 | The Scottish Historie of Iames the fourth |  |
Actus Secundus.
Schena Prima.
Enter the Countesse of Arrain, with Ida her daughter in theyr porch, sitting at worke.A song.
Count.
Faire Ida, might you chuse the greatest good
Midst all the world, in blessings that abound:
Wherein my daughter shuld your liking be?
Ida.
Not in delights, or pompe, or maiestie.
Count.
And why?
Ida.
Since these are meanes to draw the minde
From perfect good, and make true iudgement blind.
Count.
Might you haue wealth, and fortunes ritchest store?
Ida.
Yet would I (might I chuse) be honest poore.
For she that sits at fortunes feete alowe
Is sure she shall not taste a further woe.
But those that prancke one top of fortunes ball,
Still feare a change: and fearing catch a fall.
Count.
Tut foolish maide, each one contemneth need.
Ida.
Good reasō why, they know not good indeed.
Count.
Many marrie then, on whom distresse doth loure,
Yes they that vertue deeme an honest dowre.
Madame, by right this world I may compare,
Vnto my worke, wherein with heedfull care,
The heauenly workeman plants with curious hand,
As I with needle drawe each thing one land,
Euen as hee list, some men like to the Rose,
Are fashioned fresh, some in their stalkes do close,
And borne do suddaine die: some are but weeds,
And yet from them a secret good proceeds:
I with my needle if I please may blot,
The fairest rose within my cambricke plot,
God with a becke can change each worldly thing,
The poore to earth, the begger to the king.
What then hath man, wherein hee well may boast,
Since by a becke he liues, a louer is lost?
Enter Eustace with letters.
Count.
Peace Ida, heere are straungers neare at hand.
Eust.
Madame God speed.
Count.
I thanke you gentle squire.
Eust.
The countrie Countesse of Northumberland,
Doth greete you well, and hath requested mee,
To bring these letters to your Ladiship.
He carries the letter.
Count.
I thanke her honour, and your selfe my friend
Shee receiues and peruseth them.
I see she meanes you good braue Gentleman,
Daughter, the Ladie Elinor salutes
Your selfe as well as mee, then for her sake
T'were good you entertaind that Courtiour well.
Ida.
As much salute as may become my sex,
And hee in vertue can vouchsafe to thinke,
I yeeld him for the courteous Countesse sake.
Good sir sit downe, my mother heere and I,
Count time mispent, an endlesse vanitie.
Eust.
Beyond report, the wit, the faire, the shape,
Id.
Good Sir looke on, how like you this compact?
Eust.
Me thinks in this I see true loue in act:
The Woodbines with their leaues do sweetly spred,
The Roses blushing prancke them in their red,
No flower but boasts the beauties of the spring,
This bird hath life indeed if it could sing:
What meanes saire Mistres had you in this worke?
Ida.
My needle sir.
Eust.
In needles then there lurkes,
Some hidden grace I deeme beyond my reach.
Id.
Not grace in thē good sir, but those that teach.
Eust.
Say that your needle now were Cupids sting,
But ah her eie must bee no lesse,
In which is heauen and heauenlinesse,
In which the foode of God is shut,
Whose powers the purest mindes do glut.
Ida.
What if it were?
Eust.
Then see a wondrous thing,
I feare mee you would paint in Teneus heart,
Affection in his power and chiefest parts.
Ida.
Good Lord sir no, for hearts but pricked soft,
Are wounded sore, for so I heare it oft.
Eust.
what recks the second,
Where but your happy eye,
May make him liue, whom Ioue hath iudgd to die.
Ida.
Should life & death within this needle lurke,
Ile pricke no hearts, Ile pricke vpon my worke.
Enter Ateuken, with Slipper the Clowne.
Cous.
Peace Ida, I perceiue the fox at hand.
Eust.
The fox? why fetch your hounds & chace him hence.
Count.
Oh sir these great men barke at small offence.
Ateu.
Come will it please you to enter gentle sir?
Offer to exeunt.
Stay courteous Ladies, fauour me so much,
Count.
Good sir, my daughter learnes this rule of mee,
To shun resort, and straungers companie:
For some are shifting mates that carrie letters,
Some such as you too good, because our betters.
Slip.
Now I pray you sir what a kin are you to a pickrell?
Ateu.
Why knaue?
Slip.
By my troth sir, because I neuer knew a proper scituation
fellow of your pitch, fitter to swallow a gudgin.
Ateu.
What meanst thou by this?
Slip.
Shifting fellow sir, these be thy words, shifting fellow:
This Gentlewoman I feare me, knew your bringing vp.
Ateu.
How so?
Slip.
Why sir your father was a Miller,
That could shift for a pecke of grist in a bushell,
And you a faire spoken Gentleman, that can get more land by
a lye, then an honest man by his readie mony.
Ateu.
Catiue what sayest thou?
Slip.
I say sir, that if shee call you shifting knaue,
You shall not put her to the proofe.
Ateu.
And why?
Slip.
Because sir, liuing by your wit as you doo shifting, is
your letters pattents, it were a hard matter for mee to get my
dinner that day, wherein my Maister had not solde a dozen of
deuices, a case of cogges, and a shute of shifts in the morning:
I speak this in your commendation sir, & I pray you so take it.
Ateu.
If I liue knaue I will bee reuenged, what Gentleman
would entertaine a rascall, thus to derogate from his honour?
Ida.
My Lord why are you thus impatient?
Ateu.
Not angrie Ida, but I teach this knaue,
How to behaue himselfe among his betters:
Behold faire Countesse to assure your stay,
I heere present the signet of the king,
Who now by mee faire Idá doth salute you:
And since in secret I haue certaine things,
I craue your daughter to discourse a part.
Count.
Shee shall in humble dutie bee addrest,
To do his Highnesse will in what shee may.
Id.
Now gentle sir what would his grace with me?
Ateu.
Faire comely Nimph, the beautie of your face,
Sufficient to bewitch the heauenly powers,
Hath wrought so much in him, that now of late
Hee findes himselfe made captiue vnto loue,
And though his power and Maiestie requires,
A straight commaund before an humble sute,
Yet hee his mightinesse doth so abase,
As to intreat your fauour honest maid.
Ida.
Is hee not married sir vnto our Queen?
Ateu.
Hee is.
Ida.
And are not they by God accurst,
That seuer them whom hee hath knit in one?
Ateu.
They bee: what then? wee seeke not to displace
The Princesse from her seate, but since by loue
The king is made your owne, shee is resolude
In priuate to accept your dalliance,
In spight of warre, watch, or worldly eye.
Ida.
Oh how hee talkes as if hee should not die,
As if that God in iustice once could winke,
Vpon that sault I am a sham'd to thinke.
Ateu.
Tut Mistresse, man at first was born to erre,
Women are all not formed to bee Saints:
Tis impious for to kill our natiue king,
Whom by a little fauour wee may saue.
Ida.
Better then liue vnchaste, to liue in graue.
Ateu.
Hee shall erect your state & wed you well.
Ida.
But can his warrant keep my soule from hell?
Ateu.
He will inforce, if you resist his sute.
Id.
What tho, the world may shame to him account
To bee a king of men and worldly pelfe.
Yet hath to power no rule and guide himselfe,
I know you gentle Ladie and the care,
Both of your honour and his graces health,
Makes me confused in this daungerous state.
Ida.
So counsell him, but sooth thou not his sinne,
Tis vaine alurement that doth make him loue,
I shame to heare, bee you a shamde to mooue.
Count.
I see my daughter growes impatient,
I feare me hee pretends some bad intent.
Ateu.
Will you dispise the king, & scorne him so?
Ida.
In all alleageance I will serue his grace,
But not in lust, oh how I blush to name it?
Ateu.
An endlesse worke is this, how should I frame it?
They discourse priuately.
Slip.
Oh Mistresse may I turne a word vpon you.
Ateu.
Friend what wilt thou?
Slip.
Oh what a happie Gentlewoman bee you trulie, the
world reports this of you Mistresse, that a man can no sooner
come to your house, but the Butler comes with a blacke Iack
and sayes welcome friend, he eres a cup of the best for you, verilie
Mistresse you are said to haue the best Ale in al Scotland.
Count.
Sirrha go fetch him drinke, how likest thou this?
Slip.
Like it Mistresse? why this is quincy quarie pepper
de watchet, single goby, of all that euer I tasted: Ile prooue in
this Ale and tost, the compasse of the whole world. First this
is the earth, it ties in the middle a faire browne tost, a goodly
countrie for hungrie teeth to dwell vpon: next this is the sea,
a fair poole for a drie tōgue to fish in: now come I, & seing the
world is naught, I diuide it thus, & because the sea cānot stand
without the earth, as Arist. saith, I put thē both into their first
is become a myracle.
Eustace.
A merrie mate Madame I promise you.
Count.
Why sigh you sirrah?
Slip.
Trulie Madam, to think vppon the world, which since
I denoūced, it keepes such a rumbling in my stomack, that vnlesse
your Cooke giue it a counterbuffe with some of your rosted
Capons or beefe, I feare me I shal become a loose body, so
daintie I thinke, I shall neither hold fast before nor behinde.
Count.
Go take him in and feast this merrie swaine,
Syrrha, my cooke is your phisitian.
He hath a purge for to disiest the world.
Ateu.
Will you not, Ida, grant his highnesse this?
Ida.
As I haue said, in dutie I am his:
For other lawlesse lusts, that ill beseeme him,
I cannot like, and good I will not deeme him.
Count.
Ida come in, and sir if so you please,
Come take a homelie widdowes intertaine.
Ida.
If he haue no great haste, he may come nye.
If haste, tho he be gone, I will not crie.
Exeunt.
Ateu.
I see this labour lost, my hope in vaine,
Yet will I trie an other drift againe.
Enter the Bishop of S. Andrewes, Earle Douglas, Morton with others, one way, the Queene with Dwarfes an other way.
B. S. Andr.
Oh wrack of Cōmon-weale! Oh wretched state!
Doug.
Oh haplesse flocke whereas the guide is blinde?
They all are in a muse.
Mort.
Oh heedlesse youth, where counsaile is dispis'd.
Dorot.
Come prettie knaue, and prank it by my side.
Lets see your best attendaunce out of hande.
Dwarfe.
Madame altho my lims are very small,
My heart is good, ile serue you therewithall.
Doro.
How if I were assaild, what couldst thou do?
Madame call helpe, and boldly fight it to,
Altho a Bee be but a litle thing:
You know faire Queen, it hath a bitter sting.
Dor.
How couldst thou do me good were I in greefe?
Dwar.
Counsell deare Princes, is a choyce releefe.
Tho Nestor wanted force, great was his wit,
And tho I am but weake, my words are fit.
S. And.
Like to a ship vpon the Ocean seas,
Tost in the doubtfull streame without a helme,
Such is a Monarke without good aduice,
I am ore heard, cast raine vpon thy tongue,
Andrewes beware, reproofe will breed a scar.
Mor.
Good day my Lord.
B. S. And.
Lord Morton well ymet:
Whereon deemes Lord Douglas all this while?
Dou.
Of that which yours and my poore heart doth breake:
Altho feare shuts our mouths we dare not speake.
Dor.
What meane these Princes sadly to consult?
Somewhat I feare, betideth them amisse,
They are so pale in lookes, so vext in minde:
In happie houre the Noble Scottish Peeres
Haue I incountred you, what makes you mourne?
B. S. And.
If we with patience may attentiue gaine,
Your Grace shall know the cause of all our griefe.
Dor.
Speake on good father, come and sit by me:
I know thy care is for the common good.
B. S. And.
As fortune mightie Princes reareth some,
To high estate, and place in Common-weale,
So by diuine bequest to them is lent,
A riper iudgement and more searching eye:
Whereby they may discerne the common harme,
For where importunes in the world are most,
Where all our profits rise and still increase,
There is our minde, thereon we meditate,
And what we do partake of good aduice,
To this intent these nobles and my selfe,
That are (or should bee) eyes of Common-weale,
Seeing his highnesse reachlesse course of youth
His lawlesse and vnbridled vaine in loue,
His to intentiue trust too flattereis,
His abiect care of councell and his friendes,
Cannot but greeue, and since we cannot drawe
His eye or Iudgement to discerne his faults
Since we haue spake and counsaile is not heard,
I for my part, (let others as they list)
Will leaue the Court, and leaue him to his will:
Least with a ruthfull eye I should behold,
His ouerthrow which sore I feare is nye.
Doro.
Ah father are you so estranged from loue,
From due alleageance to your Prince and land,
To leaue your King when most he needs your help,
The thriftie husbandmen, are neuer woont
That see their lands vnfruitfull, to forsake them:
But when the mould is barraine and vnapt,
They toyle, they plow, and make the fallow fatte:
The pilot in the dangerous seas is knowne,
In calmer waues the sillie sailor striues,
Are you not members Lords of Common-weale,
And can your head, your deere annointed King,
Default ye Lords, except your selues do faile?
Oh stay your steps, returne and counsaile him.
Doug.
Men seek not mosse vpon a rowling stone,
Or water from the siue, or fire from yee:
Or comfort from a rechlesse monarkes hands.
Madame he sets vs light that seru'd in Court,
In place of credit in his fathers dayes,
If we but enter presence of his grace,
Our payment is a frowne, a scoffe, a frumpe,
Whilst flattering Gnato prancks it by his side,
And if your grace consider your estate,
His life should vrge you too if all be true.
Doug.
Why Douglas why?
Doug.
As if you haue not heard
His lawlesse loue to Ida growne of late,
His carelesse estimate of your estate.
Doro.
Ah Douglas thou misconstrest his intent,
He doth but tempt his wife, he tryees my loue:
This iniurie pertaines to me, not to you.
The King is young, and if he step awrie,
He may amend, and I will loue him still.
Shou'd we disdaine our vines becauso they sprout
Before their time? or young men if they straine
Beyōd their reach? no vines that bloome and spread
Do promise fruites, and young men that are wilde,
In age growe wise, my freendes and Scottish Peeres,
If that an English Princesse may preuaile,
Stay, stay with him, lo how my zealous prayer
Is plead with teares, fie Peeres will you hence?
S. And.
Madam tis vertue in your grace to plead,
But we that see his vaine vntoward course,
Cannot but flie the fire before it burne,
And shun the Court before we see his fall.
Doro.
Wil you not stay? then Lordings fare you well.
Tho you forsake your King, the heauens I hope
Will fauour him through mine incessant prayer.
Dwar.
Content you Madam, thus old Ouid sings.
Tis foolish to bewaile recurelesse things.
Dorothea.
Peace Dwarffe, these words my patience moue.
Dwar.
All tho you charme my speech, charme not my loue
Exeunt Nano Dorothea.
Enter the King of Scots, Arius, the nobles spying him, returnes.
K. of S.
Douglas how now? why changest thou thy cheere?
My priuate troubles are so great my liege,
As I must craue your licence for a while:
For to intend mine owne affaires at home.
Exit.
King.
You may depart, but why is Morton sad?
Mor.
The like occasion doth import me too,
So I desire your grace to giue me leaue.
K. of S.
Well sir you may betake you to your ease,
When such grim syrs are gone, I see no let
To worke my will.
S. Atten.
What like the Eagle then,
With often flight wilt thou thy feathers loose?
O King canst thou indure to see thy Court,
Of finest wits and Iudgements dispossest,
Whilst cloking craft with soothing climbes so high,
As each bewailes ambition is so bad?
Thy father left thee with estate and Crowne,
A learned councell to direct thy Court,
These careleslie O King thou castest off,
To entertaine a traine of Sicophants:
Thou well mai'st see, although thou wilt not see,
That euery eye and eare both sees and heares
The certaine signes of thine inconstinence:
Thou art alyed vnto the English King,
By marriage a happie friend indeed,
If vsed well, if not a mightie foe.
Thinketh your grace he ean indure and brooke,
To haue a partner in his daughters loue?
Thinketh your grace the grudge of priuie wrongs
Will not procure him chaunge his smiles to threats?
Oh be not blinde to good, call home your Lordes,
Displace these flattering Gnatoes, driue them hence:
Loue and with kindnesse take your wedlocke wife
Or else (which God forbid) I feare a change,
Sinne cannot thriue in courts without a plague.
K. of S.
Go pack thou too, vnles thou mēd thy talk:
Vnlesse you headlesse mean to hoppe away.
8. Atten.
Thou god of heauē preuent my countries fall.
Exeunt.
K. of S.
These staies and lets to pleasure, plague my thoughts,
Forcing my greeuous wounds a new to bleed:
Bur care that hath transported me so farre,
Faire Ida is disperst in thought of thee:
Whose answere yeeldes me life, or breeds my death:
Yond comes the messenger of weale or woe.
Enter Gnato.
Ateukin What newes?
Ateu.
The adament o King will not be filde,
But by it selfe, and beautie that exceeds,
By some exceeding fauour must be wrought,
Ida is coy as yet, and doth repine,
Obiecting marriage, honour, feare, and death,
Shee's holy, wise, and too precise for me.
K. of S.
Are these thy fruites of wits, thy sight in Art?
Thine eloquence? thy pollicie? thy drift?
To mocke thy Prince, thē catiue packe thee hence,
And let me die deuoured in my loue.
Ateu.
Good Lord how rage gainsayeth reasons power,
My deare, my gracious, and beloued Prince,
The essence of my sute, my God on earth,
Sit downe and rest your selfe, appease your wrath,
Least with a frowne yee wound me to the death:
Oh that I were included in my graue,
That eyther now to saue my Princes life,
Must counsell crueltie, or loose my King.
K. of S.
Why sirrha, is there meanes to mooue her minde?
Ateu.
Oh should I not offend my royall liege.
K. of S.
Tell all, spare nought, so I may gaine my loue.
Ateu.
Alasse my soule why art thou torne in twaine,
For feare thou talke a thing that should displease?
Tut, speake what so thou wilt I pardon thee.
Ateu.
How kinde a word, how courteous is his grace:
Who would not die to succour such a king?
My liege, this louely mayde of modest minde,
Could well incline to loue, but that shee feares,
Faire Dorotheas power, your grace doth know,
Your wedlocke is a mightie let to loue:
Were Ida sure to bee your wedded wife,
That then the twig would bowe, you might command.
Ladies loue, presents pompe and high estate.
K. of S.
Ah Ateukin, how shuld we display this let?
Ateu.
Tut mightie Prince, oh that I might bee whist.
K. of S.
Why dalliest thou?
Ateu.
I will not mooue my Prince,
I will preferre his safetie before my life:
Heare mee ô king, tis Dorotheas death,
Must do you good.
K. of S.
What, murther of my Queene?
Yet to enioy my loue, what is my Queene?
Oh but my vowe and promise to my Queene:
I but my hope to gaine a fairer Queene,
With how contrarious thoughts am I with drawne?
Why linger I twixt hope and doubtfull feare:
If Dorothe die, will Ida loue?
Ateu.
Shee will my Lord.
K. of S.
Then let her die.
Deuise, aduise the meanes,
Al likes me wel that lends me hope in loue.
Ateu.
What will your grace consent, then let mee worke:
Theres heere in Court a Frenchman Iaques calde,
A fit performer of our enterprise,
Whom I by gifts and promise will corrupt,
To slaye the Queene, so that your grace will seale
A warrant for the man to saue his life.
K. of S.
Nought shall he want, write thou and I wil signe
And gentle Gnato, if my Ida yeelde,
A Barrony, an Earledome for reward.
Ateu.
Frolicke young king, the Lasse shall bee your owne,
Ile make her blyth and wanton by my wit.
Exeunt.
| The Scottish Historie of Iames the fourth | |