University of Virginia Library

Actus 3.

Scena. 1.

Phallax.
Phal.
My troubled hart with guiltynesse agreu'd,
Lyke fyre doth make my eares and cheekes to glow:
God Graunt I scape this blacke day vnrepreu'd,
I care not how the game goe to morrow.
Well, I wyll set a face of brasse on it,
And with the rest, vpon the King attend:
Who euen anon wyll heare in Iudgement syt,
To heauen or hel some officers to send.
But soft, a pryze, Gripax and Rapax I see,
A share of their venture belonges to mee.

Scena. 2.

Gripax, Rapax, Promoters, Iohn Adroynes, A Clowne, Phallax.
Iohn.
Nay, good honest Promoters let mee go.

Gri.
Tush Iohn Adroines, we must not leaue you so:
What? an ould hobclunch a wanton knaue?
You shal to the King.

Iohn.
Marry Iohn Adroynes God saue:
The king? why he wyll not looke of poore men.

Ra.
Yes, yes, and wyll spye a knaue in your face.

Iohn.
Wyll he so? then, good you be gone apace.

Gri.
And why?

Iohn.
Least in my face, he spye you too,

Phal.
Haue you seene a dawe, bebob two crowes so?

Ra.
Well, come awaye syr patch.

Iohn.
Leaue, or by God yle scratch.

They fawle a fightyng.
Gri.
What wilt thou so?

Iohn.
Yea, and byte too.

Gri.
Helpe Rapax, play the man.

Iohn.
Nay, do both what you can.

Phal.
If that in bobs, theyr bargayne be,
In fayth they share alone for mee.

Ra.
What bytest thou hobclunch,

Iohn.
Yea, that chull, and punch.

Gri.
O Lorde God, my hart.

Iohn.
Knaues, ile make you fart.

Ra.
Hould thy hands Lob,

Iohn.
Fyrst, take this bob.

Phal.
To parte this fraye, it is hye time, I can tell,
My Promoters else of the roste wyll smell.

Ra.
O, my neck thou wylt breake.

Iohn.
Yea, Gods ames, cryst thou creake?

Phal.
How now my friends? why what a stur is this?

Gri.
Marry.

Phal.
What?

Iohn.
Eare they part, yle make them pys.

Phal.
Houlde, no more blowes.

Iohn.
Knaues, this honest man thanke,
That you scape so well.

Phal.
Friend be not to cranke,
I am an officer, and meane to know
The cause, why you brauld thus, before I goe:
Your bobs show, that the same, you best can tell.

Ra.
I would your worship, felt the same as well,
I then am sure, this blockhedded slaue,
For both his faultes, double punishment should haue.

Phal.
What faultes?

Ra.
Marry,

Iohn.
He wyll lye lyke a dogge.

Phal.
How now you churle, your tongue, would haue a clog,
Say on:

Ra.
To showe his first, and chiefest faughte:
His Fathers maide, and he are naught.

Iohn.
What I?

Ra.
I.

Iohn.
By my Grandsires soule, you lye.

Phal.
Peace:
Friende, for this faulte, thou must dye.

Iohn.
Dye, Learde saue vs: you sqawde knaue, yle bum yee:
For reforming a lye, thus against mee.

Phal.
Tush, tush, it helpeth not: if they can proue this.

Gri.
For some proofe, I sawe him and the Maide kys.

Iohn.
Can not foke kys: but they are naught by and by?

Phal.
This presumption friende, wyll touch thee shrowdlie:
If thou scape with life, be thou sure of this,
Thou shalt be terriblie whypped, for this kys.

Iohn.
Whypt, mary God shielde, chy had rather be hangde:

Ra.
Growte nowle, come to the King.

Iohn.
Arte not well bangde.

Phal.
Well, good fellowes, lets take vp this matter.

Gri.
Nay, first Iohn Adroines, shalbe trust in a halter.

Phal.
Why? helpes it you, to see the poore man whypt?
I praye you friendes, for this tyme let him go.

Iohn.
Stande styll, and chull, whether they wyll or no:

Ra.
Nay, but we charge him, in the Kings name, staye thee.

Phal.
Harke honest man, I warrant thee set free?
Grease them well, in their handes, and speake them fayre:

Iohn.
O Leard God, our tallowe potte is not here.

Phal.
Tush, clawe them with money:

Iohn.
Why so, my nayles are sharpe.

Phal.
I see, for Clownes, Pans Pype, is meeter, thē Apollos Harpe:
They can skyll of no Musicke, but plaine Song.

Gri.
I praye lets goe, we tryfle tyme too long:

Phal.
Strayght.
Cockes soule knaue, stoppe his mouth with money.

Iohn.
O, I ken you nowe syr, chy crie you mercie.

Ra.
Come on slouch, wylt please you be iogging hence?

Iohn.
Here is all, tenne shyllinges, and thyrtene pence.

Phal.
Harke ye my friendes.

Gri.
We must not let him goe.

Phal.
Harke once more.

Iohn.
Giue them the money.

Phal.
It shall be so.

Ra.
Well, although he deserues great punishment,
For your sake, for this tyme we are content:
Iohn Adroines farewell, henceforth be honest,
And for this faulte, wyll passe it ore in ieast.

Exeunt.
Iohn.
Then giues our money.

Phal.
Why?

Iohn.
Why, they dyd but ieast:

Phal.
Yea, but they tooke thy money in earnest.

Exit.
Iohn.
Art gone, nowe the Dewle choake you all with it:
Howe chy kisse againe, the knaues hae taught me wyt.
But by Saint Anne, chy do see burlady:
Men maye do what them woll, that haue money.
Ich surely had bene whipt, but for my golde,
But chull no more, with smouches be so bolde.
Yea, and ych wysh all Louers to be wyse,
There be learing knaues abroade, haue Cattes eyes:
Why, by Gods bores, they can bothe see and marke,
If a man steale, but a smouch in the darke.
And nowe the worlde is growne, to such iollie spye:
As if foke doo kysse, the'are naught by and by.
Well, ych wyll home, and tell my Father Droyne:
Howe that, two theeues robd mee of my Coyne.

Exit.
Enter the King, Promos, Vlrico, Maior, Gonsago, Phallax, with two other attendantes.
King.
Sir Gonsago, if that we henceforth heare,
With will, or wealth, you doe our subiects wrong:
Looke not agayne, this fauour for to fynde,
We vse this grace, to wyn you to amende:
If not, our wrath shall feare you to offende.
God speede you.

Gonsago, doth reuerence and departeth.
Kyng.
I see by proofe, that true the prouerbe is,
Myght maisters right, wealth is such a canker,
As woundes the conscience, of his Maister,
And deuoures the hart of his poore neyghbour.
To cure which sore, Iustice his pryde must pyne,
Which Iustice ought in Princes most to shine:
And syth subiects lyue by their princes law,
Whose lawes in cheefe, the rytch should keepe in awe:
The poore in wronges, but sildome doth delyght,
They haue inuffe, for to defende their right:
It much behoues the maker of these lawes,
(This mony findes in them, so many flawes)
To see his lawes, obser'd as they are ment:
Or else good lawes, wyll turne to euyll intent.
Well, ere I leaue, my poorest subiects shall,
Both lyue, and lyke: and by the richest stawll.

Pro.
Regarded and most mightie Prince, your clemency herein,
Those harts, your rule, cōmands through feare to faithful loue shal win.

Vl.
Renowmed king, I am for to complaine,
Of Phallax, Lord Promos secondary,
Whose hainous wronges many poore men doth paine,
By me, who pray, your highnes remedy.

King.
My Lord Promos, it seemes you rule at large,
When as your clarkes are officers vniust.

Pro.
Dread king, I thinke, he can these wrong discharge.

Kyng.
Doe you but thinke syr: a sure speare to trust?
A dum death, and blynde Iudge, can do as much:
Well, well, God graunt, your owne lyfe, byde the tutch.
Syr Vlrico, your complaynt continew:

Vl.
Gratious King, his wronges be these insew:
Fyrst Phallax, is a common Barriter,
In office, a lewd extortioner:
The crafty man, oft puts these wronges in vre,
If poore men haue, that lykes his searching eye,
He showeth gould, the needy soules to lure:
Which if they take, so fast he doth them tye,
That by some bonde, or couenaunt forfayted,
They are inforst (farre beneath the vallew)
To let him haue what his eye coueyted:
And for to proue, that this report is true,
I showe no more, then witnesse prou'd by oth,
Whose names and handes, defends it heare as troth,

Vlrico deliuers the King a writing with names at it.
King.
How now Promos? how thinke you of your man?
Use both your wyttes, to cleare him if you can.

Pro.
Dread King, my hart to heare his faultes doth bleede.

King.
Howe far'de it then, to suffer it indeede?
It dyde, I trowe, or now you speake in iest:
Thy Master's mute Phallax, I hould it best
That thou speake, for thy selfe.

Phal.
I humbly craue,
Of your grace, for aunswere, respyt to haue.

King.
Why? to deuise a cloke to hyde a knaue?
Friend, veritas non querit angulos,
And if your selfe, you on your truth repose,
You may be bould, these faultes for to deny,
Some, lyttel care, vpon their othes to lye:
See if any in your behalfe will sweare.

Phal.
O Lord God, is there no knyghtes of the poste heare?
Well, then of force, I must sing Peccaui.
And crye out ryght, to the king for mercy.
O King, I am, in faulte, I must confesse,
The which I wyll with repentaunce redresse.

King.
Thy confession, doth meryt some fauour,
But repentaunce payes not thy poore neyghbour:
Wherefore, Syr Vlrico, his goods sease you,
And those, he wrong'd, restore you, to their due.

Vl.
Looke what he gettes, most thinke, he wastes straight waye,
Upon a leawde harlot, named Lamia:
So that his goods, wyll scarse pay euery wight.

King.
Where naught is left, the king must lose his right.
Pay as you may, I hould it no offence,
If eache pay somewhat for experience:
But by the way, you rule the citty well,
That suffer, by your nose, such dames to dwell.
And now Phallax, thy further pennaunce ys,
That forthwith, thou do resigne thy office.
Vlrico, to his account lykewise, see.

Vl.
It shalbe done.

King.
Phallax, further heare mee:
Because thou didst, thy faultes at first confesse,
From punishment, thy person I release:

Phal.
I most humbly, do thanke your maiesty.

Pro.
Ah, out alas, Cassandra heare I see.

Cassandra in a blewe gowne, shadowed with black.
Cas.
O would yt teares, myght tel my tale, I shame so much my fall,
Or else, Lord Promos lewdnes showen, would death would ende my thrall.

Pro.
Welcome my sweete Cassandra.

Cas.
Murdrous varlet, away.
Renowmed King, I pardon craue, for this my bould attempt,
In preasing thus so neare your grace, my sorrow to present:
And least my foe, false Promos heare, doe interrupt my tale,
Graunt gratious King, that vncontrould, I may report my bale.

King.
How now Promos? how lyke you, of this song?
Say on fayre dame, I long to heare thy wrong.

Cas.
Then knowe dread souerayne, that he this doome did geue,
That my Brother, for wantonnesse should lose his head:
And that the mayde, which sind, should euer after lyue
In some religious house, to sorrowe her misdeede:
To saue my brother iug'd to dye, with teares I sought to moue
Lord Promos hart, to showe him grace: but he with lawles loue,
Was fyred by and by: and knowing necessity,
To saue my brothers lyfe, would make me yeeld to much,
He crau'd this raunsome, to haue my virginitie:
No teares could worke restraynt, his wicked lust was such,
Two euils here were, one must I chuse, though bad were very best.
To see my brother put to death, or graunt his lewde request:
In fyne, subdude with naturall loue, I did agree,
Upon these two poyntes: that marry mee he should,
And that from prison vyle, he should my brother free.
All this with monstrous othes, he promised he would.
But O this periurd Promos, when he had wrought his wyll,
Fyrst cast mee of: and after causd the Gailer for to kill
My brother, raunsomde, with the spoyle of my good name:
So that for companing, with such a hellish feende,
I haue condemnde my selfe to weare these weedes of shame:
Whose cognisance doth showe, that I haue (fleshly) sind.
Loe thus, hie and renowned king, Cassandra endes her tale,
And this is wicked Promos that hath wrought her endles bale.

King.
If this be true, so fowle a deede, shall not vnpunisht goe,
How sayst thou Promos, to her playnte? arte giltye? yea, or noe?
Why speakst thou not? a faulty harte, thy scilence sure doth showe.

Pro.
My gilty hart commaunds my tongue, O king, to tell a troth,
I doe confesse this tale is true, and I deserue thy wrath.

King.
And is it so? this wicked deede, thou shalt ere long buy deare,
Cassandra, take comfort in care, be of good cheere:
Thy forced fault, was free from euill intent,
So long, no shame, can blot thee any way.
And though at ful, I hardly can content thee,
Yet as I may, assure thy selfe I wyl.
Thou wycked man, might it not thee suffice,
By worse then force, to spoyle her chastitie,
But heaping sinne on sinne against thy oth,
Haste cruelly, her brother done to death.
This ouer proofe, ne can but make me thinke,
That many waies thou hast my subiectes wrongd:
For how canst thou with Iustice vse thy swaie?
When thou thy selfe dost make thy will a lawe?
Thy tyrranny made mee, this progresse make,
How so, for sport tyll nowe I colloured it
Unto this ende, that I might learne at large,
What other wronges by power, thou hast wrought,
And heere, I heare: the Ritche suppresse the poore:
So that it seemes, the best and thou art friendes:
I plaste thee not, to be a partiall Iudge.
Thy Offycers are couetous I finde,
By whose reportes, thou ouer rulest sutes:
Then who that geues, an Item in the hande,
In ryght, and wrong, is sure of good successe.
Well, Uarlet, well: too slowe I hether came,
To scourge, thy faultes, and salue the sores thou mad'st:
On thee vyle wretche, this sentence I pronounce.
That foorthwith, thou shalt marrie Cassandra,
For to repayre hir honour, thou dydst waste:
The next daye thou shalt lose thy hated lyfe,
In penaunce, that thou mad'st hir Brother dye.

Pro.
My faultes were great, O King, yet graunt me mercie,
That nowe with bloody sighes, lament my sinnes too late.

King.
Hoc facias alteri, quod tibi vis fieri:
Pittie was no plee Syr, when you in iudgement sate,
Prepare your selfe to dye, in vaine you hope for lyfe.
My Lordes, bring him with mee: Cassandra come you in like case:
My selfe wyll see, thy honour salu'd, in making thee his Wife,
The sooner to shorten his dayes.

All the company.
We wayte vpon your Grace.

As the King is going out, a Poore man shall kneele in his waye.
Kyng.
Syr Vlrico, I wyld, Commission should be made,
To Syr Anthony Alberto, and Iustice Diron,
To heare and determine, all sutes to be had
Betwene Maister Prostro, and this poore man: is it done?

Vlrico.
Renowned King, it is ready:

King.
Repayre to Syr Ulrico, for thy Commission:

All.
God preserue your Maiestie.

They all depart, saue the Clowne.
Clow.

Exit.