University of Virginia Library

Actvs 2.

Scena 1.

Sound Musicke.
Enter Octauian, Caradoc, Guiniuer, Gloster, Cornewall and Codigune vnto the Banket.
Octa.
Sit, Princes, and let each man, as befits
This solemne Festiuall, tune his sullen senses,
To merry Carols, and delightsome thoughts,
Comicke inuentions, and such pleasant straines
As may decypher time to be well pleased.
All things distinguisht are into their times
And Iouiall howres, vnfit for graue designes.
A health vnto the Bride and Bridegroome. Lords,
Let it goe round.

They drinke round.
Octa.
How fares our princely Daughter?
Me thinks, your looks are too composde for such a holiday.

Gui.
Oh my good Lord, to put your Highnes out of your suspect,
Which your weak argument draws frō my looks:
Tis true, that heathen Sages haue affirmed,
That Natures Tablet fixt within our looke,
Giues scope to reade our hearts, as in a booke.
Yet this affirmatiue not alwayes holds;
For sometimes as the vrine, that foretels
The constitution of each temperature,
It falsely wrongs the iudgement, makes our wit
Turne Mountybanke in falsely iudging it:
And like the outward parts of some fayre whore,
Deceiues, euen in the obiect we adore:
My Lord, my soule's so rapte
In contemplation of my happy choyce,
That inward silence makes it more complete,
By how much more it is remote
From custome of a superficiall ioy,
Thats meerely incorporeall, a meere dreame,
To that essentiall ioy my thoughts conceyue.

Octa.
How learnedly hath thy perswasiue toung
Discouered a new passage vnto ioy,
In mentall reseruation? True ioy is strung
Best with the heart-strings, sounds onely in the tongue.
But where's Sir Morgan, Earle of Anglesey?
He promised vs some pleasant masking sight,
To crowne these Nuptials with their due delight.

Enter Morgans foolish sonne, Morion.
Morion.

Oh my Lord, my father is comming to your
Grace, with such a many of Damsons and shee Shittlecockes:
They smell of nothing in the world but Rozin
and Coblers waxe; such a many lights in their heeles, &
lungs in their hands, aboue all cry, yfaith.

Enter the Maske of the Fayry Queene with foure Harpers; before they daunce, one of them singeth a Welsh song: they daunce, and then the foole, Earle Morgans sonne, falleth in loue with the Fayry Queene.
Morion.

By my troth, my stomacke rumbleth at the very
conceit of this Iamall loue, euen from the sole of my
head, to the crowne of the foote. Surely, I will haue

more acquaintance of that Gentlewoman; me thinks she
daunceth like a Hobby-horse.

After the daunce, a Trumpet within.
Octa.
Thanks, Cousin Morgan.
But soft, what Trumpets this?

Constan.
A messenger, my Lord, from King Gederus,
King of Brytayne, desires accesse vnto your Maiesty.

Octa.
Admit him to our presence.

Enter Ambassadour.
Ambass.

Health to this princely presence, and specially,
to great Octauian; for vnto him I must direct my
speech.

Octa.
To vs? then freely speake the tenor of thy speech,
And wee as freely will reply to it.
Thy Master is a Prince, whom wee affect,
For honourable causes knowne to vs:
Then speake, as if the power we haue to graunt,
Were tied to his desire.

Amb.
Then know, great King, that now Gederus stands,
As in a Labyrinth of hope and feare,
Vncertaine eyther of his life and Crowne.
The Romane Claudius Cesar, with an hoste.
Of matchlesse numbers, bold and resolute,
Are marching towards Brittayn, armd with rage,
For the denying Tribute vnto Rome,
By force and bloudy warre to conquer it,
And eyther winne Brittayne with the sword,
Or make her stoope vnder the Romane yoke.
Now, mighty King, since Brittayne, through the world,
Is counted famous for a generous Ile,
Scorning to yeeld to forraine seruitude,
Gederus humbly doth desire your ayde,
To backe him 'gainst the pride of Romane Cesar,
And force his Forces from the Brittish shores:
Which being done with speede, he vowes to tye
Himselfe to Wales, in bonds of amity.

Oct.
Legate, this news hath pleasd Octauian wel.
The Bryttaynes are a Nation free and bold,
And scorne the bonds of any forrayne foe;
A Nation, that by force was ne're subdude,
But by base Treasons politikely forst.
Claudius forgets, that when the Bryttish Ile
Scarce knew the meaning of a strangers march,
Great Iulius Cesar, fortunate in armes,
Suffred three base repulses from the Cliffes
Of chalky Douer:
And had not Bryttayne to her selfe prou'd false,
Cesar and all his Army had beene toombde
In the vast bosome of the angry sea.
Sonne Caradoc, how thinke you of this worthy enterprise?
Yet tis vnfit, that on this sudden warning,
You leaue your fayre wife, to the Theoricke
Of matrimoniall pleasure and delight.

Cara.
Oh my good Lord, this honourable cause
Is able to inflame the coward brest
Of base Thersites, to transforme a man,
Thats Planet-strooke with Saturne, into Mars;
To turne the Caucasus of peasant thoughts,
Into the burning Ætna of reuenge,
And manly Execution of the foe.
What man is he, if Reason speake him man,
Or honour spurs on, that immortall fame
May canonize his Acts to after times,
And Kingly Homers in their Swanlike tunes
Of sphearelike Musicke, of sweet Poesie,
May tell their memorable acts in verse;
But at the name of Romanes, is all warre,
All courage, all compact of manly vigour
Totally magnanimious, fit to cope
Euen with a band of Centaures, or a hoast
Of Cretan Minotaures? Then let not me be bard:
The way to honour's craggy, rough, and hard.

Octa.
Go on, & prosper, braue resolued Prince.

Car.
Faire Princesse, be not you dismaid at this;
Tis honour bids me leaue you for a while.
Twill not long be absent. All the world,
Except this honourable accident,
Could not intreat, what now I must performe,
Being ingadgde by honour. Let it suffice,
That ioy that liues with thee, without thee dies.

Guin.
Sweet Lord, ech howre whilst you return, Ile pray,
Honour may crowne you with a glorious day.

Cara.
Then here Ile take my leaue;
He kisses his hand.
First, as my duty binds, of you great King.
Next, of you, fayre Princesse.
He kisses her.
Come brothers, and Lord Morgan, I must intreat
Your company along.

Mor.

Fare you well, great King: our Cousin ap Caradoc
and I, will make Cesars, with all her Romanes, runne to
the Teuils arse a peake, I warrant her.

Exeunt.

I pray you looke vnto her sonne there: bee Cad, hee
hath no more wit in his pates, then the arrantest Cander
at Coose fayre.

Exit.
Octa.
Come, daughter, now let's in.
He that loues honour, must his honour winne.

Exeunt.

Scena 2.

Enter the Bardh, or Welsh Poet.
Bard.
Thus haue you seen, the valiant Caradoc,
Mounting the Chariot of eternall fame,
Whom, mighty Fortune, Regent of this Globe,
Which Nauigators call terrestriall,
Attends vpon: and like a careful Nurse,
That sings sweet Lullabies vnto her babe,
Crowns her beloued Minion with content,
And sets him on the highest Spire of Fame.
Now to Gederus, King of warlike Brittayne,
Opprest with Romane Legions is he gone,
Spur'd on vvith matchlesse resolution,
And in the battell, as your selues shall see,
Fights like a Nemean Lyon,
Or like those Giants, that to cope vvith Ioue,
Hurl'd Osla vpon Peleon, heap'd hill on hill,
Mountaine on mountaine, in their boundles rage.
But in the meane time dreadlesse of trecherous plots,
The Bastard playes his Rex, whose ancient sore
Beginnes to fester, and now breakes the head
Of that Impostume malice had begot.
Now Cornewall, Gloster, twinnes of some Incubus,
And sonne and heyre to hells Imperiall Crowne,
The Bastard Codigune, conspire the death
Of olde Octauian. Those that faine would know
The manner how, obserue this silent show.

Enter a dumbe show, Codigune, Gloster and Cornwall at the one dore: After they consult a little while, enter at the other dore, Octauian, Guiniuer, and Voada, the sister of Caradoc: they seeme by way of intreaty, to inuite them: they offer a cup of wine vnto Octauian, and he is poysoned. They take Guiniuer and Uoada, and put them in prison. Codigune is crowned King of Wales.
Bardh.
The trecherous Bastard, with his complices,
Cornewall and Gloster, did inuite the King,
Fayre Guiniuer and beautious Uoada,
The sister of renowmed Caradoc,
Vnto a sumptuous feast, vvhose costly outside
Gaue no suspition to a foule intent.
And had Cassandra (as she did at Troy
Foretell the danger of the Grecian horse,
That Sinon counterfeyted with his teares,)
Presaged this Treason; like to some nightly dream
Of some superfluous brayne begot in wine,
It had beene onely fabulous, and extinct
Euen with the same breath, that she brought it forth,
Like some abortiue Oracle, so beguiles
The Syrens songs, and teares of Crocodiles.
At this great banket, great Octauian
Was poysoned, and the wife of Caradoc,
Together with his beautious sister led
Vnto a lothsome prison, and the Crowne
Inuested on the head of Codigune
The enuious Bastard. Here leaue we them a while:
And now to Bryttayne let vs steare the course
Of our attention, where this worthy Sunne
That shines within the firmament of Wales,
Was like himselfe, thrice welcom'd, till the spleene
Of that malicious Gloster did pursue
In certaine letters, sent to Gederus King,
Whose sister he had maried, his defame
Wales lost, in liuely Scenes weele shew the same.

Scena 3.

Exit Bardh.
Enter Gederus, King of Bryttaine, Prince Gald, Caradoc, Lord Morgan, Mauron and Constantine.
Gede.
Once more, braue Peeres of Wales, welcome to Bryttayne.
Herein Octauian shewes his kingly loue,
That in this rough sea of inuasion,
When the high swelling tempests of these times
Oreflow our Bryttish banks, and Cesars rage,
Like to an Inundation, drownes our land,
To send so many warlike Souldiours,
Conducted by the flowres of famous Wales.
Now Cesar, vvhen thou dar'st, vvee are prepared.
Brittaines vvould rather die, then be outdared.
But soft, vvhat messenger is this?
Enter a Messenger with a letter.
Speake Messenger, from whom, or whence thou commest.

Mess.
From Wales, my Lord, sent in all post-haste,
From noble Earle of Gloster, to your Grace,
With this letter.

Gederus reades it.
Mor.

From Wales! I pray you, good postes and messengers,
tell vs, how fares all our friends, our Cousin ap
Guiniuer, ap Caradoc, ap Uoada.

Mess.

I know them not.

He strikes him.
Morgan.

Cads blue-hood, know not our Cousin? Ile
giue her such a blow on the pate, Ile make her know
her cousins. Cads zwownes, hee had best tell her,
he knowes not her nose on her face. This fellow was
porne at hogs Norton, where pigges play on the Organ.
Posts call you her? Sploud, were a simple Carpenter to build
house on such posts: not know our Cousins?

Gederus.
This letter from our brother Gloster sent,
Intreates me, not to trust the gilded outsides
Of these strangers. We know our brother well:
He is a man of honourable parts,
Iudicious, vpon no slight surmise,
Giues vs intelligence, it shall bee so.
Weele trust a friend, afore an vnknowne foe.
Prince Caradoc, you with your forces lye vpon yon hill;
From whence, vnlesse you see our Army faint,
Or discouraged by the Romane bands,
There keepe your standing.
A Drum afarre off.
Harke, Romane Cesar comes: now Brittaynes fight,
Like Brutus sonnes, for freedome and for right;

Alarum.
Exeunt Gederus and his company. Caradoc, Mauron, Constantine, & Morgan manent.
Cara.
Disgraced by letters shifted to a hill?
Fond King, thy words, and all the trecherous plots
Of secret mischiefe, sinke into the gulfe
Of my obliuion: memory, be dull,
And thinke no more on these disgracefull ayres,
My fury relisht. King,
Set punies to keepe hils, that scarce haue read
The first materiall Elements of warre,
That winke to see a Canoneere giue fire,
And like an Aspin, shakes his coward ioynts,
At musket shot. Within these noble veynes,
There runnes a current of such high-borne bloud,
Achilles well may father for his owne.
These honourable sparkes of man wee keepe,
Descended linially from Hectors race,
And must be put in action. Shall I stand,
Like gazing Figure-flingers on the starres,
Obserning motion, and not moue my selfe?
Hence with that basenesse. I that am a starre,
Must moue, although I moue irregular.
Goe you vnto the hill, in some disguise.
Ile purchase honour by this enterprise.

Exeunt. Alarum.

Scena 4.

Enter at the one dore Gederus, and Prince Gald: at the other, Claudius, and common Souldiers. They fight. Claudius beates them in. Then enters Caradoc, and pursues Claudius. Presently enters Cesar and Caradoc fighting.
Claud.
Hold, valiant Bryttaine, hold thy warlike hands

Cara.
Then yeeld thy selfe, proud Romane,
Or by those gods the Bryttaines doe adore,
Not all thy Romane hoste shall saue thy life.

Clau.
Then souldiour, (for thy valour speakes thee so,)
Know, that thou hast no common prisoner,
But such a one, whose eminence and place
Commaunds officious duety through Rome:
Then if thy inward parts deserue no lesse
In honours eye, then thy meane habite shewes,
Release me, that a publike infamy
Fall not vpon me by the scandalous hoste,
Whose Criticke censure, to my endlesse shame,
Will runne diuision on the chaunce of warre,
And brand my fortune with blacke obloquy:
And by my honour, that the Romanes hold
As deare as life, or any other good
The heauens can giue to man, the battell donne,
Ile pay my ransome in a treble some.

Ca.
Know, Romane, that a Bryttayne scorns thy gold.
Let Midas broode adore that Deity,
And dedicate his soule vnto this saint:
Souldiours haue mines of honourable thoughts,
More wealthy then the Indian veynes of gold,
Beyond the value of rich Tagus shore:
Their Eagle-feathered actions scorne to stoope
To the base lure of vsurers and slaues.
Let painefull Marchants, whose huge riding ships
Teare vp the furrowes of the Indian deepe,
To shun the slauish load of pouerty,
Gape after massie golde: the wealth we craue,
Are noble actions, and an honoured graue.
Ile take no money, Romane:
But since thou seemest no counterfeit impression,
But bear'st the Royall Image of a man,
Giue me some priuate token from thy hands,
That's generally knowne vnto thy friends,
That if by chance I come to Rome,
I may be knowne to be your friend.

Claud.
Here, worthy Bryttayne, take this golden Lyon,
And weare it about thy necke: This when thou commest,
Will quickly finde me out. Souldiour adieu.
Cesar is bound both to the gods and you.

Exit.
Enter Prince Gald. They sound a retreat.
Gald.
The Romane Eagle hangs her haggard wings,
And all the Army's fled; all by the strength
And opposition of one common man,
In shew, not farre superiour to a Souldiour,
That's hyred with pay, or prest vnto the field:
But in his manly carryage, like the sonne
Of some vnconquered valiant Mermedon.
Sure, tis some god-like spirite, that obscures
His splendour in these base and borrowed clouds
Of common Souldiours habit. All my thoughts
Are wrapt in admiration, and I am deepe in loue
With those perfections, onely that my eye
Beheld in that fayre obiect. Thus haue I left the field,
To interchange a word or two with him.
And see, in happy time he walkes alone.
Well met, braue souldiour: may a Prince be bolde
To aske thy name, thy nation and thy birth?

Cara.
Fayre Prince, you question that you know already.
I am not what I seeme, but hither sent,
He discloses himselfe.
On honourable termes, to ayd this King:
Which he vnkingly, basely did refuse,
And in reward of this his proffered good,
Vngratefully returnd (what other Kings
With princely donatiues would recompence)
My seruice with iniurious contempt:
But I, in lieu of this disgracefull wrong,
Haue done him right, and through the iawes of death,
Haue brought a glorious triumph to his Crowne,
And hung sweet peace about his palace gates.
True honour should doe that, which enuy hates.

Gald.
Fayre Map of honour, where my reason reades
Each nauigable circle, that containes
My happy voyage to the land of fame:
Say, vertuous Prince, may Gald become so blest
To follow thy fayre hopes, and linke his soule
In an vnited league of endlesse loue:
Nor scorne a Princes proffer: for by heauen,
What I intrude, thy vertue hath inforst,
And like the powerfull Loadstone, drawne my thoughts
To limne out vertue: for exactly done,
By artificiall nature, to the life,
In thy fayre modell shaddowed curiously,
How like Pigmalion, do my passions dote
On this fayre picture! will you accept me Prince?

Cara.
Most willingly, kind Prince:
And may as yet this Embrio of our loues
Grow to his manly vigour: 'tis loue alone,
That, of diuided soules, makes onely one.
Who then adores not loue, whose sacred power
Vnites those soules, diuision would deuoure?
Come, gentle Prince, let vs goe see our friends
I left vpon yon Hill, to keepe our forts,
And thence to Wales, where double ioyes attend
A beautious wife, and a most constant friend.

Exeunt.

Scena 5.

Enter Morion, the foolish Knight, and his man Ratsbane.
Morion.

Come, Ratsbane: Oh the intolerable paine that
I suffer for the loue of the Fayry Queene! my heeles are all
kybde in the very heate of my affection, that runnes down
into my legs: me thinkes I could eate vp a whole Brokers
shoppe at a meale, to be eased of this loue.

Rats.

Oh master, you would haue a villainous many of
pawnes in your belly. Why, you are of so vveake a nature,
you vvould hardly disgest a Seruingmans Liuery in your
belly, vvithout a vomit.

Morion.

I assure thee, thou sayest true, tis but grosse
meate. But Ratsbane, thou toldst mee of a rare fellovv, that
can tell misfortunes, and can coniure: prethee bring me to
him. Ile giue him somewhat, to helpe mee to speake with
the Fayry Queene.

Whose face like to a Butchers doublet lookes,
Varnisht with tallow of some beautious Oxe;
Or like the aprons of some Pie-corner Cookes,
Whose breath smels sweeter then a hunted Foxe:
Whose eyes, like two great foot-balls made of lether,
Were made to heate the gods in frosty weather.

Ratsb.

Oh, happy that man, that hath a bedfellow of these
amiable parts. Oh master, if her visible parts bee such, her
inuisible parts are able tomake an Italian run mad: hee
loues an armful. But master, see, heres the man I told you of.

Enter the Iuggler and his man.
Iuggler.
You know my mind, sir, be gone.
I haue obseru'd this Idiot, and intend,
To gull the Coxecombe: therefore I did translate
My selfe this day into this cunning shape.
I oft haue heard the foole strongly perswade
Himselfe, to be the Fayry Queenes chiefe Loue,
And that by her he shall subdue the Turke,
And plucke great Otoman from off his throne.
This I will worke on.

Morion.

Sir, and't shall please you, I come to know some
of that excellent skill, the world hath blisterde mine eares
with.

Iug.
Sir Thomas Morion, for so are you called,
Darling vnto the beautious Fayry Queene;
Your fortunes shall bee such, as all the world
Shall wonder at Pheanders noble name:
For otherwise, so are you also named.
I know to what intent you hither come:
You come to see your Loue, the Fayry Queen.
And talke with her here in this silent place,
Her nimble Fayries, and her selfe do vse
Oft to repayre: and long it will not be,
Ere she com hither: but thus much you must know
You must not talke to her, as to a Queene
Of earthly substance: for she is a pure
And simple spirit, without Elements:
Wherefore, without any mortall thing
That may annoy her most immortall sense,
You must goe, humbly creeping on your hands,
Without your Doublet, Rapier, Cloke or Hose,
Or anything that may offend her nose.
And see, see, yonder she comes; if you wil speake with her,
You must doe as I tell you.

Enter the Fayry Queene.
Morion.
Oh helpe me quickly;
Come, Ratsbane, vncase, my loue is come.
He strips himselfe and creepes vpon his hands, with his man.
Great Queene, thou soueraigne of Pheanders heart,
Vouchsafe a word vnto thy Mayden Knight,
That bowes his guts vnto thy mighty face.

Fayry Q.
Follow me this way.

Shee fals downe vnder the Stage, and he followes her, and fals into the ditch.
Morion.
Helpe, Ratsbane, helpe, helpe.

Rats.

Help? why, where are you? I thought you had been
in the hole by this time; Come, giue me your hand. You
follow the Fayry Queene?

Mor.

Come, come, say nothing: weele goe home like
fooles as we came.
Come, my clothes, my clothes.

Rats.

Cods lid, clothes! Now we may go home worse
fooles then we came. Sfoot, this cunning Rascall meanes
to set vs a hay making. Sfoote, we are fitte for the Dogge-house,
we are flayde already.

Mor.

Well, we may goe home with the naked truth.
Its no matter, A mans a man, though hee haue but a hose
on his head.