 | The Tragedy of Tancred and Gismund |  |
Scæna 2.
Gismund commeth out of her chamber, to whom Renuchio deliuereth his cup, saying.Thy father, O Queen, here in this cup hath sent
The thing to ioy and comfort thee withall
Which thou louedst best, euen as thou wast content
Gis.
I thanke my father, and thee gentle squire,
For this thy trauell take thou for thy paines
This bracelet, and commend me to the king.
Renuchio departeth.
So now is come the long expected houre,
The fatall hower I haue so looked for,
Now hath my father satisfied his thirst
With giltlesse bloud which he so coueted
What brings this cup? (ay me) I thought no lesse,
It is mine Earles, my Counties pearced heart,
Deare heart, too dearely hast thou bought my loue
Extreamely rated at too high a price.
Ah my sweet heart, sweet wast thou in thy life,
But in thy death thou prouest passing sweet.
A fitter hearce then this of beaten gold,
Could not be lotted to so good an heart:
My father therefore well prouided thus
To close and wrap thee vp in massie gold,
And therewithall to send thee vnto me,
To whom of duety thou doest best belong.
My father hath in all his life bewraid
A princely care and tender loue to me:
But this surpasseth, in his later dayes
To send me this, mine owne deare heart to me.
Wert thou not mine, dear hart, whil'st that my loue
Daunced and plaid vpon thy golden strings?
Art thou not mine (deere heart) now that my loue
Is fled to heauen, and got him golden wings?
Thou art mine owne, and stil mine own shalt be
Therfore my father sendeth thee to me.
Ah pleasant harborough of my hearts thought!
Seuen times accursed be the hand that wrought
Thee this despight, to mangle thee so foule:
Yet in this wound I see mine owne true loue,
And in this wound thy magnanimitie,
And in this wound I see thy constancie.
Goe gentle heart, go rest thee in thy tombe,
Receaue this token at thy last farewell:
She kisseth it.
Thine owne true heart anon will follow thee,
Which panting hasteth for thy companie.
Thus hast thou run (poore heart) thy mortall race,
And rid thy life from fickle fortunes snares,
Thus hast thou lost this world, and worldly cares,
And of thy foe, to honour thee withall,
Receau'd a golden graue, to thy desert,
Nothing doth want to thy iust funerall,
But my salt teares to wash thy bloudy wound.
Which to the end thou mightst receaue, behold
My father sends thee in this cup of gold,
And thou shalt haue them, though I was resolu'd
To shed no teares, but with a chearefull face
Once did I think to wet thy funerall
Only with bloud, and with no weeping eye.
This done, foorthwith my soule shal fly to thee,
For therfore did my father send thee me.
Ah my pure heart, with sweeter companie,
Or more content, how safer may I proue
To passe to places all vnknowen with thee.
Why die I not therfore? why doe I stay?
Why doe I not this wofull life forgoe,
And with these hands enforce this breath away?
How ill beseeme these billaments of gold
Thy mournfull widdowhood? away with them,
So let thy tresses flaring in the winde
She vndresseth her haire.
Vntrimmed hang about thy bared necke:
Now hellish furies set my heart on fire,
Bolden my courage, strengthen ye my hands
Against their kind, to do a kindly deed:
But shall I then vnwreaken downe descend?
Shall I not worke some iust reuenge on him
That thus hath slain my loue? shall not these hands
Fire his gates, and make the flame to climbe
Vp to the pinnacles, with burning brands,
And on his cynders wreake my cruell teene.
Be still (fond girle) content thee first to die,
This venomd water shall abridge thy life,
she taketh a violl of poyson out of her pocket.
This for the same intent prouided I,
Which can both ease and end this raging strife.
Thy father by thy death shall haue more woe,
Then fire or flames within his gates can bring:
Content thee then in patience hence to go,
Thy death his bloud shall wreake vpon the king.
Now not alone (a griefe to die alone)
“The onely myrror of extreame anoy,
But not alone, thou diest my loue, for I
Will be copartner of thy destinie.
Be merrie then my soule, canst thou refuse
To die with him, that death for thee did choose?
Chor. 1.
What damned furie hath possest our Queen
Why sit we still beholding her distresse?
Madame forbeare, suppresse this headstrong rage.
Gis.
Maidens forbeare your comfortable wordes.
O worthy Queene, rashnes doth ouerthrowe
The author of his resolution.
Gis.
Where hope of help is lost what booteth feare?
Cho. 3.
Feare wil auoyd the sting of infamie.
Gis.
May good or bad reports delight the dead?
Cho. 4.
If of the liuing yet the dead haue care.
Gis.
An easie griefe by councel may be cur'd.
Cho. 1.
But hedstrong mischiefs princes should auoid
Gis.
In headlong griefes and cases desperate?
Cho 2.
Cal to your mind (Gis.)
you are the Queene.
Gis,
Vnhappy widow, wife, and paramour.
Cho. 3.
Think on the king.
Gis.
The king? the tyrant king
Cho. 3.
Your father.
Gis.
Yea, the murthrer of my loue
Ch. 4.
His force.
Gis.
the dead fear not the force of mē
Ch. 1.
His care & griefe.
Gis.
That neither car'd for me
Nor greeued at the murther of my loue,
My mind is setled, you with these vain words,
Withhold me but too long from my desire.
Depart ye to chamber.
Cho.
We wil hast
To tel the king hereof.
Chorus depart into the Pallace.
Gis.
I will preuent
Both you and him. Lo here, this harty draught
The last that in this world I meane to tast,
Dreadlesse of death (mine Earle) I drink to thee.
So now worke on, now doth my soul begin
To hate this light, wherein there is no loue,
No loue of parents to their children,
No loue of Princes to their Subiects true,
No loue of Ladies to their dearest loues.
Now passe I to the pleasant land of loue,
Where heauenly loue immortall flourisheth:
The Gods abhorre the company of men,
Hel is on earth, yea hel it selfe is heauen
Heauen, said I? no, but hel record I call,
And thou sterne Goddesse of reuenging wrongs
Witnesse with me I die for his pure loue
That liued mine.
Shee lieth down and couereth her face with her haire.
| The Tragedy of Tancred and Gismund | |