University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—A SMITHY OUTSIDE A PALACE.
A Smith discovered, standing, meditatively, beside his anvil, with his hand on the hammer. During the following conversation he retires into his forge, and brings thence a golden crown, which he proceeds to burnish diligently.
Enter Porreo and Enyon.
Porreo.

My brother, the prince Ferrex, gave to the
page, Philander—is that his name?

Enyon.

So they call him.

Porreo.

You saw. Mind that!

Enyon.

Doubt not. I saw it—with my proper eyes.

Porreo.

Nay—smile not! You saw my brother, the
prince Ferrex, give to the page Philander a fair letter,
charging the boy solicitously to convey it to the hand of
my betrothed Marcella?

Enyon.

The politic Dunwarro's daughter—

Porreo.

Fiery angers! hide in the heart!

Enyon.

So be it. Let me state the argument.

Porreo.

Proceed.

Enyon.

Thou art the second son of Gorbudoc, the
potent monarch of this our valiant isle of Britain. For a
slight blemish of nature, which, in his royal esteem, misfitted
a polished court like this of Trinovant, the prudent
monarch consigned thee to the care of the wise and venerable

Clotyn, Duke of Cornwall, in whose far-removed halls
thou wert instructed, till the defect which banished thee
was (though unknown by thy distant father) happily in
great part mended.

Porreo.

Be quick.

Enyon.

Meanwhile, Dunwarro, son of Clotyn, being
widowed, and desiring business to supplant a lonely sorrow,
seeks here the court of Gorbudoc, leaving old Clotyn's, but
still entrusting his daughter, during his own absence, to the
guardianship of her grandsire. Thou and she thus grow
and are taught together, until affection ripens. Suddenly,
Dunwarro commands his daughter hither. What follows?

Porreo.

This! My presumptuous brother takes on
him, moved by Marcella's report of my proficiency, to call
our royal father to account for my banishment. Couriers
are sent to all the different counties and provinces of
Britain—one reaches Clotyn's court, demanding of the too-old
duke to take his share in judging the matter. The sage
duke consents to send his image—despatches the courier,
and then, secretly disguising me as a herald, cunningly
appoints me his missive.

Enyon.

Wherein his motive is right evident. But
touching thy brother's and her father's motives—(plague
on this state craft!)—room there is for much suspicion.

Smith
(singing).

Said the King to the Smith—

Porreo.

Hark! We are disturbed.

Enyon.

Let us retire to the grove yonder. Here they
are to pass.

[Exeunt.
Smith
(sings).

During the above, enter Dordan, unperceived.
Dordan
(in a feigned voice).
That is a good song.
Who made it, smith?

Smith.
Why, Dordan,
The jester of the court.

Dordan.
That fellow is
A poet.

Smith
(looking up).
Why, it is thyself. O Dordan!
The work is almost done.

Dordan.
What dost thou, smith?
What's left to do?

Smith.
Please your wise mirth, the burnish
That finishes the golden diadem,
And makes it ready for the consecration,
Which the impatient King is hastening on;
And has even now sent to me that pert page
(Philander I do think they call the boy),
With message to prepare myself and it
For the procession soon.

Dordan.
Thine old trade, smith,
Was better than thy new one.

Smith.
May that be?

Dordan.
It wrought the richer metal!

Smith.
How is that?

Dordan.
Your iron is a richer prize than gold.
Gold will not plough a field, nor dig a mine,
Nor point a lance, nor make the battle sword;
But iron will. 'Twill get what is worth more
Than gold; since gladly men give gold for grain,
And win the gold itself from cave and coffer.

Smith.
True, jester. 'Faith, I like not this new business—
Not I, for my part—niggling, peddling work!
A sturdy stroke on a good iron anvil,
With a sledge hammer, that is what likes me:
A thump like this.

[Striking the anvil with a hammer loudly.
Dordan.
Have mercy on my ears!

Smith.
Thy ears! they have no taste for music then.

Dordan.
Have? they have nothing—therefore, they have all.

Smith.
A perilous paradox.

Dordan.
He who has least
Is richest—that is, richest of the poorest;
For who has nought he is the only rich,
Rich in the way of excellence, truly rich.
Rich absolutely, infinitely rich.

Smith.
Resolve me this.

Dordan.
If he live on without
Your gold, your silver, and your precious stones,
Your sumptuous dresses and your royal feasts,
And want them not, content with what he is;
Then in himself is he a man so rich,
He can afford to do without their aid.
Or if his nature he extenuate,
So that he die, he shows a mine of wealth
That hath no need of any worldly thing,
Not even the body that he cared not for,
And left in scorn to who would bury it!

Smith.
Why, he, methinks, were greater fool than thou.

Dordan.
Not greater, smith! but fool almost as wise!

Smith.
Well! So thou thinkst the King himself is poorer,
Now that he hath this crown, than ere he had it?

Dordan.
Yes; for he hath two crowns, and will give away,
For gold, the iron.

Smith.
See, Philander comes.

Enter Philander.
Dordan.
Boy!

Philander.
Fool!

Dordan.
Fool!

Philander.
I?

Dordan.
A boy's a fool.

Philander.
As how?

Dordan.
Thy question shows it: he who asks a question
Shows ignorance of what he asks about,
And he who's ignorant is but a fool.

Philander.
Yet, if by asking he can answer gain,
'Twas wise in him to ask that he might know,
And knowledge make him wise.

Dordan.
'Tis nature's wisdom,
Not thine—and mightiest in the weakest. Women
And children both are curious, both be fools.

Philander.
What both?

Dordan.
Both; yet is nature wise in them.

Philander.
Then nature's wise in me?

Dordan.
Yes, pretty child.

Philander.
Child!

Dordan.
Scorn it not. 'Tis a great thing
That manhood seldom matches. Childhood's faith
Believes in all responses, and hence learns—
And, confident, proceeds to seek again,
By wonder, and the passion for the new,
Still urged—still satisfied! But manhood chills
The fount of admiration—ties itself
Within the bands of custom, and deceived
Or else deceiving, lives to doubt of all things;
Nor will be taught, though it too little knows.

Philander.
Why, then, the child's the wiser. Fool! thou'rt caught—
Hadst thou been curious as a boy must be,
According to thy pretty theorie,
My business here thou wouldst have questioned me.

[Rhyming.
Dordan.
I guess. The sage Dunwarro and his daughter,
'Tis known, are passing soon. Thou hast a letter
From princely Ferrex to the fair Marcella.

Philander.
They come. How shall I now, in secret wise,
Commend this scroll to her sweet hands and eyes?

Dordan.
How the knave rhymes! The fool shall stand thy friend.

Enter Dunwarro and Marcella.
Dordan.
Hail to thy wisdom!

Dunwarro.
To thy folly, greeting!
So now make way.

Dordan.
Thy pardon, sir; but fools
Can ne'er make way; they always lag behind-hand.

Dunwarro.
What wouldst thou, fool?

Dordan.
Know why thou callst me fool.
I know why thou art called the wise.

Dunwarro.
Then mayst thou
Why thou art called the simple.

Dordan.
Marry, may I?
Then I'll resolve the point, though it be knotty.

[During the following conversation, Philander delivers the letter to Marcella, which she reads. Enyon enters, and observes the action, but immediately, making a threatening gesture, retires.]
Dunwarro.
Thou art tedious.

Dordan.
I'll be brief. I am simple, sir,
Being natural. They call a fool a natural,
And therefore call me simple. 'Tis my simplicity
That makes me love the fields, the trees, the brooks,
The flowers, the rainbow, and the moon and stars;
Think they are something; trust both man and woman,
My fortune and the gods!

Dunwarro.
The fool's a poet.

Dordan.
The poet is a fool: for while he lives
On the ideal, as on air the lizard;
He leaves to grave Dunwarro, with bent brow,
To frown mankind to silence, lest they lie
When they do speak; to walk through wondering ranks
Cloaked in stern pride, apt to dispute all truth,
Decide all controversy, and despise
Instruction, pleasure, and whatever breathes
Of purer being; yes, to you he leaves
The world ye are sure of, for the heaven ye seek not.

Dunwarro.
Be witty, and not moral.

Dordan.
How! not moral?
Witty, not moral? why, your moralist's
Your only genuine fool. Smith! thinkst thou not
'Tis evil in thee, being a peaceful man,
To mould the tools of death?

Smith.
Why, what know I
More than the miner who the metal delved?
We work in our vocation.

Dunwarro.
Silence, sirrah!
Divest thee of that coxcomb! Vex no more
The nicer manners of our modern times
With antics coarse and stale. We need them not.

Dordan.
Most gladly I submit; hoping the state
Hath now no office which a fool doth hold.

Dunwarro.
Begone.

Dordan.
Philander, come. The time's unfit—
Meet is both knave and fool the statesman quit.

[Exeunt Philander and Dordan.
Dunwarro.
Smith! for the anvil and the furnace! In—
In, to the labour which I set thee now.

[Exeunt Smith, Dunwarro, and Marcella.
Re-enter Enyon and Porreo.
Enyon.
What we have seen confirms it!

Porreo.
Yes; the letter
Prince Ferrex gave the boy, he gave to her.

Enyon.
Prince Ferrex wished thee home to mock thy wildness.
They're leagued to wrong thee: from thy birth they've wronged thee,
A monarch's banished son. By what right wert thou,
Though rude of mien and slow of tongue, despatched,
An alien, into Cornwall? Now, returned,
Behold Marcella, by thy elder brother,
Won from thy vows. The fraud is flagrant, burns
With shameful glory, glows and glares with horror!
It was from her he heard of Porreo's change,
But little still he knew the graceful herald,
From Clotyn's halls, was Porreo's self. This sleight
I counselled; and another let me prompt.
Come! thou must doff this garb, and show again
Like a King's son. Time presses. I'll instruct thee.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—STATE HALL, WITH THRONES AND COUNCIL-SEATS.
Enter Dunwarro and Marcella.
Dunwarro.
Marcella!

Marcella.
Father!

Dunwarro.
What is it thou hidest?

Marcella.
Nothing; at least 'tis nothing I would hide.

Dunwarro.
What is it then?

Marcella.
A letter from Prince Ferrex.
A noble youth that for his brother hath
Made noble stand, though 'gainst his kingly father.

Dunwarro.
Marcella; 'tis for children to submit.
Thou lovest Porreo, and Prince Ferrex thee;
These motives prompt him; hence he takes the cause
That is his brother's.

Marcella.
Nay—the purest, father.
He leaves me to my liking;—smit by virtue,
He swears to do no wrong, nor see it done.
Hence with the King he deems it meet to plead
That he remove the cloud which banishes
His younger brother from the capital,
Civility, and learning, and the court.

Dunwarro.
The Council soon assembles. Better I
Were pleased, had weightier matter formed the theme
Of argument to-day. A state so rude
As is our Britain should postpone all private
To public needs. We yet lack laws to rule us;
Temples and cities and the ways to them
Cry loud for privilege of sanctuary;
And to the plough that turns the earth to profit
Like honour I would grant. Need, too, there is
Riddance of thieves and robbers were secured,
That peaceful men pass to and fro with safety.

Marcella.
The Prince approaches.

Dunwarro.
And with Hermon too,
His friend. I will but place thee in the gallery
Of the court, where thou mayst hear this trial, daughter—
Then make me ready for an actor in it.

[Exeunt.
Enter Ferrex and Hermon.
Ferrex.
'Tis she! I must not follow!

Hermon.
Wherefore, Prince?

Ferrex.
I may not trust my fortitude of mind,
Nor rush into temptation. Man's resolve,
In presence of her beauty, melts to passion,
And the brave heart dissolves the frosty chains
Wherein it has been bound.

Hermon.
Thou hast resigned her!

Ferrex.
I have performed a painful duty—but
The thing that's right, why 'tis the thing that's right.

Hermon.
But not the most expedient. Thy brother, Porreo,
Thou wouldst recall to court; not knowing how
His presence might divide a father's love,
Leaving thee half of what thou hast now the whole—
If that the half be left thee, since, in this,
Thine opposition to a parent's will
May wake his wrath.

Ferrex.
I fear not, cautious Hermon!
The right is the expedient. There be gods
Who recompense man's deeds. Jove governs not
So laxly his great empire, that the good
Should go without reward.

Hermon.
But how know we
That what seems good to us is so to them?
And, verily—

Ferrex.
Nay, verily—I've weighed
All fairly in the scales; and, to be frank,
Feel reason to expect some gain will fall
To my partaking, for the generous purpose
That holds so even nature's mystic balance,
Not even Dunwarro can assign the motive
That's heavier of the twain!
Enter Eubulus.
Good secretary—
Meet soon the Council?

Eubulus.
Prince, I come to tell thee,
The princes have arrived who should compose it.
There is Staterius, Duke of Albany,
There's Imner, Duke of Loegris, and Rudaucus,
The Duke of Cambria. But Clotyn of Cornwall
Sends word he is too old; nor can his presence
Be needed, since his son, Dunwarro, here,
Can represent him aptly; and besides,
From long acquaintance with his court, hath skill
Transcends his sire's, in local statesmanship.

Ferrex.
Dunwarro? Yes! 'Twas he advised that Porreo
Should to the Duke of Cornwall be despatched,
So nature's error in his realm remote
Might find a veil that polished Trinovant
Refused to furnish. But behold! the King,
My honoured father, with his court and Council.

[Flourish. Enter Albany, Loegris, and Cambria, in attendance on the Queen (Videna) and the King (Gorbudoc). Dunwarro follows behind. The King and Videna ascend the throne, and the Court is arranged on each side of the stage. Ferrex, in the centre, kneels at a distance before the King.]
King.
Princes, whom Heaven has given to me and mine,
For pillars that support the policy
Of Britain, like a temple;—list ye now
To what my son—my first-born and the virtue
Who, when I die, this sceptre well shall wield,
My successor in this improving state—
Hath to propound unto your grave decisions.

Cambria.
O King! I speak for all—that our knit souls
Are lieges to the motions of thine own,
And echo the dread oracle they serve.

King.
Now, princely Ferrex, to this solemn court
Reveal what suit thou hast unto ourself.

Ferrex.
O royal father! pardon let me crave
That not to thee alone, but, in this Council,
I dared appeal. Not that I feared the truth,
But that thou wert a party to the cause,
And wouldst, I knew, in such fair wise acquit
Thy honour, that assembled voices should
Bear witness to its triumph.

King.
Party?—I!—

Ferrex.
I have a brother—

King.
Ha!—

Ferrex.
Boys once we were
Together. I loved him as my mother's son
Should love my mother's son;—and so we grew.
But I was quick of speech, and he was tardy.
'Twas nature's blemish,—true,—a stammering lip,—
And yet no fitting cause for banishment.
To me thou gavest education—means
For profit in the manners of thy court:
Him didst to savage Cornwall send away,
Far, far removed from all appliances
That might amend defect, and make him fit
For princely state,—though he was born to such.

King.
Ferrex! my eldest born! arraign me thus,
In frequent hall, for what, on grave advice,
My royal wisdom ruled?—The unquestioned gods
Less gifts vouchsafed thy brother than to thee,
And wholly some denied him—and, in fine,
Marked him for rustic both in mien and accent.
But it behoves a monarch to heed well
The gloss of custom;—and this infant state
To nourish with a special providence.
For if at all good manners may obtain,
The court must first their garden-soil become,
Whence they transplant themselves, like wind-borne seeds,
To ruder fields, nay, to the common heath.
—Not for injustice to thy brother, sir,
But for the general weal, for social ends,
And what the sage for sacred have pronounced,
Have we removed him for so many years
There where his nature might find kindred solace,
And make him happier than our court could make him,
Our court meanwhile made happier by his absence.

Videna.
My gracious consort! Let not anger ride
On wingèd words against thy noble son—
The generous Ferrex. This, his natural love
For younger Porreo, to my heart speaks home—
The mother can interpret for her son!

King.
Let him speak on. I'll listen patiently.

Ferrex.
Still must I press my suit, and prosecute
The same to a decision. Fair Marcella,
Thy daughter, sage Dunwarro, late arrived
Even from thy father's halls, where Porreo bides,
Can well report that he is not, in sooth,
Unfitted for the state that he was born to.

Dunwarro.
I do confess as much, my sovereign liege!

King.
Disputest my honesty, or my discretion?

Ferrex.
Neither, my royal sire. But time full oft
Is lord of wondrous changes;—sometimes imps
The creeping worm with wings, and what was coarse
In glory arrays, like Iris,—or like Psyche;
So beautiful, that fitting type it were
Of the great soul herself. Thus, on my knee,
Before a father reverently I plead
An injured brother's cause (kneeling).


A Voice Without.
Make way, there! way!
I will have way!

[Enter Porreo (followed by Enyon) flourishing a drawn dagger. He rushes to Ferrex, while kneeling, and points it at his breast.]
Porreo.
Withdraw the unfilial plea!
Or to thy heart, whose will revolts against
A father's will, this poniard I compel.

King.
And who art thou, imperative stranger! thus
Who breakest on the Council of a King,
In guise so rude and sudden? Who art thou?

Videna.
Speak! Tell a mother's heart it doth not lie!
Banished so long—yet—yet—I know, I feel,
Thou art my son!

Porreo.
I am thy son, O Queen!
Thine am I too, dread King! and would approve it
In my obedience ever!

Ferrex.
Thy coming's apt,
And thy bold presence better pleads for thee
Than all the words I've used; and yet, methinks,
Less violent propulsion might have served
Thy need with me, than the close poniard's point
At the warm heart was pleading thy behoof.

Porreo.
Less thine; who mightest to a father's ear
Have privately enforced it; nor even so
Until my wish was known to have it so.

Ferrex.
If it were not, the missive from the Duke
Might have conveyed thy wish; and thereupon
I had withdrawn my suit.

Porreo.
Myself am he—
For when my royal father's couriers came
To Clotyn with his mandate for this Council—
I prayed him to send me, that I might set
Great Gorbudoc at large from this impeachment,
And vindicate his wisdom.

[Videna regards Porreo with marked suspicion.
King
(descending from his throne).
Hither! hither!
Porreo! my son! rebuke thy brother not!
Paternal deities! your pardon now,
That I have Porreo wronged!

[Enyon, on a signal from Porreo, here exit.
Porreo.
Thou hast not wronged him!
In Cornwall's court I found a foster-god,
Who reared another pupil for thy service,
Though hard the task with one so rude as Porreo.

King.
So rude? so civil! this is passing strange—
Pride now is glad in thee, my princely son!
—Now, Ferrex! I will bid thy generous heart
Leap up with joy at the amends I'll make,
Worthy a king, in error who has injured.
Half my dominion I decree to him
North of the Humber—to thyself all south.
Well may ye reign, and spare me further toil,
Who both have shown, as brother and as son,
Such duteous love. In you may peace confide,
Between you the sweet charities commune!

[Ferrex, as if stunned, stands in deep thought.
Videna.
With more than a queen's welcome, princely Porreo!
With all a mother's passion, I receive thee—
My son! my son!—Yet while I am glad, I grieve
That he, thy brother, who thy coming furthered,
Should for his virtue lose what thine has gained.

King.
Nay—'tis ill thought, Videna! trust me, 'tis!
The generous Ferrex deems it not a loss,
But in his brother's gain rejoices so,
His half is double all. I know him well!
Come, Ferrex! come—thy brother's hand in thine!

Porreo.
Brother! I thank thee, now the cause is passed,
And claim thy mercy for my violent humour.
But 'tis our Cornish fashion—so I thank thee!

Ferrex.
And I no churlish welcome give to thee,
Beshrew me if I might. Nor know I now
What is my due, or praise or blame, for deed
Which, if fraternal, was unfilial—
But, an' events interpret Heaven aright,
I fear me, censure only.

Videna.
No, my son!
I read it, as its sybil, and pronounce
That herein it would teach us, virtue looks
To it alone for guerdon, or herself
Hath in herself all the reward she can.

King.
A true conclusion. Let the court break up—
And, after feasting in acknowledgment
Of this great bounty, we will nothing lack
That may our purpose seal right speedily.

[Exeunt.
As Porreo is following, enter Marcella.
Marcella.
Stay! 'tis Marcella sues!

Porreo.
Marcella!

Marcella.
Porreo!

Porreo.
Rejoice, Marcella! thou shalt be a queen.

Marcella.
Only in rightful sway can I rejoice.

Porreo.
Is that not right a royal sire bestows?

Marcella.
Not on a younger son, while lives the elder;
More wrongful, if his life be good and gracious.

Porreo.
By heaven! thou lovest him!

Marcella.
I love him, Porreo,
As thou shouldst love him—as his brethren should!

Porreo.
No more? You're sure of it? It may be so.
Often small sign denotes great cause. At eve,
Look cross the sea, a narrow rim of light,
Along the horizon's edge, implies the moon
Hid somewhere in a cloud.

Marcella.
What hide thy words?

Porreo.
Cursed be the hour you left your grandsire's court!

Marcella.
Thrice bless'd, since thus new virtue I have witnessed!

Porreo.
And I wild ocean from the pensive shore
Have watched, with eyes of one who seeks a wreck!
I felt, when thou wert gone, my vagrant heart
Was as a vessel which had lost its pilot,
And might not weather anger. First time, then,
I thought with pity on the storm-tost man,
Driven to that coast for shelter. Well I knew,
In haunts more polished thou wouldst scorn rude Porreo!

Marcella.
Thou doubtest as thou doatest, still too fiercely.
Now hear a soothing tale. Prince Ferrex loved me—

Porreo.
I guessed as much—

Marcella.
Thou never lovedst me!

Porreo.
I?

Marcella.
Then thou wouldst hear me!

Porreo.
Hear thee, false one? Speak! Speak!

Marcella.
Yes—with tears—and do thou listen gently.
Ignorant how I was in thy heart enshrined,
He saw and loved me. Then I told him all:
How worthy thou—how, by my grandsire's skill,
Accomplished in the arts thy nature shunned—
Then he resolved to right thee; then, with pangs
That tried his nature sorely, to thy claim
Resigned the maid he wooed.

Porreo.
Ignorant I loved thee?
He deemed me all too rude to prize such beauty!
Insolent ignorance! The maid he wooed!
And might have won—but for—I'll prate no more!
Absent, I have never known him as a brother;
Present, what motives me to know him now?

[Exit.
Marcella.
I gasp—I cannot breathe—the horror darkens
On my strong fancy's eye. Do I not know
The Cornish nature well? Inspire me, Heaven,
With swift prevention! Ha! Right welcome, page

Enter Philander.
Philander.
They are at high festal there! The brethren, lady,
Twin-kings, are at the banquet.

Marcella.
I remember—
It peereth from the blank that came upon me!

Philander.
Sweet lady, art thou ill?

Marcella.
Philander, no—
'Tis there, like an imagination shown
In some reflecting clearness; such a shadow
As oft pervades the waters; a strange dream
Mirrored within the visionary mind!
Philander, no. Nay, I am very well,
My pretty page. But I should list, unseen,
To see the banquet thou hast lauded—couldst
Stead me in this?

Philander.
My wit is dull.

Marcella.
Thus grave?

Philander.
Why not? my soft Minerva! Know ye not
Your ladyship's father makes it now the fashion?
Dunwarro sets the style—and the poor wit
Is needed less than ever now at court.
Gross manners are reformed, and the Old Fool
Is growing obsolete with the Old King,
Who, that he may seem young, becomes the new one!

Marcella.
Aye reverently speak of royalty.

Philander.
Royalty! that parts with an iron crown,
When one of gold's a-making?

Marcella
(abstractedly).
One of gold?

Philander
(surprised).
Your ladyship's memory grows like Dordan's folly,
From sympathy—

Marcella.
How's that?

Philander.
Into disuse.
I mean, my lady, that great gift of gold
Duke Clotyn sent with thee from Cornwall hither,
To grace thy presentation at our court.
My Lord Dunwarro counselled straight the king
To have it moulded to a modern crown,
Would better grace his brows than one of iron—
The which to see, thyself this morn did visit
The honest smith, while labouring at his task,
Making it ready for its consecration.

Marcella.
That treasure cast by shipwreck on our coast?
Strange, I forgot it; but now, just now—I
Can think of nothing that has been, intent
On what is, or to be.

Philander.
Of course; the past,
In these reforming times, is the forgotten,
And the new wisdom puts back the old folly.

Marcella.
Not so, pert boy! I need it even now.

Philander.
'Tis at thy service ere the asking.

Marcella.
Come, then,
Philander, thou wilt stead me?

Philander.
Marry, will I!

[Exeunt.