A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vii Part 1

A Select Collection of Old English Plays.

Vol. VII.

by Various.

EDITION

The Tragedie of Tancred and Gismund. Compiled by the Gentlemen of the Inner Temple, and by them presented before her Maiestie. Newly reuiued and polished according to the decorum of these daies. By R.W. London, Printed by Thomas Scarlet, and are to be solde by R. Robinson, 1591, 4to.

[Some copies are dated 1592; but there was only a single edition. Of the original text, as written in 1568, there is no printed copy; but MSS. of it are in MS. Lansdowne 786, and Hargrave MS. 205, neither of which appears to present any evidence of ident.i.ty with the copy mentioned by Isaac Reed below as then in private hands. Both these MSS. have now been collated with the text of 1591, and the conclusion must be, that Wilmot, though he unquestionably revived, did not do so much, as he might wish to have it inferred, in _polis.h.i.+ng_ the play. The production was formed on a cla.s.sical model, and bears marks of resemblance in tone and style to the "Jocasta" of Euripides, as paraphrased by Gascoigne in 1566. The Lansdowne MS. of "Tancred and Gismunda" was written, about 1568-70, while the Hargrave is much more modern.]

INTRODUCTION.

It appears from William Webbe's Epistle prefixed to this piece, that after its first exhibition it was laid aside, and at some distance of time was new-written by R. Wilmot. The reader, therefore, may not be displeased with a specimen of it in its original dress. It is here given from the fragment of an ancient MS. taken out of a chest of papers formerly belonging to Mr Powell, father-in-law to the author of "Paradise Lost," at Forest Hill, about four miles from Oxford, where in all probability some curiosities of the same kind may remain, the contents of these chests (for I think there are more than one) having never yet been properly examined. The following extract is from the conclusion of the piece.--_Reed_. [Reed's extract has been collated with the two MSS. before-mentioned; where the Powell MS. may now be, the editor cannot say. The differences, on the whole, are not material; but the Lansdowne MS. 786 has supplied a few superior readings and corrections.]

But in thy brest if eny spark remaine Of thy dere love. If ever yet I coulde So moche of thee deserve, or at the least If with my last desire I may obtaine This at thy handes, geve me this one request And let me not spend my last breath in vaine.

My life desire I not, which neither is In thee to geve nor in my self to save, Althoughe I wolde. Nor yet I aske not this As mercye for myne Erle in ought to crave, Whom I to well do knowe howe thou hast slayen.

No, no, father, thy hard and cruell wronge With pacience as I may I will sustaine In woefull life which now shall not be longe.

But this one suite, father, if unto me Thou graunt, though I cannot the same reacquite Th'immortall G.o.ddes shall render unto thee Thy due reward and largely guerdon it, That sins it pleased thee not thus secretly I might enjoy my love, his corps and myne May nathelesse together graved be And in one tombe our bodies both to shrine With which this small request eke do I praie That on the same graven in bra.s.se thou place This woefull epitaphe which I shall saye, That all lovers may rue this mornefull case; Loe here within one tombe where harbor twaine Gismonda Quene and Countie Pallurine!

She loved him, he for her love was slayen, For whoes revenge eke lyes she here in shrine.

[GISMONDA _dieth_

TANCRED. O me alas, nowe do the cruell paines Of cursed death my dere daughter bereave.

Alas whie bide I here? the sight constraines Me woefull man this woefull place to leaue.

SCENE III.

TANCRED _cometh out of_ GISMOND'S _Chamber_.

TANCRED. O dolorous happe, ruthefull and all of woe Alas I carefull wretche what resteth me?

Shall I now live that with these eyes did soe Beholde my daughter die? what, shall I see Her death before my face that was my lyfe And I to lyve that was her lyves decay?

Shall not this hand reache to this hart the knife That maye bereve bothe sight and life away, And in the shadowes darke to seke her ghoste And wander there with her? shall not, alas, This spedy death be wrought, sithe I have lost My dearest ioy of all? what, shall I pa.s.se My later dayes in paine, and spende myne age In teres and plaint! shall I now leade my life All solitarie as doeth bird in cage, And fede my woefull yeres with waillfull grefe?

No, no, so will not I my dayes prolonge To seke to live one houre sith she is gone: This brest so can not bende to suche a wronge, That she shold dye and I to live alone.

No, this will I: she shall have her request And in most royall sorte her funerall Will I performe. Within one tombe shall rest Her earle and she, her epitaph withall Graved thereon shal be. This will I doe And when these eyes some aged teres have shed The tomb my self then will I crepe into And with my blood all bayne their bodies dead.

This heart there will I perce, and reve this brest The irksome life, and wreke my wrathful ire Upon my self. She shall have her request, And I by death will purchace my desyre.

FINIS.

EPILOGUS.

If now perhappes ye either loke to see Th'unhappie lovers, or the cruell sire Here to be buried as fittes their degree Or as the dyeng ladie did require Or as the ruthefull kinge in deepe despaire Behight of late (who nowe himself hath slayen) Or if perchaunse you stand in doutfull fere Sithe mad Megera is not returnde againe Least wandring in the world she so bestowe The snakes that crall about her furious face As they may raise new ruthes, new kindes of woe Bothe so and there, and such as you percase Wold be full lothe so great so nere to see I am come forth to do you all to wete Through grefe wherin the lordes of Salerne be The buriall pompe is not prepared yet: And for the furie, you shall onderstand That neither doeth the litle greatest G.o.d Finde such rebelling here in Britain land Against his royall power as asketh rod Of ruth from h.e.l.l to wreke his names decaie Nor Pluto heareth English ghostes complaine Our dames disteyned lyves. Therfore ye maye Be free from feare, sufficeth to maintaine The vertues which we honor in you all, So as our Britain ghostes when life is past Maie praise in heven, not plaine in Plutoes hall Our dames, but hold them vertuous and chast, Worthie to live where furie never came, Where love can see, and beares no deadly bowe, Whoes lyves eternall tromp of glorious fame With joyfull sounde to honest eares shall blowe.

FINIS.

The Tragedie of Gismonde of Salerne.

Such is a specimen of the play as it was originally acted before Queen Elizabeth, at the Inner Temple, in the year 1568. It was the production of five gentlemen, who were probably students of that society; and by one of them, Robert Wilmot, afterwards much altered and published in the year 1591.[1] [Wilmot had meanwhile become rector of North Okenham, in Ess.e.x];[2] and in his Dedication to the Societies of the Inner and Middle Temples, he speaks of the censure which might be cast upon him from the indecorum of publis.h.i.+ng a dramatic work arising from his calling. When he died, or whether he left any other works, are points equally uncertain.

"Nearly a century after the date of that play," observes Lamb, in his 'Extracts from the Garrick Plays,' "Dryden produced his admirable version of the same story from Boccaccio. The speech here extracted (the scene between the messengers and Gismunda) may be compared with the corresponding pa.s.sage in the 'Sigismunda and Guiscardo' with no disadvantage to the older performance. It is quite as weighty, as pointed, and as pa.s.sionate."

To the Right Wors.h.i.+pful and Virtuous Ladies, the Lady MARY PETER and the Lady ANNE GRAY, long health of body, with quiet of mind, in the favour of G.o.d and men for ever.

It is most certain (right virtuous and wors.h.i.+pful) that of all human learning, poetry (how contemptible soever it is in these days) is the most ancient; and, in poetry, there is no argument of more antiquity and elegancy than is the matter of love; for it seems to be as old as the world, and to bear date from the first time that man and woman was: therefore in this, as in the finest metal, the freshest wits have in all ages shown their best workmans.h.i.+p. So amongst others these gentlemen, which with what sweetness of voice and liveliness of action they then expressed it, they which were of her Majesty's right Honourable maidens can testify.

Which being a discourse of two lovers, perhaps it may seem a thing neither fit to be offered unto your ladys.h.i.+ps, nor worthy me to busy myself withal: yet can I tell you, madames, it differeth so far from the ordinary amorous discourses of our days, as the manners of our time do from the modesty and innocency of that age.

And now for that weary winter is come upon us, which bringeth with him drooping days and tedious nights, if it be true, that the motions of our minds follow the temperature of the air wherein we live, then I think the perusing of some mournful matter, tending to the view of a notable example, will refresh your wits in a gloomy day, and ease your weariness of the louring night. Which if it please you, may serve ye also for a solemn revel against this festival time, for _Gismund's_ b.l.o.o.d.y shadow, with a little cost, may be entreated in her self-like person to speak to ye.

Having therefore a desire to be known to your W., I devised this way with myself to procure the same, persuading myself, there is nothing more welcome to your wisdoms than the knowledge of wise, grave, and worthy matters, tending to the good instructions of youths, of whom you are mothers.

In this respect, therefore, I shall humbly desire ye to bestow a favourable countenance upon this little labour, which when ye have graced it withal, I must and will acknowledge myself greatly indebted unto your ladys.h.i.+ps in this behalf: neither shall I amongst the rest, that admire your rare virtues (which are not a few in Ess.e.x), cease to commend this undeserved gentleness.

Thus desiring the king of heaven to increase his graces in ye both, granting that your ends may be as honourable as your lives are virtuous, I leave with a vain babble of many needless words to trouble you longer.

Your Wors.h.i.+ps' most dutiful and humble Orator, ROBERT WILMOT.

TO HIS FRIEND R.W.

Master R.W., look not now for the terms of an intreater: I will beg no longer; and for your promises, I will refuse them as bad payment: neither can I be satisfied with anything but a peremptory performance of an old intention of yours, the publis.h.i.+ng I mean of those waste papers (as it pleaseth you to call them, but, as I esteem them, a most exquisite invention) of Gismund's tragedy. Think not to s.h.i.+ft me off with longer delays, nor allege more excuses to get further respite, lest I arrest you with my _actum est_, and commence such a suit of unkindness against you, as when the case shall be scann'd before the judges of courtesy, the court will cry out of your immoderate modesty. And thus much I tell you before: you shall not be able to wage against me in the charges growing upon this action, especially if the wors.h.i.+pful company of the Inner-Temple gentlemen patronise my cause, as undoubtedly they will, yea, and rather plead partially for me, than let my cause miscarry, because themselves are parties. The tragedy was by them most pithily framed, and no less curiously acted in view of her Majesty, by whom it was then as princely accepted, as of the whole honourable audience notably applauded: yea, and of all men generally desired, as a work, either in stateliness of show, depth of conceit, or true ornaments of poetical art, inferior to none of the best in that kind: no, were the Roman Seneca the censurer. The brave youths that then (to their high praises) so feelingly performed the same in action, did shortly after lay up the book unregarded, or perhaps let it run abroad (as many parents do their children once past dandling) not respecting so much what hard fortune might befall it being out of their fingers, as how their heroical wits might again be quickly conceived have been ever since wonderful fertile. But this orphan of theirs (for he wand'reth as it were fatherless) hath notwithstanding, by the rare and beautiful perfections appearing in him, hitherto never wanted great favourers and loving preservers. Among whom I cannot sufficiently commend your charitable zeal and scholarly compa.s.sion towards him, that have not only rescued and defended him from the devouring jaws of oblivion, but vouchsafed also to apparel him in a new suit at your own charges, wherein he may again more boldly come abroad, and by your permission return to his old parents, clothed perhaps not in richer or more costly furniture than it went from them, but in handsomeness and fas.h.i.+on more answerable to these times, wherein fas.h.i.+ons are so often altered. Let one word suffice for your encouragement herein; namely, that your commendable pains in disrobing him of his antique curiosity, and adorning him with the approved guise of our stateliest English terms (not diminis.h.i.+ng, but more augmenting his artificial colours of absolute poesy, derived from his first parents) cannot but be grateful to most men's appet.i.tes, who upon our experience we know highly to esteem such lofty measures of sententiously composed tragedies.

How much you shall make me and the rest of your private friends beholden to you, I list not to discourse: and therefore grounding upon these alleged reasons; that the suppressing of this tragedy, so worthy for the press, were no other thing than wilfully to defraud yourself of an universal thank, your friends of their expectations, and sweet Gismund of a famous eternity, I will cease to doubt of any other pretence to cloak your bashfulness, hoping to read it in print (which lately lay neglected amongst your papers) at our next appointed meeting.

I bid you heartily farewell. From Pyrgo in Ess.e.x, August the eighth, 1591.

_Tuus fide & facultate_

GUIL. WEBBE.[3]

To the Wors.h.i.+pful and Learned Society, the GENTLEMEN STUDENTS of the Inner Temple, with the rest of his singular good Friends, the GENTLEMEN of the Middle Temple, and to all other courteous Readers, R.W. wisheth increase of all health, wors.h.i.+p, and learning, with the immortal glory of the graces adorning the same.

Ye may perceive (right Wors.h.i.+pful) in perusing the former epistle sent to me, how sore I am beset with the importunities of my friends to publish this pamphlet: truly I am and have been (if there be in me any soundness of judgment) of this opinion, that whatsoever is committed to the press is commended to eternity, and it shall stand a lively witness with our conscience, to our comfort or confusion, in the reckoning of that great day.

Advisedly, therefore, was that proverb used of our elder philosophers, _Manum a tabula_: withhold thy hand from the paper, and thy papers from the print or light of the world: for a lewd word escaped is irrevocable, but a bad or base discourse published in print is intolerable.

Hereupon I have endured some conflicts between reason and judgment, whether it were convenient for the commonwealth, with the _indecorum_ of my calling (as some think it) that the memory of Tancred's tragedy should be again by my means revived, which the oftener I read over, and the more I considered thereon, the sooner I was won to consent thereunto: calling to mind that neither the thrice reverend and learned father, M. Beza, was ashamed in his younger years to send abroad, in his own name, his tragedy of "Abraham,"[4] nor that rare Scot (the scholar of our age) Buchanan, his most pathetical Jephtha.