University of Virginia Library

Enter Marsillus the Emperour of Affrica, and Angelica his Daughter, the Soldane, the King of Cuba, Mandrecard, Brandemart, Orlando, County Sacrepant, with others.
MARSILLVS.
Victorious Princes summond to appeare
Within the Continent of Africa,
From seauenfold Nylus to Taprobany,
Where faire Apollo darting forth his light
Plaies on the Seas.
From Gadis Ilands where stowt Hercules,
Imblasde his trophees on two posts of brasse,
To Tanais whose swift declining flouds,
Inuirons rich Europa to the North,
All fetcht from out your Courts by beauty to this Coast,
To seeke and sue for faire Angelica.
Sith none but one must haue this happy prize,
At which you all haue leueld long your thoughts:
Set each man forth his passions how he can,
And let her Censure make the happiest man.

SOVLDAN.
The fairest flowre that glories Affrica,
Whose beauty Phœbus dares not dash with showres,
Ouer whose Clymate neuer hung a Clowde,
But smiling Titan lights the Horyzon:
Egypt is mine and there I hold my State,
Seated in Cairye and in Babylon;
From thence the matchlesse beauty of Angelica,
Whose hew as bright as are those siluer Doues,
That wanton Venus manth vpon her fist,
Forst me to crosse and cut th' atlanticke Seas,
To ouersearch the fearefull Ocean,
Where I ariud to eternize with my Launce,
The matchles beauty of faire Angelica.
Nor Tilt, nor Tournay, but my Speare and shield,
Resounding on their Crests and sturdy Helmes
Topt high with Plumes, like Mars his Burgonet,
Inchasing on their Curats with my blade,
That none so faire, as faire Angelica.
But leauing these such glories as they be,
I loue my Lord, let that suffize for me.

RODAMANT.
Cuba my seate, a Region so inricht,
With fauours sparkling from the smiling heauens,
As those that seekes for trafficke to my Coast,
Accounted like that wealthy Paradice,
From whence floweth Gyhon and swift Euphrates:
The earth within her bowels hath inwrapt,
As in the massie storehowse of the world,
Millions of gold as bright as was the showre,
That wanton Ioue sent downe to Danae:
Marching from thence to manage Armes abroade,
I past the triple parted Regiment,
That froward Saturne gaue vnto his sonnes,
Erecting Statues of my Chiualry,
Such and so braue as neuer Hercules,
Vowd for the loue of louely Iole:
But leauing these such glories as they be,
I loue my Lord, let that suffize for me.

MANDRECARDE.
And I my Lord am Mandrecarde of Mexico,
Whose Clymate fayrer than Tyberius,
Seated beyond the Sea of Trypoly,
And richer than the plot Hesperides,
Or that same Ile wherein Vlysses loue,
Luld in her lap the young Telegone,
That did but Venus tread a daintie step,
So would shee like the land of Mexico,
As Paphos and braue Cypres set aside,
With me sweete louely Venus would abide.
From thence mounted vpon a Spanish Barke,
Such as transported Iason to the fleece:
Come from the South, I furrowd Neptunes Seas,
Northeast as far as is the frosen Rhene,
Leauing faire Voya crost vp Danuby,
As hie as Saba whose inhaunsing streames,
Cuts twixt the Tartares and the Russians:
There did I act as many braue attempts,
As did Pirothous for his Proserpine.
But leauing these such glories as they be,
I loue my Lord, let that suffize for me.

BRANDEMART.
The bordring Ilands seated here in ken,
Whose shores are sprinkled with rich Orient Pearle,
More bright of hew than were the Margarets,
That Cæsar found in wealthy Albion,
The sands of Tagus all of burnisht golde,
Made Thetis neuer prowder on the Clifts,
That ouerpiere the bright and golden shore,
Than doo the rubbish of my Country Seas:
And what I dare, let say the Portingale,
And Spaniard tell, who mand with mighty Fleetes,
Came to subdue my Ilands to their King,
Filling our seas with stately Argosies,
Caluars and Magars hulkes of burden great,
Which Brandemart rebated from his coast,
And sent them home ballast with little wealth
But leauing these such glories as they bee,
I loue (my Lord) let that suffise for mee.

Orl:
Lords of the South, & Princes of esteeme,
Viceroyes vnto the State of Affrica:
I am no King, yet am I princely borne,
Descended from the royall house of France,
And nephew to the mightie Charlemaine,
Surnamde Orlando the Countie Palatine.
Swift Fame that sounded to our Westerne seas
The matchles beautie of Angelica,
Fairer than was the Nimph of Mercurie,
Who when bright Phœbus mounteth vp his coach
And tracts Aurora in her siluer steps,
And sprinkles from the folding of her lap,
White lillies, roses and sweete violets.
Yet thus beleeue me, Princes of the South,
Although my Countries loue deerer than pearle,
Or mynes of gold might well haue kept me backe;
The sweet conuersing with my King and frends,
(Left all for loue) might well haue kept mee backe;
The Seas by Neptune hoysed to the heauens,
Whose dangerous flawes might well haue kept me backe;
The sauage Mores & Anthropagei
Whose lands I past might well haue kept me backe;
The doubt of entertainment in the Court
When I arriude might well haue kept me backe:
But so the fame of faire Angelica,
Stampt in my thoughts the figure of her loue,
As neither Country, King, or Seas, or Cannibals,
Could by dispairing keep Orlando backe.
I list not boast in acts of chiualrie,
(An humor neuer fitting with my minde)
But come there forth the proudest champion
That hath suspition in the Palatine,
And with my trustie sword Durandell
Single, Ile register vpon his helme,
What I dare doo for faire Angelica.
But leauing these, such glories as they bee;
I loue my Lord.
Angelica her selfe shall speak for mee.

Mar:
Daughter thou hearst what loue hath here alleadgd,
How all these Kings by beautie summond here,
Puts in their pleas for hope of Diademe,
Of noble deeds, of welth and chiualrie,
All hoping to possesse Angelica.
Sith fathers will may hap to ayme amisse,
(For parents thoughts in loue oft step awrie)
Choose thou the man who best contenteth thee,
And he shall weare the Affricke Crowne next mee.
For trust me Daughter, like of whom thou please,
Thou satisfide, my thoughts shall be at ease.

Ang:
Kings of the South, Viceroyes of Affrica,
Sith Fathers will hangs on his Daughters choyce,
And I as earst Princesse Andromache,
Seated amidst the crue of Priams sonnes,
Haue libertie to chuse where best I loue;
Must freely say, for fancie hath no fraud,
That farre vnworthie is Angelica
Of such as deigne to grace her with their loues.
The Souldan with his seate in Babylon,
The Prince of Cuba and of Mexico,
Whose welthie crownes might win a womans will;
Yong Brandemard master of all the Iles,
Where Neptune planted hath his treasurie:
The worst of these men of so high import,
As may command a greater Dame than I.
But Fortune or some deep inspiring fate,
Venus or else the bastard brat of Mars,
Whose bow commands the motions of the minde,
Hath sent proud loue to enter such a plea,
As nonsutes all your Princely euidence,
And flat commands that maugre Maiestie,
I chuse Orlando, Countie Palatine.

Ro:
How likes Marsillus of his daughters choice?

Mar:
As fits Marsillus of his daughters spouse.

Ro:
Highly thou wrongst vs, King of Affrica,
To braue thy neighbor Princes with disgrace,
To tye thy honor to thy daughters thoughts,
Whose choyce is like that Greekish giglots loue,
That left her Lord Prince Menelaus,
And with a swaine made scape away to Troy.
What is Orlando but a stragling mate,
Banisht for some offence by Charlemaine,
Skipt from his country as Anchises sonne,
And meanes as he did to the Carthage Queene,
To pay her ruth and ruine for her loue.

Orl:
Iniurious Cuba, ill it fits thy gree
To wrong a stranger with discurtesie.
Wert not the sacred presence of Angelica
Preuailes with me (as Venus smiles with Mars)
To set a Super sedeas of my wrath,
Soone should I teach thee what it were to braue.

Man:
And French man wert not gainst the law of armes
In place of parly for to draw a sword,
Vntaught companion I would learne you know
What dutie longs to such a Prince as hee.

Orl:
Then as did Hector fore Achilles Tent,
Trotting his Courser softly on the plaines,
Proudly darde forth the floutest youth of Greece:
So who stands hiest in his owne conceipt,
And thinkes his courage can performe the most,
Let him but throw his gauntlet on the ground,
And I will pawne my honor to his gage,
He shall ere night be met and combatted.

Mar:
Shame you not Princes at this bad agree,
To wrong a stranger with discurtesie.
Beleeue me Lords, my daughter hath made choice,
And mauger him that thinkes him most agreeud,
She shall enioy the Countie Palatine.

Bran:
But would these Princes folow my aduise
And enter armes as did the Greekes gainst Troy;
Nor he nor thou shouldst haue Angelica.

Rod:
Let him be thought a dastard to his death,
That will not sell the trauells he hath past,
Dearer than for a womans fooleries.
What saies the mightie Mandricard?

Man:
I vow to hie me home to Mexico,
To troop my selfe with such a crew of men,
As shall so fill the downes of Affrica
Like to the plaines of watrie Thessalie,
When as an Easterne gale whistling aloft
Had ouerspred the ground with Grashoppers:
Then see Marsillus if the Palatine
Can keep his Loue from falling to our lots,
Or thou canst keep thy Countrey free from spoile.

Mar:
Why think you Lords with hautie menaces
To dare me out within my Pallace gates?
Or hope you to make conquest by constraint
Of that which neuer could be got by loue?
Passe from my Court, make hast out of my land
Stay not within the bounds Marsillus holds;
Least little brooking these vnfitting braues,
My cholar ouer-slip the law of Armes,
And I inflict reuenge on such abuse.

Rod:
Ile beard & braue thee in thy proper town,
And here inskonce my selfe despite of thee,
And hold thee play till Mandricard returne.
What saies the mightie Souldan of Egypt?

Sol:
That when Prince Menelaus with all his mates,
Had ten yeres held their siege in Asia,
Folding their wrothes in cinders of faire Troy:
Yet for their armes grew by conceit of loue,
Their Trophees was but conquest of a girle:
Then trust me Lords Ile neuer manage armes,
For womens loues that are so quickly lost.

Bran:
Tush my Lords why sand you vpon termes
Let vs to our Skonce, and you my Lord to Mexico.

Exeunt Kings.
Orl:
I sirs, inskonce ye how you can, see what we dare,
And thereon set your rest.

Exeunt Omnes.
Manent Sacrepant and his man.
Sac:
Boast not too much Marsillus in thy selfe,
Nor of contentment in Angelica;
For Sacrepant must haue Angelica,
And with her Sacrepant must haue the Crowne:
By hooke or crooke I must and will haue both.
Ah sweet Reuenge incense their angrie mindes,
Till all these Princes weltring in their blouds,
The Crowne doo fall to Countie Sacrepant.
Sweet are the thoughts that smother from conceit:
For when I come and set me downe to rest,
My chaire presents a throne of Maiestie:
And when I set my bonnet on my head,
Me thinkes I fit my forhead for a Crowne:
And when I take my trunchion in my fist,
A Scepter then comes tumbling in my thoughts.
My dreames are Princely, all of Diademes,
Honor: me thinkes the title is too base.
Mightie, glorious and excellent:
I these my glorious Genius sound within my mouth
These please the eare, and with a sweet applause,
Makes me in tearmes coequall with the Gods.
Then these Sacrepant, and none but these.
And these or else make hazard of thy life.
Let it suffice, I will conceale the rest.
Sirra.

Man.
My Lord.

Sacrep:
My Lord. How basely was this Slaue brought vp?
That knowes no titles fit for dignitie,
To grace his Master with Hyperboles.
My Lord. Why the basest Baron of faire Affrica,
Deserues as much: yet Countie Sacrepant,
Must he a swaine salute with name of Lord.
Sirra, what thinkes the Emperor of my colours,
Because in field I weare both blue and red at once?

Man.
They deeme my Lord, your Honor liues at peace,
As one thats newter in these mutinies,
And couets to rest equall frends to both:
Neither enuious to Prince Mandricard,
Nor wishing ill vnto Marsillus,
That you may safely passe where ere you please,
With frendly salutations from them both.

Sac:
I, so they gesse, but leuell farre awrie;
For if they knew the secrets of my thoughts,
Mine Embleme sorteth to another sense.
I weare not these as one resolud to peace,
But blue and red as enemie to both.
Blue, as hating King Marsillus;
And red, as in reuenge to Mandricard:
Foe vnto both, frend onely to my selfe,
And to the crowne, for thats the golden marke,
Which makes my thoughts dreame on a Diademe
Seest not thou all men presage I shall be King:
Marsillus send; to me for peace,
Mandrecard puts of his cap ten mile of,
Two things more & then I cannot mis the crowne.

Man:
O what be those my good Lord.

Sacr:
First must I get the loue of faire Angelica.
Now am I full of amorous conceits,
Not that I doubt to haue what I desire,
But how I might best with mine honor woo,
Write, or intreate: fie that fitteth not,
Send by Ambassadors: no thats too base.
Flatly command I thats for Sacrepant:
Say thou art Sacrepant and art in loue
And who in Affricke dare say the Countie nay.
O Angelica, fairer then Chloris when in al her pride
Bright Mayas sonne intrapt her in the net,
Wherewith Vulcan intangled the God of warre.

Man:
Your honor is so far in contemplation of Angelica,
As you haue forgot the second in attaining to the crowne.

Sac:

Thats to be done by poyson, prowesse, or
anie meanes of treacherie to put to death the traitrous
Orlando. But who is this comes here. Stand
close.

Enter Orgalio Orlandos Page.
Org:

I am sent on imbassage to the right mightie

and magnificent: alias, the right proud and pontificall
the Countie Sacrepant. For Marsillus & Orlando
knowing him to be as full of prowesse as policie,
and fearing least in leaning to the other faction,
hee might greatly preiudice them, they seeke first to
hold the candle before the diuell: & knowing hym
to be a Thrasonicall mad-cap, they haue sent mee a
Gnathonicall companion, to giue him lettice fit for
his lips. Now sir, knowing his astronomical humors,
as one that gazeth so high at the starres, as he neuer
looketh on the pauement in the streetes. But whist,
Lupus est in fabula.

Sac:

Sirra, thou that ruminatest to thy selfe a catalogue
of priuie conspiracies, what art thou?

Org:

God saue your Maiestie?

Sac:

My Maiestie, come hether my well nutrimented
Knaue, whom takest me to bee?

Org:

The mightie Mandricard of Mexico.

Sacr:

I hold these salutations as omynous, for
saluting mee by that which I am not, hee presageth
what I shall be; for so did the Lacedemonians by Agathocles,
who of a base potter, wore the Kingly
Diadem, but why deemest thou me to be the mightie
Mandricard of Mexico?

Org:

Marie sir.

Sacr:

Stay there, wert thou neuer in France.

Org:

Yes, if it please your Maiestie.

Sac:

So it seemes for there they salute their king
by the name of Sir, Mounsier, but forward.

Org:
Such sparkes of peerlesse Maiestie,
From those looks flames like lightning from the East
As either Mandricard, or else some greater Prince.

Sac:
Me thinks these salutations makes my thoghts
To be heroicall. But say to whom art thou sent?

Org:
To the Countie Sacrepant.

Sacr:
Why I am he.

Org:
It pleaseth your Maiestie to iest.

Sacr:
What ere I seeme, I tell thee I am he.

Org:

Then may it please your honor: the Emperor
Marsillus together with his daughter Angelica
and Orlando entreateth your Excellencie to dine
with them.

Sacr:
Is Angelica there?

Org:
There my good Lord.

Sacr:
Sirra.

Man.
My Lord.

Sacr:
Villaine, Angelica sends for me.
See that thou entertaine that happie messenger.
And bring him in with thee.

Exeunt omnes.
Enter Orlando the Duke of Aquitaine, the Countie Rossilion with souldiers.
Orl:
Princes of France, the sparkling light of fame,
Whose glories brighter than the burnisht gates,
From whence Latonas lordly sonne doth march,
When mounted on his coach tinseld with flames,
He triumphs in the beautie of the heauens.
This is the place where Rodamant lies hid:
Here lyes he like the theefe of Thessaly,
Which scuds abroad, and searcheth for his pray;
And being gotten, straight he gallops home,
As one that dares not breake a speare in field.
But trust me Princes I haue girt his fort,
And I will sacke it, or on this Castle wall,
Ile write my resolution with my blood.
Therefore drum sound a parle.

Sound a Parle, and one comes vpon the walls.
Sol:
Who is that troubleth our sleepes?

Orl:
Why sluggard, seest thou not Lycaons son
The hardie plough-swaine vnto mightie Ioue,
Hath tracde his siluer furrowes in the heauens,
And turning home his ouer-watched teeme,
Giues leaue vnto Apollos Chariot.
I tell thee sluggard, sleep is farre vnfit
For such as still haue hammering in their heads,
But onely hope of honor and reuenge.
These cald me forth to rouse thy master vp.
Tell him from me, false coward as he is,
That Orlando the Countie Palatine,
Is come this morning with a band of French,
To play him hunts-vp with a poynt of warre.
Ile be his minstrell with my drum and fife:
Bid him come forth, and dance it if he dare,
Let Fortune throw her fauors where she list.

Sol:
French-man between halfe sleeping & awake
Although the mystie vayle straind ouer Cynthia,
Hinders my sight from noting all thy crue:
Yet for I know thee and thy stragling groomes
Can in conceit build Castles in the Skie:
But in your actions like the stammering Greeke,
Which breathes his courage bootlesse in the aire.
I wish thee well Orlando: get thee gone,
Say that a Centynell did suffer thee:
For if the Round or Court of Gard should heare
Thou or thy men were braying at the walls,
Charles welth the welth of all his Westerne mynes,
Found in the mountaines of Transalpine France,
Might not pay ransome to the King for thee.

Orl:
Braue Centynell if nature hath inchast,
A sympathie of courage to thy tale,
And like the champion of Andromache,
Thou or thy master dare came out the gates.
Maugre the watch, the round, or Court of gard,
I will attend to abide the coward here.
If not, but still the crauin sleepes secure,
Pitching his gard within a trench of stones;
Tell him his walls shall serue him for no proofe,
But as the sonne of Saturne in his wrath
Pasht all the mountaines at Typheus head,
And topsie turuie turnd the bottome vp,
So shall the Castle of proud Rodamant:
And so braue Lords of France, lets to the fight.

Exeunt omnes.
Alarums. Rodamant and Brandemart flie.
Enter Orlando with his coate.
Orl:
The Foxe is scapde, but heres his case:
I mist him nere, twas time for him to trudge.
How now my Lord of Aquitaine?

Aquit:
My Lord, the Court of gard is put vnto the sword,
And all the watch that thought themselues so sure;
So that not one within the Castle breaths.

Orl:
Come then, lets post amaine to finde out Rodamant,
And then in triumph march vnto Marsillus.

Exeunt
Enter Medor and Angelica
An:
I meruaile Medor what my fathers names
To enter league with Countie Sacrepant?

Med:
Madam, the king your fathers wise inough,
He knowes the Countie (like to Cassius)
Sits sadly dumping, ayming Cæsars death,
Yet crying Ave to his Maiestie.
But Madame marke a while, and you shall see,
Your Father shake him off from secrecie.

Ang:
So much I gesse, for when he wild I should
Giue entertainment to the doating Earle,
His speach was ended with a frowning smile.

Med:
Madame, see where he comes; Ile be gone
Exit Medor.

Enter Sacrepant and his man.
Sacr:
How fares my faire Angelica?

Ang:
Well that my Lord so frendly is in league
(As honor wills him with Marsillus.

Sac:
Angelica shal I haue a word or two with thee

Ang:
What pleaseth my Lord for to command.

Sac:
Then know my loue, I cannot paint my grief
Nor tell a tale of Venus and her sonne,
Reporting such a Catalogue of toyes.
It fits not Sacrepant to be effeminate,
Onely giue leaue my faire Angelica,
To say the Countie is in loue with thee.

Ang:
Pardon my Lord, my loues are ouer-past,
So firmly is Orlando printed in my thoughts,
As love hath left no place for anie else.

Sac:
Why ouer-weening Damsel, seest thou not,
Thy lawlesse loue vnto this stragling mate.
Hath fild our Affrick Regions full of bloud,
And wilt thou still perseuer in thy loue?
Tush leaue the Palatine, and goe with mee.

Ang:
Braue Countie know where sacred Loue vnites,
The knot of Gordion at the shrine of Ioue,
Was neuer halfe so hard or intricate,
As be the bands which louely Venus ties.
Sweete is my loue: and for I loue my Lord,
Seek not vnlesse as Alexander did,
To cut the plough-swaines traces with thy sword,
Or slice the slender fillets of my life:
Or else my Lord, Orlando must be mine.

Sac:
Stand I on loue? Stoop I to Venus lure,
That neuer yet did feare the God of warre?
Shall men report that Countie Sacrepant
Held louers paines for pining passions?
Shall such a Syren offer me more wrong,
Than they did to the Prince of Ithaca?
No: as he his eares, so Countie stop thine eye.
Goe to your needle (Ladie) and your clouts.
Goe to such milk-sops as are fit for loue:
I will imploy my busie braines for warre,

Ang:
Let not my Lords deniall breed offence,
Loue doth allow her fauors but to one,
Nor can there sit within the sacred shrine
Of Venus, more than one installed hart.
Orlando is the Gentleman I loue,
And more than he may not inioy my loue.

Sac:
Damsell be gone, fancie hath taken leaue;
Where I tooke hurt there haue I heald my selfe,
As those that with Achilles lance were wounded,
Fetcht helpe at selfe same pointed speare.
Beautie gan braue, and beautie hath repulse:
And Beautie get ye gone to your Orlando.

Exit Angelica.
Man.
My Lord: hath loue amated him whose thoughts
Haue euer been heroycall and braue?
Stand you in dumpes like to the Mirmydon,
Trapt in the tresses of Polixena:
Who amid the glorie of his chiualrie,
Sat daunted with a maid of Asia.

Sac:
Thinkst thou my thoghts are lunacies of loue?
No, they are brands fierd in Plutoes forge,
Where sits Tsiphone tempring in flames
Those torches that doo set on fire Reuenge.
I lovd the Dame, but bravd by her repulse,
Hate calls me on to quittance all my ills:
Which first must come by offring preiudice
Vnto Orlando her beloued Loue.

Man:
O how may that be brought to passe my Lord?

Sacr:
Thus. Thou seest that Medor & Angelica
Are still so secret in their priuate walkes,
As that they trace the shadie lawndes,
And thickest shadowed groues;
Which well may breed suspition of some loue.
Now than the French no Nation vnder heauen
Is sooner tutcht with stings of iealozie.

Man.
And what of that my Lord?

Sac:
Hard by for solace in a secret Groue,
The Countie once a day failes not to walke:
There solemnly he ruminates his loue.
Vpon those shrubs that compasse in the spring,
And on those trees that border in those walkes,
Ile slily haue engravn on everie barke
The names of Medor and Angelica.
Hard by Ile haue some roundelayes hung vp,
Wherein shalbe some posies of their loues,
Fraughted so full of fierie passions,
As that the Countie shall perceiue by proofe,
Medor hath won his faire Angelica.

Man.
Is this all my Lord?

Sacr:
No. For thou like to a shepheard shalt bee cloathd,
With staffe and bottle like some countrey swaine,
That tends his flockes feeding vpon these downes.
There see thou buzze into the Counties eates,
That thou hast often seene within these woods
Base Medor sporting with Angelica.
And when he heares a shepheards simple tale,
He will not thinke tis faind.
Then either a madding mood will end his loue,
Or worse betyde him through fond iealozie.

Man.
Excellent. My Lord, see how I will playe the Shepheard.

Sac:
And marke thou how I play the caruer,
Therefore be gone, and make thee readie straight.

Exit his man.
Sacrepant hangs vp the Roundelayes on the trees, and then goes out, and his man enters like a shepheard.
Shep:
Thus all alone and like a shepheards swain,
As Paris (when Oenone lovd him well)
Forgat he was the sonne of Priamus,
All clad in gray sate piping on a reed;
So I transformed to this Country shape,
Haunting these groues to worke my masters will,
To plague the Palatine with iealozie,
And to conceipt him with some deepe extreame.
Here comes the man vnto his wonted walke.

Enter Orlando and his Page Orgalio.
Orl:
Orgalio, goe see a Centernell be placde,
And bid the souldiers keep a Court of gard,
So to hold watch till secret here alone,
I meditate vpon the thoughts of loue.

Org:
I will my Lord.
Exit Orgalio.

Orl:
Faire Queene of loue, thou mistres of delight,
Thou gladsome lamp that waitst on Phœbes traine,
Spredding thy kindnes through the iarring Orbes,
That in their vnion praise thy lasting powres.
Thou that hast staid the fierie Phlegons course,
And madest the Coach-man of the glorious waine
To droop, in view of Daphnes excellence.
Faire pride of morne, sweete beautie of the Eeuen,
Looke on Orlando languishing in loue.
Sweete solitarie groues, whereas the Nymphes
With pleasance laugh to see the Satyres play;
Witnes Orlandos faith vnto his loue.
Tread she these lawnds, kinde Flora boast thy pride;
Seeke she for shades, spread Cedars for her sake,
Faire Flora make her couch amidst thy flowres,
Sweet Christall springs, wash ye with roses,
When she longs to drinke. Ah, thought my heauen;
Ah heauen that knowes my thought.
Smile ioy, in her that my content hath wrought.

Shep:
The heauen of loue is but a pleasant hell,
Where none but foolish wise imprisned dwell.

Orl:
Orlando, what contrarious thoghts be these,
That flocke with doubtfull motions in thy minde?
Heavn smiles, & trees do boast their summers pride:
What? Venus writes her triumphs here beside.

She:
Yet when thine eie hath seen, thy hart shal rue
The tragick chance that shortly shall ensue.

Orlando readeth.
Orl:
Angelica. Ah sweete and heauenly name,
Life to my life, and essence to my ioy.
But soft this Gordion knot together co-unites
A Medor partner in her peerlesse loue.
Vnkinde: and wil she bend her thoughts to change?
Her name, her writing? Ah foolish and vnkinde.
No name of hers; vnles the brookes relent
To heare her name, and Rhodanus vouchsafe
To raise his moystned lockes from out the reedes,
And flow with calme alongst his turning bounds:
No name of hers, vnles Zephyrus blow
Her dignities alongst Ardenia woods;
Where all the world for wonders doo await.
And yet her name; for why Angelica:
But mixt with Medor, not Angelica.
Onely by me was lovd Angelica,
Onely for me must liue Angelica.
I finde her drift, perhaps the modest pledge
Of my content, hath with a secret smile
And sweet disguise restraind her fancie thus,
Figuring Orlando vnder Medors name:
Fine drift (faire Nymph) Orlando hopes no lesse.
He spyes the Roundelayes.
Yet more are Muses masking in these trees,
Framing their ditties in conceited lines,
Making a Goddesse in despite of me,
That haue no other but Angelica.

Shep:
Poore haples man, these thoughts containe the hell,

Orlando
reades this roundelay.
Angelica is Ladie of his hart,
Angelica is substance of his ioy,
Angelica is medcine of his smart,
Angelica hath healed his annoy.

Orl:
Ah false Angelica. What haue we more?

Another.

Let groues, let rockes, let woods, let watrie springs,
The Cedar, Cypresse, Laurell, and the Pine,
Ioy in the notes of loue that Medor sings,
Of those sweet lookes Angelica of thine.
Then Medor in Angelica take delight,
Early, at morne, at noone, at euen and night.

Orl:
What dares Medor court my Venus?
What may Orlando deeme?
Aetna forsake the bounds of Sicily,
For now in me thy restlesse flames appeare,
Refusd, contemnd, disdaind: what worse than these?
Orgalio.

Org:
My Lord.

Orl:
Boy, view these trees carued with true loue knots,
The inscription Medor and Angelica:
And read these verses hung vp of their loues.
Now tell me boy, what dost thou thinke?

Org:
By my troth my Lord, I thinke Angelica is a woman.

Orl:
And what of that?

Org:

Therefore vnconstant, mutable, hauing
their loues hanging in their ey-lids; that as they are
got with a looke, so they are lost againe with a wink.
But heres a Shepheard, it may be he can tell vs news.

Orl:
What messenger hath Ate sent abroad,
With idle lookes to listen my laments.
Sirra, who wronged happy Nature so,
To spoyle these trees with this Angelica?
Yet in her name (Orlando) they are blest.

Shep:
I am a shepheard swaine, thou wandring Knight,
That watch my flockes, not one that follow loue.

Orl:
As follow loue? why darest thou dispraise my heauen,
Or once disgrace or preiudice her name?
Is not Angelica the Queene of loue,
Deckt with the compound wreath of Adons flowrs
She is.
Then speake thou peasant, what is he that dares
Attempt to court my Queene of loue.
Or I shall send thy soule to Charons charge.

Sh:
Braue knight since feare of death inforceth still
In greater mindes submission and relent:
Know that this Medor whose vnhappie name
Is mixed with the faire Angelicas,
Is euen that Medor that inioyes her loue.
Yon caue beares witnes of their kind content,
Yon medowes talke the actions of their ioy.
Our Shepheards in their songs of solace sing,
Angelica doth none but Medor loue.

Orl:
Angelica doth none but Medor loue?
Shall Medor then possesse Orlandos loue?
Daintie and gladsome beames of my delight,
Delicious browes, why smiles your heauen for those
That wandring make you proue Orlandos foes:
Lend me your plaints, you sweet Arcadian Nimphs,
That wont to waile your new departed loues:
Thou weeping floud, leaue Orpheus waile for me,
And Titans Neeces gather all in one
Those fluent springs of your lamenting teares,
And let them flow alongst my faintfull lookes.

Shep:
Now is the fire late smothered in suspect,
Kindled and burnes within his angrie brest.
Now haue I done the will of Sacrepant.

Orl:

Org:
Alas my Lord, I am your seruant Orgalio.

Orl:
No villain thou art Medor that ranst away with Angelica.

Org:

No by my troth my Lord, I am Orgalio,
aske all these people else.

Orl:

Art thou Orgalio? tell me where Medor is.

Org:

My Lord looke where he sits.

Orl:

What, sits he here, and braues me too?

Shep:

No truly Sir, I am not he.

Orl:

Yes villaine.

He drawes him in by the leg.
Org:

Help, help, my Lord of Aquitaine.

Enter Duke of Aquitaine, and souldiers.
Org:

O my Lord of Aquitaine the Count Orlando
is run mad, and taking of a shepheard by the
heeles, rends him as one would teare a Larke. See
where he comes with a leg on his necke.

Enter Orlando with a leg.
Orl:
Villaine, prouide me straight a Lions skin,
Thou seest I now am mightie Hercules:
Looke wheres my massie club vpon my necke.
I must to hell, to seeke for Medor and Angelica,
Or else I dye.
You that are the rest, get you quickly away,
Prouide ye horses all of burnisht gold,
Saddles of corke because Ile haue them light,
For Charlemaine the Great is vp in armes.
And Arthur with a crue of Britons comes
To seeke for Medor and Angelica.

So he beateth them all in before him. Manet Orgalio
Enter Marsillus.
Org:
Ah my Lord Orlando.

Mar:
Orlando, what of Orlando?

Org:
He my Lord runs madding through the woods,
Like mad Orestes in his greatest rage.
Step but aside into the bordring groue,
There shall you see ingrauen on euerie tree,
The lawlesse loue of Medor and Angelica.
O see my Lord, not any shrub but beares
The cursed stampe that wrought the Counties rage.
If thou beest mightie King Marsillus,
For whom the Countie would aduenture life:
Reuenge it on the false Angelica.

Mar:
Trust me Orgalio, Theseus in his rage,
Did neuer more reuenge his wrongd Hyppolitus,
Than I will on the false Angelica.
Goe to my Court, and drag me Medor forth
Teare from his brest the daring villaines hart.
Next take that base and damnd adulteresse,
(I scorne to title her with daughters name:)
Put her in rags, and like some shepheardesse,
Exile her from my kingdome presently.
Delay not good Orgalio, see it done.
Exit Orgalio.
Enter a souldier with Mandricard disguised.
How now my frend, what fellow hast thou there?

Soul:
He sayes my Lord that hee is seruant vnto Mandricard.

Mar:
To Mandricard?
It fits me not to sway the Diademe,
Or rule the wealthy Realmes of Barbarie,
To staine my thoughts with any cowardise.
Thy master bravde me to my teeth,
He backt the Prince of Cuba for my foe,
For which nor he nor his shall scape my hands.
No souldier, thinke me resolute as hee.

Man:
It greeues me much that Princes disagree,
Sith blacke repentance followeth afterward.
But leauing that, pardon me gracious Lord.

Mar:
For thou intreatst and newly art arrivd,
And yet thy sword is not imbrewd in blood,
Vpon conditions I will pardon thee;
That thou shalt neuer tell thy master Mandricard,
Nor anie fellow soldier of the campe,
That King Marsillus licenst thee depart:
He shall not thinke I am so much his frend,
That he or one of his shall scape my hand.

Man:
I swear my Lord, & vow to keep my word.

Mar:
Then take my banderoll of red,
Mine, and none but mine shall honor thee,
And safe conduct thee to port Carthagene.

Man:
But say my Lord, if Mandricard were here
What fauor should he finde or life or death?

Mar:
I tell thee frend, it fits not for a King
To prize his wrath before his curtesie.
Were Mandricard the King of Mexico
In prison here, and crayde but libertie;
So little hate hangs in Marsillus breast,
As one intreatie should quite race it out.
But this concernes not thee, therefore farewell.
Exit Marsillus.

Man:
Thankes & good fortune fall to such a king,
As couets to be counted curteous.
Blush Mandricard, the honor of thy foe disgraceth thee.
Thou wrongest him that wisheth thee but well
Thou bringest store of men from Mexico
To battaile him that scornes to iniure thee,
Pawning his colours for thy warrantize.
Backe to thy ships, and hie thee to thy home,
Bouge not a foote to aid Prince Rodomant,
But frendly gratulate these fauors found,
And meditate on nought but to be frends.

Exit.
Enter Orlando attired like a mad-man.
Orl:

Woods, trees, leaues; leaues, trees, woods:
tria sequuntur tria. Ho Minerua, salve, God morrow
how doo you to day? Tell me sweet Goddesse, will
Ioue send Mercury to Calipso to let mee goe. Will
he? why then hees a Gentleman euerie haire a the
head on him. But ho Orgalio, where art thou boy?

Org:
Here my Lord, did you call mee?

Orl:
No, nor name thee.

Org:
Then God be with you.

Orgalio proffers to goe in.
Orl:
Nay pree thee good Orgalio stay,
Canst thou not tell me what to say?

Org:
No by my troth.

Orl:
O this it is, Angelica is dead.

Org:
Why then she shall be buried.

Orl:
But my Angelica is dead.

Org:
Why it may be so.

Orl:
But shees dead and buried.

Org:
I, I thinke so.

Orl:
Nothing but I thinke so, and it may be so.

He beateth him.
Org:
What doo ye meane my Lord?

Orl:

Why shall I tell you that my Loue is dead,
and can ye not weep for her.

Org:
Yes yes my Lord I will.

Orl:
Well doo so then. Orgalio.

Org:
My Lord.

Orl:
Angelica is dead.
Orgalio cries.
Ah poore slaue, so, crie no more now.

Org:
Nay I haue quickly done.

Orl:
Orgalio.

Org:
My Lord.

Orl:
Medors Angelica is dead.

Orgalio cries, and Orlando beats him againe.
Org:
Why doo ye beat me my Lord?

Orl:

Why slaue, wilt thou weep for Medors Angelica,
thou must laugh for her.

Org:

Laugh? yes, Ile laugh all day and you will.

Orl.

Orgalio.

Org:

My Lord.

Orl:

Medors Angelica is dead.

Org:

Ha ha ha ha.

Orl:

So, tis well now.

Org:

Nay this is easier than the other was.

Orl:

Now away, seek the hearb Moly, for I must

to hell, to seeke for Medor and Angelica.

Org:

I know not the hearb Moly ifaith.

Orl:

Come Ile lead ye to it by the eares.

Org:

Tis here my Lord, tis here.

Orl:

Tis indeed, now to Charon, bid him dresse
his boat, for he had neuer such a passenger.

Org:

Shall I tell him your name?

Exit.
Orl:

No, then he wil be afraid, & not be at home.

Enter two Clownes.
Tho:

Sirra Rafe, and thoult goe with me, Ile let
thee see the brauest mad man that euer thou sawst.

Rafe.

Sirra Tom: I beleeue twas he that was at
our towne a sunday, Ile tell thee what he did sirra: he
came to our house, when all our folkes were gone
to Church, and there was no bodie at home but I, &
I was turning of the spit, and he comes in, & bad me
fetch him some drinke. Now I went and fetcht him
some, & ere I came againe, by my troth he ran away
with the rost-meate spit and all, & so we had nothing
but porredge to dinner.

Thomas.

By my troth that was braue, but sirrha
he did so course the boyes last sunday: and if ye call
him mad-man, heel run after you, & tickle your ribs
so with his flap of leather that he hath as it passeth.

They spie Orlando.
Rafe.
Oh Tom looke where he is, call him mad-man.

Tom.
Mad-man, mad-man.

Rafe:
Mad-man, mad-man.

Orl:
What saist thou villaine?
He beateth them.
So now you shall be both my Souldiers.

Tom:
Your soldiers, we shall haue a mad Captaine then.

Orl:
You must fight against Medor.

Raf:
Yes let me alone with him for a bloody nose.

Orl:
Come then and Ile giue you weapons strait.

Exeunt omnes.
Enter Angelica like a poore woman.
An:
Thus causeles banisht from thy natiue home,
Here sit Angelica and rest a while,
For to bewaile the fortunes of thy loue.

Enter Rodamant and Brandemart with Souldiers.
Roda:
This way she went, & far she cannot be.

Brand:
See where she is my Lord, speak as if you knew her not.

Ro:
Faire shepherdesse for so thy sitting seemes,
Or Nymph for lesse thy beauty cannot be:
What feede you sheepe vpon these downes?

Ange:
Daughter I am vnto a bordering Swaine,
That tend my flocks within these shady groues.

Roda.
Fond gyrle thou liest, thou art Angelica.

Brand:
I thou art shee that wrongd the Palatine.

Ange:
For I am knowne albeit I am disguisde,
Yet dare I turne the lie into thy throte,
Sith thou reportst I wrongd the Palatine.

Brand:
Nay then thou shalt be vsed according to thy deserts, come bring her to our Tents.

Roda:
But stay what Drum is this?

Enter Orlando with a Drum, and souldiers with spits and dripping-pans.
Br:
Now see Angelica the fruits of all your loue.

Orl:
Souldiers, this is the Citie of great Babilon,
Where proud Darius was rebated from,
Play but the men and I will lay my head,
Weele sacke and raze it ere the sunne be set.

Clowne:
Yea and scratch it too,
March faire fellow frying-pan.

Orl:
Orgalio, knowst thou the cause of my laughter?

Org:
No by my troth, nor no wise-man else.

Orl:

Why sirra to thinke that if the enemie were
fled ere we come, weele not leaue one of our own
souldiers aliue, for wee two will kill them with our
fists.

Rafe:
Fo come lets goe home againe, heele set Probatum est vpon my head peece anon.

Orl:
No, no, thou shalt not be hurt, nor thee,
Backe souldiers, looke where the enemie is.

Tom:
Captaine, they haue a woman amongst them.

Orl:
And what of that?

Tom:
Why strike you downe the men, and then let me alone to thrust in the woman.

Orl:
No I am challenged the single fight,
Syrra, ist you challenge me the combate.

Brand:
Franticke companion, lunatick & wood,
Get thee hence, or else I vow by heauen,
Thy madnes shall not priuiledge thy life.

Orl:
I tell thee villaine Medor wrongd me so,
Sith thou art come his Champion to the field,
Ile learne thee know I am the Palatine.

Alarum: They fight, Orlando kills Brandemart, and all the rest flie but Angelica.
Org:
Looke my Lord heres one kild.

Orl:
Who kild him?

Org:
You my Lord I thinke.

Orl:
I? No, no, I see who kild him.
He goeth to Angelica and knowes her not.

Come hither gentle sir, whose prowesse hath performde
such an act, thinke not the curteous Palatine
will hinder that thine Honour hath atchieude, Orgalio
fetch me a sword, that presently this squire may
be dubd a Knight.

Ange:
Thankes gentle Fortune that sendes mee such good hap,
Rather to die by him I love so deare,
Than live and see my Lord thus lunaticke.

Org:
Here my Lord.

Orl:
If thou beest come of Lancelots worthy line welcome thou art,
Kneele downe sir Knight, rise vp sir Knight,
Here take this sword, and hie thee to the fight.
Exit Angelica.
Now tell me Orgalio, what dost thou thinke,
Will not this Knight proue a valiant Squire?

Org:
He cannot chuse being of your making

Orl:
But wheres Angelica now?

Org:
Faith I cannot tell.

Orl:
Villaine find her out,
Or else the torments that Ixion feeles,
The rolling stone, the tubs of the Belides.
Villaine wilt thou finde her out.

Org:
Alas my Lord, I know not where she is.

Orl:
Run to Charlemaine, spare for no cost,
Tell him Orlando sent for Angelica.

Org:

Faith Ile fetch you such an Angelica as you
neuer saw before.

Exit Orgalio.

Orl:
As though that Sagittarius in his pride,
Could take braue Læda from stout Iupiter?
And yet forsooth Medor, base Medor durst
Attempt to reue Orlando of his loue.
Sirra, you that are the messenger of Ioue,
You that can sweep it through the milke white path
That leads vnto the Senate house of Mars.
Fetch me my shield temperd of purest steele,
My helme forgd by the Cyclops for Anchises sonne,
And see if I dare not combat for Angelica.

Enter Orgalio with the Clowne drest lyke Angelica.
Org:
Come away, and take heed you laugh not.

Cl:

No I warrant you, but I thinke I had best go

backe and shaue my beard.

Org:

Tush, that will not be seene.

Cl:

Well you will giue me the halfe crowne ye promist me.

Org:

Doubt not of that man.

Cl:

Sirra, didst not see me serue the fellow a fine
tricke, when we came ouer the market place.

Org:

Why, how was that?

Cl:

Why hee comes to me, and said; Gentlewoman,
wilt please you take a pint or a quart. No Gentlewoman
said I, but your frend and Doritie.

Org:
Excellent: come see where my Lord is.
My Lord, here is Angelica.

Orl:
Mas thou saist true, tis she indeed;
How fares the faire Angelica?

Cl:
Well I thanke you hartely.

Orl:
Why art thou not that same Angelica,
Whose hiew as bright as faire Erythea
That darkes Canopus with her siluer hiew?

Cl:
Yes forsooth.

Orl:
Are not these the beauteous cheekes,
Wherein the Lillies and the natiue Rose
Sits equall suted with a blushing red?

Cl:
He makes a garden plot in my face.

Orl:
Are not my dere those radient eyes,
Whereout proud Phœbus flasheth out his beames?

Cl:
Yes, yes, with squibs and crackers brauely.

Orl:
You are Angelica?

Cl:
Yes marry am I.

Orl:
Wheres your sweet hart Medor?

Cl:
Orgalio, giue me eighteen pence, & let me go.

Orl:
Speake strumpet, speake.

Cl:
Marry sir he is drinking a pint or a quart.

Orl:
Why strumpet, worse than Mars his trothlesse loue.
Falser than faithles Cressida: strumpet thou shalt not scape.

Cl:

Come, come, you doo not vse me like a gentlewoman;
and if I be not for you I am for another.

Orl:
Are you, that will I trie.

He beateth him out.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter the twelue Peeres of France, with drum and trumpets.
Og:
Braue Peeres of France, sith wee haue past the bounds,
Whereby the wrangling billowes seekes for straites
To warre with Tellus, and her fruitfull mynes:
Sith we haue furrowd throgh those wandring tides
Of Tyrrhene seas, and made our galleys dance
Vpon the Hyperborian billowes crests,
That braues with streames the watrie Occident:
And found the rich and wealthie Indian clime,
Sought too by greedie mindes for hurtfull gold.
Now let vs seeke to venge the Lampe of France,
That lately was eclipsed in Angelica.
Now let vs seeke Orlando forth our Peere,
Though from his former wits lately estrangd,
Yet famous in our fauors as before.
And sith by chance we all encountred bee
Lets seeke reuenge on her that wrought his wrong.

Names.
But being thus arrivd in place vnknown,
Who shall direct our course vnto the Court,
Where braue Marsillus keepes his royall State.

Enter Marsillus and Mandricard like Palmers.
Og:
Loe here, two Indian Palmers hard at hand
Who can perhaps resolue our hidden doubts.
Palmers, God speed.

Mar:
Lordings, we greet you well.

Og:
Where lies Marsillus Court, frend canst thou tel.

Mar:
His Court is his campe, the Prince is now in armes.

Turpin.
In armes? Whats he that dares annoy so great a King.

Man:
Such as both loue & furie doth confound,
Fierce Sacrepant, incenst with strange desires,
Warres on Marsillus, and Rodamant being dead,
Hath leuied all his men, and traitor-like
Assailes his Lord, and louing soueraigne.
And Mandricard who late hath been in armes,
To prosecute reuenge against Marsillus,
Is now through fauors past become his frend.
Thus stands the state of matchles India.

Og:
Palmer, I like thy braue and breef discourse,
And couldst thou bring vs to the Princes campe,
We would acknowledge frendship at thy hands.

Mar:
Ye stranger Lords, why seeke ye out Marsillus?

Ol:
In hope that he whose Empire is so large,
Will make both minde and Monarchie agree.

Mar:
Whence are you Lords, and what request you here?

Names.
A question ouer-hautie for thy weed,
Fit for the King himselfe for to propound.

Man:
O sir, know that vnder simple weeds
The Gods haue maskt, then deeme not with disdain
To answere to this Palmers question,
Whose coat includes perhaps as great as yours.

Og:
Hautie their words, their persons ful of state,
Though habit be but meane, their mindes excell.
Well Palmers know that Princes are in India arrivd
Yea euen those westerne princely peeres of France,
That through the world aduentures vndertake,
To find Orlando late incenst with rage.
Then Palmers sith you know our stiles and state,
Aduise vs where your King Marsillus is.

Mar:
Lordings of France, here is Marsillus,
That bids you welcome into India,
And will in person bring you to his campe.

Og:
Marsillus, and thus disguisd?

Mar:
Euen Marsillus, and thus disguisd.
But what request these Princes at my hand?

Turpin.
We sue for law and iustice at thy hand,
We seeke Angelica thy daughter out;
That wanton maid, that hath eclipst the ioy
Of royall France, and made Orlando mad.

Mar:
My daughter Lords, why shees exilde,
And her grieud father is content to lose
The pleasance of his age to countnance law.

Oli:
Not onely exile shall await Angelica,
But death and bitter death shall follow her,
Then yeeld vs right Marsillus, or our swords
Shal make thee feare to wrong the Pieres of France

Mar:
Wordes cannot daunt mee Princes bee assurde,
But law and iustice shall ouerrule in this,
And I will burie fathers name and loue,
The haples maide bannisht from out my Land,
Wanders about in woods and waies vnknowne,
Her if yee finde with furie persecute,
I now disdaine the name to be her Father,
Lords of France what would you more of me.

Oger:
Marsillus wee commende thy Princely minde,
And will report thy iustice through the world,
Come Peeres of France lets seeke Angelica,
Left for a spoile to our reuenging thoughts.

Exeunt omnes.
Enter Orlando like a Poet.
Orl:
Orgalio, is not my loue like those purple coloured swans,
That gallop by the Coach of Cynthia.

Org:
Yes marry is shee my Lord.

Orl:
Is not her face siluerd like that milke-white shape,
When Ioue came dauncing downe to Semele.

Org:
It is my Lord.
Then goe thy waies and clime vp to the Clowds,
And tell Apollo that Orlando sits,
Making of verses for Angelica.
And if he doo denie to send me downe
The shirt which Deianyra sent to Hercules,
To make me braue vpon my wedding day;
Tell him Ile passe the Alpes, and vp to Meroe,
(I know he knowes that watrie lakish hill)
And pull the harpe out of the minstrelis hands,
And pawne it vnto louely Proserpine,
That she may fetch the faire Angelica.

Org:
But my Lord Apollo is a sleepe & will not heare me,

Orl:
Then tell him he is a sleepy knaue:
But sirra let no body trouble mee, for I must lie downe a while and talke with the starres.

Enter Fidler.
Org:
What old acquaintance well met.

Fidler.

Ho you would haue me play Angelica againe,
would ye not?

Org:

No, but I can tell thee where thou mayest
earne two or three shillings this morning, euen with
the turning of a hand.

Fidler:

Two or three shillinges, tush thou wot
cossen me thou, but and thou canst tell where I may
earne a groate, Ile giue thee sixe pence for thy
paines.

Org:

Then play a fit of mirth to my Lord.

Fid:

Why he is mad still is he not.

Org:

No, no, come play.

Fidler.

At which side dooth he vse to giue his reward.

Org:

Why of anie side.

Fidler.

Doth he not vse to throw the chamber pot
sometimes? Twould greeue me he should wet my
fiddle strings.

Org:

Tush I warrant thee.

He playes and sings any odde toy, and Orlando wakes.
Orl:

Who is this, Shan Cuttelero? hartely welcome, Shan Cuttelero.

Fidler.

No sir, you should haue said Shan the Fidideldero.

Orl:

What, hast thou brought me my sword?

He takes away his fiddle.
Fidler.

A sword? No no sir, thats my fiddle.

Orl:

But dost thou think the temper to be good!
And will it hold, when thus and thus we Medor do
assaile?

He strikes and beates him with the fiddle.
Fidler.
Lord sir, youle breake my liuing.
You told me your master was not mad.

Orl:
Tel me, why hast thou mad my sword?
The pummells well, the blade is curtald short.
Villaine why hast thou made it so,

Fidler.
O Lord Sir, will you answere this?
He breakes it about his head.
Exit Fidler.

Enter Melissa with a glasse of Wine.
Orl.
Orgalio who is this?

Orga.
Faith my Lord some old witch I thinke.

Mel.
O that my Lord woulde but conceit my tale.
Then would I speake and hope to finde redresse.

Orl:
Faire Polixena, the pride of Illion,
Feare not Achilles ouer-madding boy,
Pyrrus shall not, &c.
Sounes Orgalio, why sufferest thou this old trot to come so nigh me?

Orga:
come, come, stand by, your breath stinkes.

Orl:
What, be all the Trogians fled,
Then giue me some drinke.

Mel:
Here Palatine drinke, and euer be thou better for this draught.

Orl:
What here the paltrie bottle that Darius quaft,
Hee drinkes, and she charmes him with her wand, and lies downe to sleepe.
Else would I set my mouth to Tygres streames,
And drinke vp ouerflowing Euphrates,
My eyes are heauie, and I needs must sleep.
Melissa striketh with her wande, and the Satyres enter with musicke and plaie round about him, which done, they staie, he awaketh and speakes.
What shewes are these that fill mine eies
With view of such regard as heauen admires,
To see my slumbring dreames,
Skies are fulfild with lampes of lasting ioy,
That boast the pride of haught Latonas sonne,
He lightneth all the candles of the night.
Nymosene hath kist the kingly Ioue,
And entertaind a feast within my brains,
Making her daughter solace on my brow,
Mee thinks I feele how Cinthya tunes conceites
Of sad repent, and meloweth those desires
Which phrensies scares had ripened in my head.
Ate Ile kisse thy restlesse cheeke a while,
And suffer vile repent to bide controll,

He lieth downe againe.
Mel:
O vos Siluani, Satyri, Faunique, Deæque,
Nymphæ Hamadriades, Driades, Persæque potentes,
O vos qui colttes lacusque lacosque profundos,
Infernasque domus, & nigra palatia Ditis:
Tuque Demogorgon qui noctis fata gubernas,
Qui regis infernum, solemque, solumque, cœlumque;
Exaudite preces, filiasque auferte micantes,
In caput Orlandi cœlestes spargite lympus,
Spargite, quis misere reuocetur raptator vmbras
Orlando insœlix anima.

Then let the musicke play before him, and so goe forth.
Orl:
What sights, what shewes, what fearefull shapes are these?
More dreadfull then appeard to Hecuba,
When fall of Troy was figured in her sleepe.
Iuno mee thought sent downe from heauen by Ioue.
Came swiftly sweeping through the gloomy aire
And calling Fame the Satyres and the nymphs,
She gaue them viols full of heauenly dew,
With that mounted on her parti-coloured coach
Being drawen with peacockes proudly through the aire,
She flew with Iris to the sphere of Ioue.
What fearefull thoughts arise vpon this show?
What desert groue is this? How thus disguisde?
Where is Orgalio?

Orgal:
Here my Lord.

Orl:
Sirah, how came I thus disguisde,
Like made Orestes quaintly thus disguisd?

Orl:

Like mad Orestes, nay my Lord, you may
boldly iustifie the comparison, for Orestes was
neuer so mad in his life as you were.

Orl:
What was I mad? What furie hath inchanted me?

Mel:
A furie sure worse than Megera was,
That reft her sonne from trustie Pilades.

Orl:
Why, what art thou, some Sybelorsom goddesse, freely speake?

Mel:
Time not affoords to tell each circumstance?
But thrice hath Cynthia changde her hiew
Since thou infected with a lunasie,
Hast gadded vp and downe these lands & groues
Performing strange and ruthfull stratagemes,
All for the loue of faire Angelica,
Whome thou with Medor didst suppose plaide false,
But Sacrepant had grauen these rundelaies,
To sting thee with infecting iealousie;
The swaine that tolde thee of their oft conuerse,
Was seruant vnto Countie Sacrepant,
And trust me Orlando, Angelica though true to thee,
Is banisht from the court,
And Sacrepnat this daie bids battel to Marsillius
The armies readie are to giue assaile,
And on a hill that ouerpeeres them both,
Stands all the worthie matchles peeres of France
Who are in quest to seeke Orlando out.
Muse not at this, for I haue tolde thee true,
I am she that cured thy disease,
Here take these weapons giuen thee by the fates,
And hie thee Countie to the battell straight.

Or:
Thanks sacred Goddes for thy helping hand
Thether will I hie to be reuengd.

Alarmes.
Exit.
Enter Sacrepant crowned, and pursuing Marsillus and Mandrecard.
Sacre:
Viceroyes you are dead,
For Sacrepant alreadie crownd a king,
Heaues vp his sword to haue your diadems.

Mar:
Traitor, not dead, or anie wit dismaide,
For deare we prize the smallest droppe of bloud.

Enter Orlando with a scarfe before his face.
Orl:
Stay Princes, base not yourselues to cumbat such a dog.
Mount on your coursers, follow those that flie,
And let your conquering swoordes be tainted in their blouds
Passe ye, for him he shall be combatted.

Exit Kings.
Sac:
Why what art thou that brauest me thus?

Orl:
I am thou seest a mercenarie souldier
Homely, yet of such haughtie thoughts;
As noght can serue to quéch th'aspiring thoghtes
That burnes as doe the fires of Cicely,
Vnlesse I win that princely diademe,
That seemes so ill vppon thy cowards head.

Sac.
Coward. To armes sir boy, I will not brooke these braues,
If Mars himselfe euen from his firie throne,
Came armde with all his furnitures of warre.
They sight.
Oh villaine, thou hast slaine a prince.

Orl:
Then maist thou think that Mars himself
Came down to vaile thy plumes, and heaue thee from thy pompe.
Proud that thou art, I recke not of thy gree,
But I will haue the conquest of my sword,
Which is the glorie of thy diadem.

Sac:
These words bewraie thou art no base born moore,
But by descent sprong from some roiall line,
Then freely tell me whats thy name.

Orl:
Nay first let me know thine?

Sac:
Then know that thou hast slaine Prince Sacrepant.

Orl:
Sacrepant. Then let me at thy dying day intreate,
By that same sphere wherein thy soule shall rest,
If Ioue denie not passage to thy ghost,
Thou tell mee whether thou wrongdst Angelica or no.

Sac:
O thats the sting that pricks my conscience
Oh thats the hell my thoughts abhorre to thinke,
I tel thee knight, for thou doest seeme no lesse,
That I ingravde the rundelaies on the trees,
And hung the sedulet of poore Medors loue,
Intending so to breed debate,
Betweene Orlando and Angelica,
O thus I wrongd Orlando and Angelica.
Now tell me what shall I call thy name.

Orl:
Then dead is the fatall authour of my ill,
Base villaine, vassall, vnworthie of a crowne,
Knowe that the man that strucke the fatall stroke,
Is Orlando the Countie Palatine,
Whome fortune sent to quittance all my wrongs
Thou foild and slain, it now behoues me straight
To hie me fast to massacre thy men,
And so farewell thou deuill in shape of man.

Exit.
Sac:
Hath Demogorgon ruler of the fates,
Set such a balefull period on my life,
As none might end the daies of Sacrepant,
But mightie Orlando riuall of my loue,
Now holdeth the fatall murderers of men,
The sharpned knife readie to cut my threed,
Ending the scene of all my tragedie,
This daie, this houre, this minute ends the daies
Of him that liude worthie olde Nestors age.
Phœbus put on thy sable suted wreath,
Cladde all thy spheres in darke and mourning weedes.
Parcht be the earth to drinke vp euery spring,
Let corne and trees be blasted from aboue,
Heauen turne to brasse, & earth to wedge of steel
The worlde to cinders, Mars come thundering downe,
And neuer sheath thy swift reuenging swoorde,
Till like the deluge in Dewcalions daies,
The higgest mountaines swimme in streames of bloud.
Heauen, earth, men, beasts, & euerie liuing thing
Consume and end with countie Sacrepant, he dyes.

Enter Marsillus, Mandrecard, and twelue peeres with Angelica.
Mar.
Fought is the field, & Sacrepant is slaine,
With such a massacre of all his men,
As Mars descending in his purple robe,
Vowes with Bellona in whole heapes of bloud
To banquet all the demie gods of warre.

Mandr.
See where hee lies slaughtered without the campe,
And by a simple swaine, a mercenarie,
Who brauely tooke the combat to himselfe,
Might I but know the man that did the deede,
I would my Lord eternize him with fame.

Oger:
Leauing the factious countie to his death,
Command my Lord his bodie be conuaid
Vnto some place as likes your Highnes best,
See Marsillus poasting thorough Affrica,
We haue found this stragling girle Angelica,
Who for she wrongd her loue Orlando
Chiefest of the Westerne peeres,
Conuersing with so meane a man as Medor was,
We will haue her punisht by the lawes of France,
To end her burning lust in flames of fire.

Mar.
Beshrew you lordings but you doe your worst.
Fire, famine, and as cruell death,
As fell to Neros mother in his rage.

Angelica.
Father, if I may dare to call thee so,
And Lordes of France come from the Westerne seas.
In quest to finde mightie Orlando out,
Yet ere I die let me haue leaue to say,
Angelica held euer in her thoughts,
Most deare the loue of Countie Palatine:
What wretch hath wrongd vs with suspect of loue,
I know not I, nor can accuse the man:
But by the heauens whereto my soule shall flie,
Angelica did neuer wrong Orlando.
I speake not this as one that cares to liue,
For why, my thoughts are fully malecontent,
And I coniure you by your Chiualrie,
You quit Orlandos wrong vpon Angelica.

Enter Orlando with a scarfe before his face.
Oliuer:
Strumpet feare not, for by faire Mayas sonne,
This day thy soule shall vanish vp in fire,
As Semele when Iuno wild the trull,
To entertaine the glorie of her loue.

Orl:
Frenchman, for so thy quaint aray imports,
Be thou a Piere, or be thou Charlemaine,
Or hadst thou Hector or Achilles hart,
Or neuer daunted thoughts of Hercules,
That did in courage far surpasse them all,
I tell thee sir, thou liest in thy throate,
The greatest braue transalpine France can brooke,
In saying that sacred Angelica,
Did offer wrong vnto the Palatine:
I am a common mercenary souldier,
Yet for I see my Princesse is abusd
By new come straglers from a forren coast,
I dare the proudest of these westerne Lords
To cracke a blade in triall of her right.

Mam:
Why foolish hardie daring simple groome,
Follower of fond conceited Phaeton:
Knowest thou to whom thou speakst?

Mar:
Braue souldier (for so much thy courage
These men are princes, dipt within the blood (saies)
Of Kings most royall, seated in the West,
Vnfit to accept a challenge at your hand.
Yet thankes that thou wouldst in thy Lords defence
Fight for my daughter, but her guilt is knowne.

Ang:
I, rest thee souldier, Angelica is false,
False, for she hath no triall of her right:
Souldier, let me die for the misse of all.
Wert thou as stout as is proud Theseus,
In vaine thy blade should offer my defence:
For why, these be the champions of the world,
Twelue Peeres of France that neuer yet were foild.

Orl:
How Madam, the twelue Peeres of France?
Why let them be twelue diuels of hell:
What I haue said Ile pawne my sword
To seale it on the shield of him that dares
Malgrado of his honor combat me.

Oliuer.
Marrie sir, that dare I.

Orl:
Yar a welcome man sir.

Turpin.
Chastise the groome (Oliuer) & learne him know,
We are not like the boyes of Africa.

Orl:
Heare you sir: You that so peremptorily bad him fight,
Prepare your weapons for your turne is next,
Tis not one Champion that can discourage me,
Come are yee ready.
He fighteth first with one, and then with another, and ouercomes them both.
So stand aside, and Maddam if my fortune last it out,
Ile gard your person with twelue Pieres of France.

Og:
Oh Oger how canst thou stand & see a slaue
Disgrace the house of France: Syrra prepare you,
For angry Nemesis sits on my sword to be reuengd.

Orl:

Well saide Frenchman, you haue made a
goodly oration: But you had best to vse your sword
better, lest I beswinge you.

They fight a good while and then breath.
Og:
How so ere disguisd in base or Indian shape,
Oger can well discerne thee by thy blowes,
For either thou art Orlando or the diuell.

Orl:
Then to assure you that I am no diuel,
Heres your friend and companion Orlando.

Oger:
And none can be more glad than Oger is
That he hath found his Cosen in his sense.

Oli:
When as I felt his blowes vpon my shield,
My teeth did chatter and my thoughts conceiude,
Who might this be if not the Pallatine.

Turpin:
So had I said, but that report did tell,
My Lord was troubled with a lunacie.

Orl:
So was I Lordinges: but giue mee leaue a while,
Humbly as Mars did to his Paramour,
So to submit to faire Angelica.
Pardon thy Lord, faire saint Angelica,
Whose loue stealing by steps into extreames,
Grew by suspition to a causeles lunacie.

Angelica:
O no my Lord, but pardon my amis,
For had not Orlando lovde Angelica,
Nere had my Lord falne into these extreames,
Which we will parle priuate to our selues:
Nere was the Queene of Cypres halfe so glad,
As is Angelica to see her Lord,
Her deare Orlando settled in his sense.

Orlando:
Thankes my sweete loue.
But why stands the Prince of Affrica,
And Mandrecarde the King of Mexeco,
So deepe in dumps when all reioyse beside:
First know my Lord, I slaughtred Sacrepant,
I am the man that did the slaue to death,
Who frankely there did make confession,
That he ingravde the Roundelaies on the trees,
And hung the schedules of poore Medors loue,
Entending by suspect to breede debate,
Deepely twixt me and faire Angelica:
His hope had hap but we had all the harme,
And now Reuenge leaping from out the seate,
Of him that may command sterne Nemesis,
Hath powrde those treasons iustly on his head.
What faith my gratious Lord to this?

Marsillus:
I stand amazde, deepe ouerdrencht with ioy,
To heare and see this vnexpected ende,
So well I rest content yee Pieres of France,
Sith it is provde Angelica is cleare,
Her and my Crowne I freely will bestow,
Vpon Orlando the County Palatine.

Orl:
Thanks my good Lord, & now my friends of France,
Frollicke, be merrie, we wil hasten home,
So soone as King Marsillus will consent,
To let his daughter wind with vs to France,
Meane while weele richly rigge vp all our Fleete,
More braue than was that gallant Grecian keele,
That brought away the Colchyan fleece of gold.
Our Sailes of sendall spread into the winde,
Our ropes and tacklings all of finest silke,
Fetcht from the natiue loomes of laboring wormes,
The pride of Barbarie, and the glorious wealth,
That is transported by the Westerne bounds:
Our stems cut out of gleming Iuorie,
Our planks and sides framde out of Cypresse wood,
That beares the name of Cyparissus change,
To burst the billows of the Ocean Sea,
Where Phœbus dips his amber-tresses oft,
And kisses Thetis in the daies decline,
That Neptune prowd shall call his Trytons forth,
To couer all the Ocean with a calme:
So rich shall be the rubbish of our barkes,
Tane here for ballas to the ports of France,
That Charles himselfe shall wonder at the sight
Thus Lordings when our bankettings be done,
And Orlando espowsed to Angelica,
Weele furrow through the mouing Ocean,
And cherely frolicke with great Charlemaine.