my conscience, Do me the pleasure for to kill yourselves; So shall you save me labor for to do it, And prove yourselves true old men of your words. And here I vow, in sight of all the world, I ne’er will trouble you whilst I live again. Leir Affright us not with terror, good my friend, Nor strike such fear into our agèd hearts. Play not the cat which dallieth with the mouse And on a sudden maketh her a prey, But if thou art marked for the man of death To me and to my Damon, tell me plain, That we may be preparèd for the stroke And make ourselves fit for the world to come. Messenger I am the last of any mortal race That e’er your eyes are likely to behold, And hither sent of purpose to this place To give a final period to your days, Which are so wicked and have lived so long That your own children seek to short your life. Leir Cam’st thou from France of purpose to do this? Messenger

From France? ’Zoons, do I look like a Frenchman? Sure I have not mine own face on: somebody hath changed faces with me and I know not of it. But I am sure my apparel is all English. Sirrah, what meanest thou to ask that question? I could spoil the fashion of this face for anger. A French face!

Leir Because my daughter, whom I have offended, And at whose hands I have deserved as ill As ever any father did of child, Is queen of France, no thanks at all to me, But unto God, who my injustice sees. If it be so that she doth seek revenge, As with good reason she may justly do, I will most willingly resign my life: A sacrifice to mitigate her ire. I never will entreat thee to forgive, Because I am unworthy for to live. Therefore speak soon, and I will soon make speed, Whether Cordella willed thee do this deed? Messenger As I am a perfect gentleman, thou speakst French to me. I never heard Cordella’s name before, Nor never was in France in all my life; I never knew thou hadst a daughter there To whom thou didst prove so unkind a churl; But thy own tongue declares that thou hast been A vile old wretch, and full of heinous sin. Leir Ah no, my friend, thou are deceivèd much, For her except, whom I confess I wronged Through doting frenzy and o’erjealous love, There lives not any under heaven’s bright eye That can convict me of impiety. And, therefore, sure thou dost mistake the mark, For I am in true peace with all the world. Messenger You are the fitter for the king of Heaven; And, therefore, for to rid thee of suspense, Know thou the queens of Cambria and Cornwall, Thy own two daughters, Gonorill and Ragan, Appointed me to massacre thee here. Why wouldst thou then persuade me that thou art In charity with all the world but now, When thy own issue hold thee in such hate That they have hired me t’abridge thy fate? Oh, fie upon such vile dissembling breath That would deceive even at the point of death. Perillus Am I awake, or is it but a dream? Messenger Fear nothing, man, thou art but in a dream, And thou shalt never wake until doomsday. By then, I hope, thou wilt have slept enough. Leir Yet, gentle friend, grant one thing ere I die. Messenger I’ll grant you anything except your lives. Leir Oh, but assure me by some certain token That my two daughters hired thee to this deed. If I were once resolved of that, then I Would wish no longer life, but crave to die. Messenger That to be true, in sight of heaven, I swear. Leir Swear not by heaven for fear of punishment: The heavens are guiltless of such heinous acts. Messenger I swear by earth, the mother of us all. Leir Swear not by earth; for she abhors to bear Such bastards as are murderers of her sons. Messenger Why then, by hell and all the devils, I swear. Leir Swear not by hell, for that stands gaping wide To swallow thee an if thou do this deed. Thunder and lightning Messenger Aside I would that word were in his belly again: It hath frighted me even to the very heart. This old man is some strong magician: His words have turned my mind from this exploit.— Then neither heavens, earth, nor hell be witness, But let this paper witness for them all. He shows Gonorill’s letter. Aside Shall I relent, or shall I prosecute? Shall I resolve, or were I best recant? I will not crack my credit with two queens To whom I have already passed my word. Oh, but my conscience for this act doth tell, I get heaven’s hate, earth’s scorn, and pains of hell. Leir and Perillus bless themselves. Perillus O just Jehovah, whose almighty power Doth govern all things in this spacious world, How canst thou suffer such outrageous acts To be committed without just revenge? Oh, viperous generation and accursed, To seek his blood whose blood did make them first! Leir Ah, my true friend in all extremity, Let us submit us to the will of God. Things past all sense, let us not seek to know: It is God’s will, and therefore must be so. My friend, I am preparèd for the stroke; Strike when thou wilt, and I forgive thee here, Even from the very bottom of my heart. Messenger But I am not prepared for to strike. Leir Farewell, Perillus, even the truest friend That ever lived in adversity. The latest kindness I’ll request of thee Is that thou go unto my daughter Cordella And carry her her father’s latest blessing. Withal desire her that she will forgive me, For I have wronged her without any cause.— Now, Lord, receive me, for I come to thee, And die, I hope, in perfect charity.— Dispatch, I pray thee; I have lived too long. Messenger Ay, but you are unwise to send an errand By him that never meaneth to deliver it. Why, he must go along with you to heaven; It were not good you should go all alone. Leir No doubt he shall, when, by the course of nature, He must surrender up his due to death; But that time shall not come till God permit. Messenger Nay, presently, to bear you company. I have a passport for him in my pocket, Already sealed, and he must needs ride post. He shows a bag of money Leir The letter which I read imports not so: It only toucheth me, no word of him. Messenger Ay, but the queen commands it must be so, And I am paid for him as well as you. Perillus I, who have borne you company in life, Most willingly will bear a share in death. It skilleth not for me, my friend, a whit, Nor for a hundred such as thou and I. Messenger

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

Perillus Oh, but beware how thou dost lay thy hand Upon the high anointed of the Lord. Oh, be advisèd ere thou dost begin: Dispatch me straight, but meddle not with him. Leir Friend, thy commission is to deal with me, And I am he that hath deservèd all. The plot was laid to take away my life, And here it is: I do entreat thee take it. Yet, for my sake, and as thou art a man, Spare this my friend that hither with me came. I brought him forth whereas he had not been But for good will to bear me company. He left his friends, his country, and his goods, And came with me in most extremity. Oh, if he should miscarry here and die, Who is the cause of it, but only I? Messenger Why that am I! Let that ne’er trouble thee. Leir Oh no, ’tis I. Oh, had I now to give thee The monarchy of all the spacious world To save his life, I would bestow it on thee; But I have nothing but these tears and prayers, And the submission of a bended knee. Leir kneels. Oh, if all this to mercy move thy mind, Spare him! In heaven thou shalt like mercy find. Messenger

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

Perillus My friend, if fear of the almighty power Have power to move thee, we have said enough, But if thy mind be movable with gold, We have not presently to give it thee. Yet to thyself thou mayst do greater good To keep thy hands still undefiled from blood, For do but well consider with thyself, When thou hast finished this outrageous act, What horror still will haunt thee for the deed. Think this again, that they which would incense Thee for to be the butcher of their father, When it is done, for fear it should be known Would make a means to rid thee from the world. Oh, then art thou forever tied in chains Of everlasting torments to endure, Even in the hottest hole of grisly hell, Such pains as never mortal tongue can tell. It thunders. Messenger quakes, and lets fall the dagger next to Perillus. Leir Oh, heavens be thanked, he will spare my friend! Now, when thou wilt, come make an end of me. Messenger lets fall the other dagger. Perillus Oh, happy sight! He means to save my lord. The king of heaven continue this good mind. Leir Why stayst thou to do the execution? Messenger I am as wilful as you for your life: I will not do it, now you do entreat me. Perillus Ah, now I see thou hast some spark of grace. Messenger Beshrew you for it; you have put it in me! The parlousest old men that e’er I heard! Well, to be flat, I’ll not meddle with you; Here I found you, and here I’ll leave you. If any ask you why the case so stands, Say that your tongues were better than your hands. Exit Messenger. Perillus Farewell. If ever we together meet, It shall go hard, but I will thee re-greet.— Courage, my lord, the worst is overpast; Let us give thanks to God, and hie us hence. Leir Thou art deceived, for I am past the best And know not whither for to go from hence. Death had been better welcome unto me Than longer life to add more misery. Perillus It were not good to return from whence we came, Unto your daughter Ragan back again. Now let us go to France, unto Cordella, Your youngest daughter; doubtless she will succor you. Leir Oh, how can I persuade myself of that, Since th’other two are quite devoid of love To whom I was so kind, as that my gifts Might make them love me, if ’twere nothing else? Perillus No worldly gifts, but grace from God on high, Doth nourish virtue and true charity. Remember well what words Cordella spake What time you asked her how she loved your grace. She said her love unto you was as much As ought a child to bear unto her father. Leir But she did find my love was not to her As should a father bear unto a child. Perillus That makes not her love to be any less If she do love you as a child should do. You have tried two; try one more for my sake. I’ll ne’er entreat you further trial make. Remember well the dream you had of late, And think what comfort it foretells to us. Leir Come, truest friend that ever man possessed, I know thou counselst all things for the best. If this third daughter play a kinder part, It comes of God, and not of my desert. Exeunt.

Scene 20 Video Sc. 20 Enter the Gallian Ambassador alone. Ambassador There is of late news come unto the court That old Lord Leir remains in Cambria. I’ll hie me thither presently to impart My letters and my message unto him. I never was less welcome to a place In all my lifetime than I have been hither, Especially unto the stately queen Who would not cast one gracious look on me, But still, with louring and suspicious eyes, Would take exceptions at each word I spake, And fain she would have undermined me To know what my embassage did import. But she is like to hop without her hope, And in this matter for to want her will, Though, by report, she’ll have’t in all things else. Well, I will post away for Cambria; Within these few days I hope to be there. Exit.

Scene 21 Video Sc. 21 Enter Gallia, Cordella and Mumford Gallia By this, our father understands our mind And our kind greetings sent to him of late; Therefore, my mind presageth ere’t be long, We shall receive from Britain happy news. Cordella I fear my sister will dissuade his mind, For she to me hath always been unkind. Gallia Fear not, my love, since that we know the worst, The last means helps if that we miss the first. If he’ll not come to Gallia unto us, Then we will sail to Britain unto him. Mumford

Well, if I once see Britain again, I have sworn I’ll ne’er come home without my wench, and I’ll not be forsworn; I’ll rather never come home while I live.

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

Nay, I’ll not swear she is a maid, but she goes for one. I’ll take her at all adventures, if I can get her.

Cordella

Ay, that’s well put in.

Mumford

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

Cordella

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

Mumford

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

Gallia

Nay, we see you have a handsome hose.

Cordella

Ay, and of the newest fashion.

Mumford

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

Gallia

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

Cordella

Not only for him, but also for his wench.

Mumford

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

Gallia

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

Mumford

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

Gallia Faith, in this motion I will join with thee, And be a mediator to my queen.— Prithee, my love, let this match go forward; My mind foretells ’twill be a lucky voyage. Cordella Entreaty needs not where you may command; So you be pleased, I am right well content. Yet as the sea I much desire to see, So am I most unwilling to be seen. Gallia We’ll go disguised, all unknown to any. Cordella Howsoever you make one, I’ll make another. Mumford And I the third. Oh, I am overjoyed! See what love is, which getteth with a word What all the world besides could ne’er obtain! But what disguises shall we have, my lord? Gallia Faith, thus: my queen and I will be disguised Like a plain country couple, and you shall be Roger, Our man, and wait upon us. Or, if you will, You shall go first, and we will wait on you. Mumford ’Twere more than time; this device is excellent. Come let us about it. Exeunt.

Scene 22 Video Sc. 22 Enter Cambria and Ragan, with Nobles Cambria What strange mischance or unexpected hap Hath thus deprived us of our father’s presence? Can no man tell us what’s become of him, With whom we did converse not two days since? My lords, let everywhere light-horse be sent To scour about through all our regiment; Dispatch a post immediately to Cornwall To see if any news be of him there; Myself will make a strict inquiry here, And all about our cities near at hand, Till certain news of his abode be brought. Exit Nobles. Ragan All sorrow is but counterfeit to mine, Whose lips are almost sealèd up with grief. Mine is the substance whilst they do but seem To weep the loss which tears cannot redeem. Oh, ne’er was heard so strange a misadventure, A thing so far beyond the reach of sense, Since no man’s reason in the cause can enter, What hath removed my father thus from hence? Oh, I do fear some charm or invocation Of wicked spirits or infernal fiends, Stirred by Cordella, moves this innovation And brings my father timeless to his end. But might I know that the detested witch Were certain cause of this uncertain ill, Myself to France would go in some disguise And with these nails scratch out her hateful eyes, For since I am deprivèd of my father, I loathe my life and wish my death the rather. Cambria The heavens are just and hate impiety, And will no doubt reveal such heinous crimes; Censure not any till you know the right: Let Him be judge that bringeth truth to light. Ragan Oh, but my grief, like to a swelling tide, Exceeds the bounds of common patience, Nor can I moderate my tongue so much To conceal them whom I hold in suspect. Cambria This matter shall be sifted; if it be she, A thousand Frances shall not harbor her. Enter the Gallian Ambassador Ambassador All happiness unto the Cambrian king. Cambria Welcome, my friend, from whence is thy embassage? Ambassador I came from Gallia unto Cornwall sent With letters to your honorable father, Whom there not finding, as I did expect, I was directed hither to repair. Ragan Frenchman, what is thy message to my father? Ambassador My letters, madam, will import the same, Which my commission is for to deliver. Ragan In his absence you may trust us with your letters. Ambassador I must perform my charge in such a manner, As I have strict commandment from the king. Ragan There is good packing ’twixt your king and you. You need not hither come to ask for him; You know where he is better than ourselves. Ambassador Madam, I hope not far off. Ragan Hath the young murd’ress, your outrageous queen, No means to color her detested deeds In finishing my guiltless father’s days— Because he gave her nothing to her dower— But by the color of a feigned embassage To send him letters hither to our court? Go carry them to them that sent them hither, And bid them keep their scrolls unto themselves; They cannot blind us with such slight excuse To smother up so monstrous vile abuse. And, were it not it is ’gainst law of arms To offer violence to a messenger, We would inflict such torments on thyself As should enforce thee to reveal the truth. Ambassador Madam, your threats no whit appal my mind: I know my conscience guiltless of this act. My king and queen, I dare be sworn, are free From any thought of such impiety. And, therefore, madam, you have done them wrong, And ill-beseeming with a sister’s love, Who, in mere duty, tender him as much As ever you respected him for dower. The king your husband will not say as much. Cambria I will suspend my judgment for a time Till more appearance give us further light; Yet, to be plain, your coming doth enforce A great suspicion to our doubtful mind, And that you do resemble, to be brief, Him that first robs and then cries, Stop the thief. Ambassador Pray God some near you have not done the like. Ragan Hence, saucy mate, reply no more to us, She strikes him. For law of arms shall not protect thy tongue. Ambassador Ne’er was I offered such discourtesy! God and my king, I trust, ere it be long, Will find a mean to remedy this wrong. Exit Ambassador. Ragan How shall I live to suffer this disgrace At every base and vulgar peasant’s hands? It ill befitteth my imperial state To be thus used, and no man take my part. She weeps. Cambria What should I do? Infringe the law of arms Were to my everlasting obloquy, But I will take revenge upon his master, Which sent him hither to delude us thus. Ragan Nay, if you put up this, be sure, ere long, Now that my father thus is made away, She’ll come and claim a third part of your crown As due unto her by inheritance. Cambria But I will prove her title to be nought But shame and the reward of parricide, And make her an example to the world For after-ages to admire her penance. This will I do, as I am Cambria’s king, Or lose my life to prosecute revenge. Come, first let’s learn what news is of our father, And then proceed as best occasion fits. Exeunt.

Scene 23 Video Sc. 23 Enter Leir, Perillus, and two mariners in sea-gowns and sea-caps. Perillus My honest friends, we are ashamed to show The great extremity of our present state, In that at this time we are brought so low That we want money for to pay our passage. The truth is so: we met with some good-fellows, A little before we came aboard your ship, Which stripped us quite of all the coin we had And left us not a penny in our purses. Yet, wanting money, we will use the mean To see you satisfied to the uttermost. First Mariner looks on Leir. First Mariner

Here’s a good gown; ’twould become me passing well; I should be fine in it.

Second Mariner looks on Perillus. Second Mariner

Here’s a good cloak; I marvel how I should look in it.

Leir Faith, had we others to supply their room, Though ne’er so mean, you willingly should have them. Second Mariner

Do you hear, sir? You look like an honest man; I’ll not stand to do you a pleasure. Here’s a good, strong, motley gaberdine, cost me fourteen good shillings at Billingsgate; give me your gown for it, and your cap for mine, and I’ll forgive your passage.

Leir

With all my heart and twenty thanks.

Leir and First Mariner changeth. Second Mariner

Do you hear, sir? You shall have a better match than he because you are my friend: here is a good sheep’s russet sea-gown: will bide more stress, I warrant you, than two of his. Yet, for you seem to be an honest gentleman, I am content to change it for your cloak, and ask you nothing for your passage more.

Pulls off Perillus’ cloak Perillus My own I willingly would change with thee, And think myself indebted to thy kindness, But would my friend might keep his garment still. My friend, I’ll give thee this new doublet if thou wilt Restore his gown unto him back again. First Mariner

Nay, if I do, would I might ne’er eat powdered beef and mustard more, nor drink can of good liquor whilst I live. My friend, you have small reason to seek to hinder me of my bargain, but the best is, a bargain’s a bargain.

Leir To Perillus Kind friend, it is much better as it is, For by this means we may escape unknown Till time and opportunity do fit. Second Mariner Hark, hark, they are laying their heads together; They’ll repent them of their bargain anon. ’Twere best for us to go while we are well. First Mariner

God be with you, sir. For your passage back again, I’ll use you as unreasonable as another.

Leir

I know thou wilt, but we hope to bring ready money with us when we come back again.

Exeunt Mariners. Were ever men in this extremity, In a strange country, and devoid of friends, And not a penny for to help ourselves? Kind friend, what thinkst thou will become of us? Perillus Be of good cheer, my lord. I have a doublet Will yield us money enough to serve our turns Until we come unto your daughter’s court; And then, I hope, we shall find friends enough. Leir Ah, kind Perillus, that is it I fear, And makes me faint or ever I come there. Can kindness spring out of ingratitude, Or love be reaped where hatred hath been sown? Can henbane join in league with mithridate, Or sugar grow in wormwood’s bitter stalk? It cannot be: they are too opposite, And so am I to any kindness here. I have thrown wormwood on the sugared youth, And, like to henbane, poisoned the fount Whence flowed the mithridate of a child’s good will. I, like an envious thorn, have pricked the heart And turned sweet grapes to sour, unrelished sloes. The causeless ire of my respectless breast Hath soured the sweet milk of Dame Nature’s paps. My bitter words have galled her honey thoughts, And weeds of rancour choked the flower of grace. Then what remainder is of any hope, But all our fortunes will go quite aslope? Perillus Fear not, my lord, the perfect good indeed Can never be corrupted by the bad: A new fresh vessel still retains the taste Of that which first is poured into the same. And therefore, though you name yourself the thorn, The weed, the gall, the henbane, and the wormwood, Yet she’ll continue in her former state, The honey, milk, grape, sugar, mithridate. Leir Thou pleasing orator unto me in woe, Cease to beguile me with thy hopeful speeches. Oh, join with me and think of nought but crosses, And then we’ll one lament another’s losses. Perillus Why say the worst? The worst can be but death, And death is better than for to despair. Then hazard death, which may convert to life, Banish despair, which brings a thousand deaths. Leir O’ercome with thy strong arguments, I yield, To be directed by thee, as thou wilt. As thou yieldst comfort to my crazèd thoughts, Would I could yield the like unto thy body, Which is full weak, I know, and ill-apaid For want of fresh meat and due sustenance. Perillus Alack, my lord, my heart doth bleed to think That you should be in such extremity. Leir Come, let us go and see what God will send: When all means fail, He is the surest friend. Exeunt.

Scene 24Video Sc. 24 Enter the King of Gallia, Cordella, and Mumford, with a basket and table, disguised like country folk. Gallia This tedious journey all on foot, sweet love, Cannot be pleasing to your tender joints Which ne’er were usèd to these toilsome walks. Cordella I never in my life took more delight In any journey than I do in this; Enter attendants with banquet table. It did me good, whenas we happed to light Amongst the merry crew of country folk, To see what industry and pains they took To win them commendations ’mongst their friends. Lord, how they labor to bestir themselves, And in their quirks to go beyond the moon, And so take on them with such antic fits That one would think they were beside their wits! Come away, Roger, with your basket. Mumford Soft, dame, here comes a couple of old youths. I must needs make myself fat with jesting at them. Enter Leir and Perillus, very faintly Cordella Nay, prithee do not; they do seem to be Men much o’ergone with grief and misery. Let’s stand aside and harken what they say. Cordella, Gallia, and Mumford stand aside and listen to Leir and Perillus. Leir Ah, my Perillus, now I see we both Shall end our days in this unfruitful soil. Oh, I do faint for want of sustenance, And thou, I know, in little better case. No gentle tree affords one taste of fruit To comfort us until we meet with men, No lucky path conducts our luckless steps Unto a place where any comfort dwells. Sweet rest betide unto our happy souls, For here I see our bodies must have end. Perillus Ah, my dear lord, how doth my heart lament To see you brought to this extremity! Oh, if you love me, as you do profess, Or ever thought well of me in my life, He strips up his arm. Feed on this flesh, whose veins are not so dry But there is virtue left to comfort you. Oh, feed on this; if this will do you good, I’ll smile for joy to see you suck my blood. Leir I am no cannibal that I should delight To slake my hungry jaws with human flesh; I am no devil, or ten times worse than so, To suck the blood of such a peerless friend. Oh, do not think that I respect my life So dearly as I do thy loyal love.— Ah, Britain, I shall never see thee more, That hast unkindly banishèd thy king, And yet not thou dost make me to complain, But they which were more near to me than thou. Cordella What do I hear? This lamentable voice, Methinks, ere now I oftentimes have heard. Leir Ah, Gonorill, was half my kingdom’s gift The cause that thou didst seek to have my life? Ah, cruel Ragan, did I give thee all, And all could not suffice without my blood? Ah, poor Cordella, did I give thee nought, Nor never shall be able for to give? Oh, let me warn all ages that ensueth How they trust flattery and reject the truth. Well, unkind girls, I here forgive you both— Yet the just heavens will hardly do the like— And only crave forgiveness, at the end, Of good Cordella, and of thee, my friend; Of God, whose majesty I have offended By my transgression many thousand ways; Of her, dear heart, whom I for no occasion Turned out of all through flatterers’ persuasion; Of thee, kind friend, who, but for me, I know, Hadst never come unto this place of woe. Cordella Alack, that ever I should live to see My noble father in this misery. Gallia Sweet love, reveal not what thou art as yet, Until we know the ground of all this ill. Cordella Oh, but some meat, some meat! Do you not see How near they are to death for want of food? Cordella takes Mumford’s basket and empties out the food onto a table. Perillus Lord, which didst help thy servants at their need, Or now or never send us help with speed.— Oh, comfort, comfort! Yonder is a banquet And men and women, my lord; be of good cheer, For I see comfort coming very near. Oh, my lord, a banquet and men and women! Leir Oh, let kind pity mollify their hearts That they may help us in our great extremes. Perillus God save you, friends, and if this blessed banquet Affordeth any food or sustenance, Even for his sake that saved us all from death, Vouchsafe to save us from the grip of famine. Cordella bringeth Perillus to the table. Cordella Here, father, sit and eat; here, sit and drink, And would it were far better for your sakes. Perillus takes Leir by the hand to the table. Perillus I’ll give you thanks anon: my friend doth faint And needeth present comfort. Leir drinks. Mumford Aside I warrant, he ne’er stays to say grace. Oh, there’s no sauce to a good stomach. Perillus The blessèd God of heaven hath thought upon us. Leir The thanks be His, and these kind courteous folk, By whose humanity we are preserved. They eat hungrily. Leir drinks. Cordella And may that draught be unto him as was That which old Aeson drank, which did renew His withered age and made him young again. And may that meat be unto him as was That which Elias ate, in strength whereof He walked forty days and never fainted. To King of Gallia Shall I conceal me longer from my father? Or shall I manifest myself to him? Gallia Forbear a while until his strength return, Lest being overjoyed with seeing thee His poor weak senses should forsake their office And so our cause of joy be turned to sorrow. Perillus What cheer, my lord? How do you feel yourself? Leir Methinks I never ate such savory meat: It is as pleasant as the blessed manna, That rained from heaven amongst the Israelites. It hath recalled my spirits home again And made me fresh as erst I was before. But how shall we congratulate their kindness? Perillus In faith, I know not how sufficiently, But the best mean that I can think on is this: I’ll offer them my doublet in requital, For we have nothing else to spare. Leir Nay, stay, Perillus, for they shall have mine. Perillus Pardon, my lord, I swear they shall have mine. Perillus proffers his doublet; they will not take it. Leir Ah, who would think such kindness should remain Among such strange and unacquainted men, And that such hate should harbor in the breast Of those which have occasion to be best? Cordella Ah, good old father, tell to me thy grief; I’ll sorrow with thee if not add relief. Leir Ah, good young daughter, I may call thee so, For thou art like a daughter I did owe. Cordella Do you not owe her still? What, is she dead? Leir No, God forbid, but all my interest’s gone By showing myself too much unnatural; So have I lost the title of a father And may be called a stranger to her rather. Cordella Your title’s good still, for ’tis always known A man may do as him list with his own. But have you but one daughter then in all? Leir Yes, I have more by two than would I had. Cordella Oh, say not so, but rather see the end: They that are bad may have the grace to mend. But how have they offended you so much? Leir If from the first I should relate the cause, ’Twould make a heart of adamant to weep, And thou, poor soul, kind-hearted as thou art, Dost weep already ere I do begin. Cordella For God’s love tell it, and when you have done I’ll tell the reason why I weep so soon. Leir Then know this first, I am a Briton born, And had three daughters by one loving wife; And, though I say it, of beauty they were sped, Especially the youngest of the three, For her perfections hardly matched could be. On these I doted with a jealous love And thought to try which of them loved me best By asking them which would do most for me. The first and second flattered me with words And vowed they loved me better than their lives. The youngest said she loved me as a child Might do. Her answer I esteemed most vile And presently, in an outrageous mood, I turned her from me to go sink or swim, And all I had, even to the very clothes, I gave in dowry with the other two; And she that best deserved the greatest share, I gave her nothing but disgrace and care. Now mark the sequel: when I had done thus, I sojourned in my eldest daughter’s house Where, for a time, I was entreated well And lived in state sufficing my content. But every day her kindness did grow cold, Which I with patience put up well enough, And seemèd not to see the things I saw. But at the last she grew so far incensed With moody fury and with causeless hate That, in most vile and contumelious terms, She bade me pack and harbor somewhere else. Then was I fain for refuge to repair Unto my other daughter for relief, Who gave me pleasing and most courteous words, But in her actions showed herself so sore As never any daughter did before. She prayed me in a morning out betime To go to a thicket two miles from the court, ’Pointing that there she would come talk with me; There she had set a shag-haired murd’ring wretch To massacre my honest friend and me. Then judge yourself, although my tale be brief, If ever man had greater cause of grief. Gallia Nor never like impiety was done Since the creation of the world begun. Leir And now I am constrained to seek relief Of her to whom I have been so unkind, Whose censure, if it do award me death, I must confess she pays me but my due. But if she show a loving daughter’s part, It comes of God and her, not my desert. Cordella No doubt she will. I dare be sworn she will. Leir How know you that, not knowing what she is? Cordella Myself a father have a great way hence, Used me as ill as ever you did her; Yet, that his reverend age I once might see, I’d creep along to meet him on my knee. Leir Oh, no men’s children are unkind but mine. Cordella Condemn not all because of others’ crime, But look, dear father, look, behold and see, Thy loving daughter speaketh unto thee. She kneels. Leir Oh, stand thou up! It is my part to kneel And ask forgiveness for my former faults. He kneels. Cordella Oh, if you wish I should enjoy my breath, Dear father rise, or I receive my death. He riseth. Leir Then I will rise, to satisfy your mind, But kneel again, till pardon be resigned. He kneels. Cordella I pardon you; the word beseems not me, But I do say so for to ease your knee. You gave me life, you were the cause that I Am what I am, who else had never been. Leir But you gave life to me and to my friend, Whose days had else had an untimely end. Cordella You brought me up whenas I was but young, And far unable for to help myself. Leir I cast thee forth whenas thou wast but young And far unable for to help thyself. Cordella God, world, and nature say I do you wrong, That can endure to see you kneel so long. Gallia Let me break off this loving controversy, Which doth rejoice my very soul to see. Good father, rise. She is your loving daughter, He riseth. And honors you with as respective duty As if you were the monarch of the world. Cordella But I will never rise from off my knee, She kneels. Until I have your blessing and your pardon Of all my faults committed any way From my first birth unto this present day. Leir The blessing, which the God of Abraham gave Unto the tribe of Judah, light on thee, And multiply thy days, that thou mayst see Thy children’s children prosper after thee. Thy faults, which are just none that I do know, God pardon on high, and I forgive below. She riseth. Cordella Now is my heart at quiet and doth leap Within my breast for joy of this good hap. And now, dear father, welcome to our court, And welcome, kind Perillus, unto me, Mirror of virtue and true honesty. Leir Oh, he hath been the kindest friend to me That ever man had in adversity. Perillus My tongue doth fail to say what heart doth think, I am so ravished with exceeding joy. Gallia All you have spoke, now let me speak my mind, And in few words much matter here conclude: He kneels. If e’er my heart do harbor any joy Or true content repose within my breast Till I have rooted out this viperous sect And repossessed my father of his crown, Let me be counted for the perjured’st man That ever spake word since the world began. He rises. Mumford Let me pray too, that never prayed before; Mumford kneels. If e’er I resalute the British earth, As, ere’t be long, I do presume I shall, And do return from thence without my wench, Let me be gelded for my recompense. Mumford rises. Gallia Come, let’s to arms for to redress this wrong. Till I am there, methinks the time seems long. Exeunt.

Scene 25 Video Sc. 25 Enter Ragan alone Ragan I feel a hell of conscience in my breast, Tormenting me with horror for my fact, And makes me in an agony of doubt For fear the world should find my dealing out. The slave whom I appointed for the act, I ne’er set eye upon the peasant since. Oh, could I get him for to make him sure, My doubts would cease, and I should rest secure. But if the old men with persuasive words Have saved their lives and made him to relent, Then are they fled unto the court of France, And like a trumpet manifest my shame. A shame on these white-livered slaves, say I, That with fair words so soon are overcome. Oh, God, that I had been but made a man, Or that my strength were equal with my will! These foolish men are nothing but mere pity, And melt as butter doth against the sun. Why should they have pre-eminence over us, Since we are creatures of more brave resolve? I swear, I am quite out of charity With all the heartless men in Christendom. A pox upon them when they are afraid To give a stab or slit a paltry windpipe, Which are so easy matters to be done. Well, had I thought the slave would serve me so, Myself would have been executioner; ’Tis now undone, and if that it be known, I’ll make as good shift as I can for one. He that repines at me howe’er it stands, ’Twere best for him to keep him from my hands. Exit.

Scene 26 Video Sc. 26 Sound drums and trumpets Enter the King of Gallia, Leir, Mumford, and the army Gallia Thus have we brought our army to the sea Whereas our ships are ready to receive us. The wind stands fair and we in four hours’ sail May easily arrive on British shore Where, unexpected, we may them surprise And gain a glorious victory with ease. Wherefore, my loving countrymen, resolve, Since truth and justice fighteth on our sides, That we shall march with conquest where we go. Myself will be as forward as the first, And step-by-step march with the hardiest wight; And not the meanest soldier in our camp Shall be in danger, but I’ll second him.— To Mumford To you, my lord, we give the whole command Of all the army, next unto ourself, Not doubting of you but you will extend Your wonted valor in this needful case, Encouraging the rest to do the like By your approvèd magnanimity. Mumford My liege, ’tis needless to spur a willing horse That’s apt enough to run himself to death, For here I swear by that sweet saint’s bright eyes, Which are the stars which guide me to good hap, Either to see my old lord crowned anew, Or in his cause to bid the world adieu. Leir Thanks, good Lord Mumford, ’tis more of your good will Than any merit or desert in me. Mumford To the soldiers And now to you, my worthy countrymen, Ye valiant race of Genovestan Gauls, Surnamed Redshanks for your chivalry, Because you fight up to the shanks in blood, Show yourselves now to be right Gauls indeed, And be so bitter on your enemies That they may say you are as bitter as gall. Gall them, brave shot, with your artillery, Gall them, brave halberds, with your sharp-point bills, Each in their ’pointed place. Not one, but all, Fight for the credit of yourselves and Gaul. Gallia Then what should more persuasion need to those That rather wish to deal than hear of blows? Let’s to our ships. And if that God permit, In four hours’ sail I hope we shall be there. Mumford And in five hours more, I make no doubt But we shall bring our wished desires about. Exeunt.

Scene 27 Video Sc. 27 Enter a Captain of the Watch (1 Captain) and two Watchmen 1 Captain My honest friends, it is your turn tonight To watch in this place, near about the beacon, And vigilantly have regard, If any fleet of ships pass hitherward; Which if you do, your office is to fire The beacon presently and raise the town. Exit. First Watchman

Ay, ay, ay, fear nothing. We know our charge, I warrant: I have been a watchman about this beacon this thirty year, and yet I ne’er see it stir but stood as quietly as might be.

Second Watchman

Faith, neighbor, and you’ll follow my ’vice, instead of watching the beacon, we’ll go to Goodman Jennings’ and watch a pot of ale and a rasher of bacon. An if we do not drink ourselves drunk, then so, I warrant, the beacon will see us when we come out again.

First Watchman

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

Second Watchman

’Tis no matter. I’ll prove by good reason that we watch the beacon, ass for example—

First Watchman

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

Second Watchman

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

First Watchman

Ay, ay, ’tis a very good beacon.

Second Watchman

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

First Watchman

Indeed, I must confess ’tis somewhat red.

Second Watchman

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

First Watchman

I understand your meaning. That’s as much to say half a score ships.

Second Watchman

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

First Watchman

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

Second Watchman

You are in the right. Come, let’s go fire the beacon.

Exeunt.

Scene 28 Video Sc. 28 Enter the King of Gallia with a still march, Mumford, and soldiers. Gallia Now march our ensigns on the British earth, And we are near approaching to the town; Then look about you, valiant countrymen, And we shall finish this exploit with ease. Th’inhabitants of this mistrustful place Are dead asleep, as men that are secure. Here shall we skirmish but with naked men That know not what our coming doth portend Till they do feel our meaning on their skins. Therefore, assail! God and our right for us! Exeunt.

Scene 29 Video Sc. 29 Alarum, with men and women half-naked Enter two Captains without doublets, with swords 1 Captain Where are these villains—that were set to watch And fire the beacon, if occasion served— That thus have suffered us to be surprised, And never given notice to the town? We are betrayed and quite devoid of hope By any means to fortify ourselves. 2 Captain ’Tis ten to one the peasants are o’ercome With drink and sleep, and so neglect their charge. 1 Captain A whirlwind carry them quick to a whirlpool, That there the slaves may drink their bellies full. 2 Captain This ’tis to have the beacon so near the ale house. Enter the Watchmen drunk, with each a pot. 1 Captain Out on ye, villains! Whither run you now? First Watchman To fire the town and call up the beacon. Second Watchman No, no, sir, to fire the beacon. He drinks. 2 Captain What, with a pot of ale, you drunken rogues? 1 Captain You’ll fire the beacon when the town is lost! I’ll teach you how to tend your office better. Drawd to stab them Enter Mumford Captains run away. Mumford Yield, yield, yield! He kicks down their pots. First Watchman

Reel? No, we do not reel. You may lack a pot of ale ere you die.

Mumford

But in meanspace, I answer, you want none. Well, there’s no dealing with you, y’are tall men and well weaponed. I would there were no worse than you in the town.

Exit Mumford. Second Watchman

’A speaks like an honest man. My choler’s passed already. Come, neighbor, let’s go.

First Watchman

Nay, first let’s see an we can stand.

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

Scene 30 Video Sc. 30 Enter the King of Gallia, Leir, Mumford, Cordella, Perillus and Soldiers, with the Chief of the town bound, and an English Nobleman Gallia Fear not, my friends, you shall receive no hurt If you’ll subscribe unto your lawful king And quite revoke your fealty from Cambria, And from aspiring Cornwall too, whose wives Have practiced treason ’gainst their father’s life. We come in justice of your wrongèd king, And do intend no harm at all to you, So you submit unto your lawful king. Leir Kind countrymen, it grieves me that perforce I am constrained to use extremities. A Nobleman Long have you here been looked for, good my lord, And wished for by a general consent; And had we known your highness had arrived, We had not made resistance to your grace. And now, my gracious lord, you need not doubt But all the country will yield presently, Which, since your absence, have been greatly taxed For to maintain their overswelling pride. We’ll presently send word to all our friends: When they have notice, they will come apace. Leir Thanks, loving subjects, and thanks, worthy son; Thanks, my kind daughter, thanks to you, my lord, Who willingly adventured half your blood, Without desert, to do me so much good. Mumford

Oh, say not so! I have been much beholding to your grace: I must confess, I have been in some skirmishes, but I was never in the like to this, for where I was wont to meet with armed men, I was now encountered with naked women.

Cordella We that are feeble and want use of arms Will pray to God to shield you from all harms. Leir The while your hands do manage ceaseless toil, Our hearts shall pray the foes may have the foil. Perillus We’ll fast and pray whilst you for us do fight, That victory may prosecute the right. Gallia Methinks your words do amplify, my friends, And add fresh vigor to my willing limbs. Drum But hark, I hear the adverse drum approach. God and our right, Saint Denis, and Saint George! Enter Cornwall, Cambria, Gonorill, Ragan, and the army. Cornwall Presumptuous King of Gauls, how dar’st thou Presume to enter on our British shore? And, more than that, to take our towns perforce, And draw our subjects’ hearts from their true king? Be sure to buy it at as dear a price As e’er you bought presumption in your lives. Gallia O’erdaring Cornwall, know we came in right And just revengement of the wrongèd king, Whose daughters there, fell vipers as they are, Have sought to murder and deprive of life; But God protected him from all their spite, And we are come in justice of his right. Cambria Nor he nor thou have any interest here But what you win and purchase with the sword. Thy slanders to our noble virtuous queens We’ll in the battle thrust them down thy throat Except, for fear of our revenging hands, Thou fly to sea, as not secure on lands. Mumford

Welshman, I’ll so ferret you ere night for that word that you shall have no mind to crake so well this twelvemonth.

Gonorill They lie that say we sought our father’s death. Ragan ’Tis merely forgèd for a color’s sake, To set a gloss on your invasion. Methinks an old man ready for to die Should be ashamed to broach so foul a lie. Cordella Fie, shameless sister, so devoid of grace, To call our father liar to his face. Gonorill Peace, puritan, dissembling hypocrite, Which art so good that thou wilt prove stark naught! Anon, whenas I have you in my fingers, I’ll make you wish yourself in purgatory. Perillus Nay, peace, thou monster, shame unto thy sex, Thou fiend in likeness of a human creature! Ragan I never heard a fouler spoken man. Leir Out on thee, viper, scum, filthy parricide, More odious to my sight than is a toad. Knowest thou these letters? She snatches them and tears them. Ragan Think you to outface me with your paltry scrolls? You come to drive my husband from his right, Under the color of a forgèd letter. Leir Whoever heard the like impiety? Perillus You are our debtor of more patience: We were more patient when we stayed for you Within the thicket two long hours and more. Ragan What hours? What thicket? Perillus There, where you sent your servant with your letters, Sealèd with your hand, to send us both to heaven, Where, as I think, you never mean to come. Ragan Alas, you are grown a child again with age, Or else your senses dote for want of sleep. Perillus Indeed, you made us rise betimes, you know, Yet had a care we should sleep where you bade us stay, But never wake more till the latter day. Gonorill Peace, peace, old fellow, thou art sleepy still. Mumford Faith, an if you reason till tomorrow You get no other answer at their hands. ’Tis pity two such good faces Should have so little grace between them. Well, let us see if their husbands, with their hands, Can do as much as they do with their tongues. Cambria Ay, with their swords they’ll make your tongue unsay What they have said, or else they’ll cut them out. Gallia Too’t, gallants, too’t; let’s not stand brawling thus. Exeunt both armies.

Scene 31 Video Sc. 31 Sound alarum, excursions. Mumford must chase Cambria away, then cease. Enter Cornwall Cornwall The day is lost: our friends do all revolt And join against us with the adverse part. There is no means of safety but by flight, And therefore I’ll to Cornwall with my queen. Exit. Enter Cambria Cambria

I think there is a devil in the camp hath haunted me today: he hath so tired me that in a manner I can fight no more.

Enter Mumford ’Zounds, here he comes; I’ll take me to my horse. Exit. Mumford follows him to the door and returns. Mumford Farewell, Welshman, give thee but thy due: Thou hast a light and nimble pair of legs. Thou art more in debt to them than to thy hands, But if I meet thee once again today I’ll cut them off and set them to a better heart. Exit.

Scene 32 Video Sc. 32 Alarums and excursions, then sound victory Enter Leir, Perilus, Gallia, Cordella, and Mumford Gallia Thanks be to God: your foes are overcome, And you again possessed of your right. Leir First to the heavens, next, thanks to you, my son, By whose good means I repossess the same, Which if it please you to accept yourself, With all my heart I will resign to you, For it is yours by right, and none of mine. First, have you raised, at your own charge, a power Of valiant soldiers—this comes all from you— Next have you ventured your own person’s scathe, And lastly, worthy Gallia never stained, My kingly title I by thee have gained. Gallia Thank heavens, not me; my zeal to you is such, Command my utmost, I will never grutch. Cordella He that with all kind love entreats his queen Will not be to her father unkind seen. Leir Ah, my Cordella, now I call to mind The modest answer which I took unkind; But now I see, I am no whit beguiled, Thou loved’st me dearly, and as ought a child. And thou, Perillus, partner once in woe, Thee to requite, the best I can, I’ll do; Yet all I can, ay, were it ne’er so much, Were not sufficient, thy true love is such. Thanks, worthy Mumford, to thee last of all, Not greeted last ’cause thy desert was small, No, thou hast lion-like laid on today, Chasing the Cornwall king and Cambria, Who with my daughters—daughters, did I say?— To save their lives, the fugitives did play. Come son and daughter, who did me advance, Repose with me awhile, and then for France. Sound drums and trumpets Exeunt.