University of Virginia Library

Scena 2.

Enter Caradoc, Gald, Mauron, Constantine, Lord Morgan, Earle of Anglesey, with colours and Souldiours.
Cara.
I was not wont, deare friends, to be so dull.
I am all lead, as if my subtle soule
Had left his lodging in this house of clay.
Each empty corner of my faculties,
And vnderstanding powers, swell with dreames
And dire presages of some future ill:
Gastly and fearefull specters haunt my sleepe.
And, if there be, as Heathen men affirme,
Some godlike sparks in mans diuining soule,
Then my propheticke spirite tels me true,
That some sad newes attends my steps in Wales.
I long to heare what mischiefe, or what good,
Hath hapned, since I parted from the King.

Enter Morion.
Morion.

Oh father, father, sfoot, I sweate, as if I had been
buried in a Tunne of hote graynes.

Morg.

Come you Coxecombe, leaue your proclamations
and your preambles, and tell her the naked truth.

Morion.

My Father knowes all.
Indeed, father, the naked truth is, that the Fayry Queene
robd me of all my clothes: you might haue seen me as poore
as an Open-arse. But I can tell you newes; the King is
poysoned; Lord Codigune crowned; The Lady Guiniuer, &
the young Gentlewoman imprisoned.

Morgan.

But harke you me, sonne Morion; is all this true,
or inuented of her owne foolish pates and imaginashions?

Morion.

Why, I pray you, father, when did you heare a
Gentleman of Wales tell lyes?

Morgan.

Her tell her true in that; tis the prauest Nation
vnder the Sunnes for that. Harke you me, sonnes; be Cad,

it is a great teale petter to be a thiefe, then a lyar, I warrant
her.

Gald.
What, Royall Prince, can chaunce predominate
Ouer a mind, that, like the soule, retaynes
A harmony of such concordant tunes?
No sudden accident should make to iarre.
This tenement of clay, in which our soule
Dwels in, vntill the Lease of life indures,
Of learned men was well called, Microcosme,
Or, little world: ouer whose mortall parts
The starres doe gouerne, whose immortall power
Sometimes begets a fatall birth of woe;
Sometimes againe inuerts their sullen course
To vnexpected Reuels, turnes our Critticke howres
To Cricket merriment; yet is there meanes that barrs
Their hatefull influence. Wisdome rules the starres.
You haue lost a Father: Vse the Athenians breath,
Graue Solons; No mans happy vntill death.

Cara.
Oh, louing Prince, thus the Physician speakes
To the disordered Patient: thus healthfull Arte
Conferres with wounded Nature. Tis a common tricke,
Men being sound, giue Phisicke to the sicke.
Fayre Prince, misconster not my discontent;
I grieue not, that Octauian is depriued
Of life; but that he hath exchanged
His life, for such a miserable death.
What villaine, but a prodigie of nature,
Ingendred by some Comet, would haue forst
His aged soule to wander in the ayre?
Bearing a packet of such ponderous sinnes,
Would cracke the Axel-tree of heauen to beare.
And not haue giuen him liberty to pray?
But I am armde with patience. First with words
Weele seeke to conquer; and if not, by swords.
March round; I heare their Drummes.