 | The seconde part of the Famous Historie of Promos and Cassandra |  |
Actus 4.
Scena. 1.
Gresco, a good substantiall Offycer, Two Beadeller in blew Coates, with Typestaues.Gresco.
Come loytring knaues, speede about your businesse.
Fetche mee in, all ydle vacaboundes.
First.
Yes syr, yes:
Gres.
Searche Ducke alley, Cocke lane, and Scouldes corner,
About your charge, lets see, howe you can sturre.
Sec.
Yes, I haue winges in my heeles to flee.
First.
Who giues two pence, a straunge Monster to see.
Sec.
What Monster?
First.
A horned Beast, with winges vpon his heeles.
Sec.
Out dronken dreule?
Gres.
What? runnes your heades a wheeles?
Be packing bothe, and that betymes you are best.
First.
We are gone Syr, we dyd but speake in ieast.
Exeunt. Beadelles.
Gres.
The King, I fayth, hath set vs all a worke,
To searche odde holes, where ydle varlettes lurke.
He so nypped, our Maior for yll rule:
As euer since, he hath bene lyke to whule.
And in a rage, the man is nowe so whotte,
As lewde personnes, tagge, and ragge, goes to potte,
But in chiefe, he stormes, at fine Mistrisse Lamia.
She drinkes, for all, come she once in his waye.
And least she scape, my selfe forsooth he wylles,
Worshipfullie to fetche hir, with fortie Bylles.
Well, I must goe, and worke our Maiors heast,
No focte, for once, she wyll neuer be honest.
Exit.
Scena. 2.
Andrugio, as out of the vvooddes, with Bowe and Arrowes, and a Cony at his gyrdle.An.
This sauage life, were hard to brooke, if hope no cōfort gaue:
But I (whose life, frō Tyrants wrath, Gods prouidēce did saue,
Do take in worth this misery, as penaunce for my mys:
Stil fed with hope to chaūge this state, when Gods good pleasure is.
A hollow Caue for house, and bed, in worth Andrugio takes,
Such sorie foode, as fortune sendes, he syldome nowe forsakes.
I am my selfe forsoothe, nowe Butcher, Cooke, Cater and all:
Yea, often tymes I fall to sleepe, with none, or supper small.
Then in my Denne, I call to minde, the lyfe I lyu'de in blisse:
And by the want I freedome iudge, the greatest ioye that is.
The freeman is in viewe of friendes, to haue release in neede:
The exyle, though he haue no lacke, yet lyues he styll in dreede
That his mysdeedes, wyll hardly scape, the punishment of lawe:
And lyuing, he were better dead, that lyueth in this awe.
Besides this feare, which neuer fayles, the banisht man in want,
As ofte he is, is sure to finde his succor's verie scant.
Then who is he so mad, that friendes, and freedome doth enioye?
That wyll aduenture breach of lawe, to lyue in this annoye?
And not annoye to him alone, but to his friendes and kyn:
Great be the cares, Cassandra, and Polina lyueth in.
Through thought, of me, whom long agone, beheaded they suppose,
For my offence, thus are they scorgde, yet dare I not disclose
My safetie, for their helpe: but harke, who commeth here?
This chaunce seemes strange: God graunt good newes, I hope, and yet I feare.
Iohn.
If che could finde my Mare, che would be rusty by the rood,
And cham sure the hoorechup, is peaking in this wood.
Chy wyl seeke euery corner, but che wyll find her.
He whistlyng lookes vp and downe the stage.
An.
This clowne can hardly mee bewray, and yet such dunghyll churles,
Such newes, as is in market tounes, about the country whorles.
What seekes thou good fellow?
Iohn.
My sqawde Mare, dost her know?
An.
No.
Iohn.
Then scummer mee not, in haste ych goe,
Seeke my Mare, to see the sport at Iulio.
An.
What sport?
Iohn.
A lyttel sport.
An.
What?
Iohn.
Nay skyl not a whit?
An.
What meanes this Asse?
Iohn.
T'wyll teache the hoorecup wyt.
H'yll hang, handsome young men for the soote sinne of loue,
When so his knauery, himselfe, a bawdy iack doth proue.
An.
His wordes seemeth straunge, somwhat is a wry.
Iohn.
UUel, chyll see his shoulders, from's iowle to flye.
An.
UUhose shoulders friend?
Iohn.
As though you dyd know.
An.
UUhome?
Iohn.
Lord Promos.
An.
Yes: my most accursed foe:
But what of him?
Iohn.
Thou kenst.
An.
No.
Iohn.
Sayst not, yes,
An.
Yes:
Iohn.
So.
But friend thou took'st my wordes amys,
I know nothing, in what state Promos is.
Iohn.
Thou knowst, and thou knowest not: out horson foole,
Leaue stealing Cunnyes, and get thee to scoole,
Farewell.
An.
Soft.
Iohn.
O th'arte no foole good theefe:
Saue my mony take my life.
An.
Tush be breefe.
Some newes, of lewde Lord Promos tell mee,
And wyth lyfe and mony, yle set thee free.
Iohn.
I wyll: thou knowst the King now at Iulio.
An.
Uery well,
Iohn.
Thou canst tel as wel as I.
Let me goe:
An.
Nay yle see if thou dost lye.
If thou dost, yle whip thee, when thou hast done.
Iohn.
Kissyng and lying, ich see is all one:
And chaue no mony, chul tell true therfore.
An.
Dispatch then.
Iohn.
Then, lying Promoter, this more:
Casgandra scusde, Promos of honestie:
And killyng Ramstrugio for baudry.
An.
What more?
Iohn.
The king at Promos, great pleasure did take,
And Casgandra, an honest woman to make:
The King maunded him, her strayght to marry,
And for killyng her brother, he must dye.
An.
Is this true?
Iohn.
Why? how say you? doe I lye?
An.
Well, so or noe, for thy newes haue this connie.
Iohn.
Gods boores, geue it me, to be swete, tis to cheape,
Bur Lady yet, tyll sunday it will keepe:
Well, now god bwye, Mas lying Promoter,
Wees see at the sport.
An.
I peraduenture.
Since can not finde my Mare, on foote chull goe:
Ych thinke, each daye a nowre, to be at Iulio.
Exit.
An.
Straunge are the newes, the Clowne hath showne to me:
Not straunge a whyt, if they well scanned be.
For God we see, styll throwes the Tyrant downe:
Euen in the heyght, and pride of his renowne.
Lorde Promos rule, nay, tyranny in deede,
For Iudges is a mirror, worthy heede.
The wretched man, with showe of Iustice zeale,
Throughly dyd, with poore offenders deale.
The wicked man, both, knewe, and iudg'd, abuse:
And none so much, as he her faultes dyd vse.
He fellons hang'd, yet by extorcion, stoale:
He wantons plag'd, himselfe a doating foole.
He others checkt, for suing for their right:
And he himselfe, mayntained wrongs by might.
But see the rule of mischiefe, in his pride:
He headlong falles, when least, he thought to slide.
Well, by his fall, I maye perhaps aryse:
Andrugio yet, in clyming be thou wyse.
What? styll vnknowne, shall I liue in this wood?
Not so.
Go wraye these newes, no doubt, vnto my good.
Yet ere I go, I wyll my selfe disguise,
As in the Towne, in spyte of Linxes eyes.
I wyll vnknowne, learne howe the game doth go,
But ere I go, syth eased is my woe:
My thankes to God, I first in song wyll shoe.
Andrugios Song.Not straunge a whyt, if they well scanned be.
For God we see, styll throwes the Tyrant downe:
Euen in the heyght, and pride of his renowne.
Lorde Promos rule, nay, tyranny in deede,
For Iudges is a mirror, worthy heede.
The wretched man, with showe of Iustice zeale,
Throughly dyd, with poore offenders deale.
The wicked man, both, knewe, and iudg'd, abuse:
And none so much, as he her faultes dyd vse.
He fellons hang'd, yet by extorcion, stoale:
He wantons plag'd, himselfe a doating foole.
He others checkt, for suing for their right:
And he himselfe, mayntained wrongs by might.
But see the rule of mischiefe, in his pride:
He headlong falles, when least, he thought to slide.
Well, by his fall, I maye perhaps aryse:
Andrugio yet, in clyming be thou wyse.
What? styll vnknowne, shall I liue in this wood?
Not so.
Go wraye these newes, no doubt, vnto my good.
Yet ere I go, I wyll my selfe disguise,
As in the Towne, in spyte of Linxes eyes.
I wyll vnknowne, learne howe the game doth go,
But ere I go, syth eased is my woe:
My thankes to God, I first in song wyll shoe.
To thee O Lorde, with harte, and voyce I syng,
VVhose mercie great, from mone to sweete delight:
From griefe to ioye, my troubled soule doest bring,
Yea, more thy wrath, hath foylde my foe in syght.
VVho sought my lyfe (which thou O God didst saue)
Thy scorge hath brought, vntimelie to his graue.
VVhose mercie great, from mone to sweete delight:
From griefe to ioye, my troubled soule doest bring,
Yea, more thy wrath, hath foylde my foe in syght.
Thy scorge hath brought, vntimelie to his graue.
VVhose griefe wyll gawle, a thousande Iudges moe,
And wyll them see, them selues, and sentence iust:
When blacke reproche, this thundring shame shall shoe,
A Iudge condemde for murder, thefte, and luste.
This scorge, O God, the lewde in feare wyll bring,
The iust for ioye, thy prayses lowde wyll syng.
And wyll them see, them selues, and sentence iust:
When blacke reproche, this thundring shame shall shoe,
A Iudge condemde for murder, thefte, and luste.
This scorge, O God, the lewde in feare wyll bring,
The iust for ioye, thy prayses lowde wyll syng.
Exit.
Gresco, with three other, with bylles, bringing in Lamia prisoner.
Gres.
Come on faire Dame, since faire words, works no heede,
Now fowle meanes shall: in you repentaunce breede.
La.
Maister Gresco, where you maye helpe, hurt not.
Gres.
And nothing but chastment, wyll helpe you to amende,
Well, I wyll not hurt you, your lewdnes to defende.
La.
My lewdnes Syr: what is the difference,
Betwixt wantons, and hoorders of pence?
Gres.
Thou hast winde at wyll, but in thy eyes no water:
Tho' arte full of Grace, howe she blusheth at the matter.
La.
Howe sample I, your wyfe and daughter Syr?
Gres.
Axe mee, when whypping hath chaung'd thy Nature.
La.
What whypping? why? am I a Horse, or a Mare?
Gres.
No, but a beast, that meetelie well wyll bare.
La.
In deede (as) nowe, perforce, I beare this flowt:
But vse me well, else I fayth, gette I out,
Looke for quittaunce.
Byl.
Binde hir to the Peace Syr,
First Bilm
So maye your Worship be out of daunger.
Gres.
Bring hir awaye, I knowe howe to tame hir.
La.
Perhaps Syr, no: the worst is but shame hir.
Byl.
Come ye drab.
Secōd Bilm
La.
Howe nowe scab? handes of my Gowne.
Byl.
Care not for this, yuse haue a blew one soone.
Third Bil.
Exeunt.
Cas.
Unhappy Wench, the more I seeke, for to abandone griefe,
The furder off, I wretched finde, both comfort and reliefe.
My Brother first, for wanton faultes, condempned was to dye:
To saue whose life, my sute, wrought hope of Grace, but haples I,
By such request, my honor spoyld, and gayned not his breath:
For which deceyte, I haue pursude, Lorde Promos vnto death.
Who is my Husbande nowe become, it pleasd our Soueraigne so,
For to repayre, my crased Fame: but that nowe workes my wo.
This day, he must (oh) leese his head, my Brothers death to quite,
And therin Fortune hath alas, showne me hir greatest spyte.
Nature wyld mee, my Brother loue, now dutie commaunds mee,
To preferre before kyn, or friend, my Husbands safetie.
But O, aye mee, by Fortune, I, am made his chiefest foe:
T'was I als, euen onely I, that wrought his ouerthroe.
What shall I doo, to worke amends, for this my haynous deede?
The tyme is short, my power small, his succors axeth speede.
And shall I seeke, to saue his blood, that lately sought his lyfe?
O, yea I then was sworne his foe: but nowe as faithfull Wife,
I must and wyll, preferre his health, God sende me good successe:
For nowe vnto the King I wyll, my chaunged minde to expresse.
Exit.
Phallax.
Phal.
Was euer man, set more freer then I?
First went my goodes, then my Office dyd flye?
But had the King, set me free from flattrie,
The next deare yeare, I might haue staru'd, perdie.
But Lorde Promos, hath a farre more freer chaunce:
He free from Landes, goodes, and Office doth daunce:
And shalbe free from life, ere long, with a Launce.
The Officers, and chiefe men of Iulio:
Uengeaunce lyberall, themselues lyke wise shoe.
Poore knaues, and queanes, that vp and downe do goe,
These horesen kinde crustes, in houses bestoe.
They whyp them, vntyll verie blood they sweate.
But see, their cost bestowde of fyne Lamia,
To saue hir feete, from harde stones, and culde waye,
Into a Carte, they dyd the queane conuaye.
Apparelled, in collours verie gaye:
Both Hoode, and Gowne, of greene, and yellowe Saye.
Hir Garde, weare Typstaues, all in blewe arraye.
Before hir a noyse of Basons dyd playe,
In this triumphe, she ryd well nye a daye.
Fie, fie. the Citie is so purged nowe:
As they of none, but honest men allowe,
So that farewell my parte, of thriuing there:
But the best is, flattrers lyue euerie where.
Set cocke on hoope, Domini est terra.
If thou can not where thou wouldst, lyue where thou maye,
Yes, yes Phallax, knoweth whether to go:
Nowe, God bwy ye all honest men of Iulio
As the Deuilles lykes, the company of Friers,
So flattrers loues as lyfe, to ioyne with lyers.
| The seconde part of the Famous Historie of Promos and Cassandra | |