A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Vii Part 9

If birds or beasts had eaten up his corpse, Yea, heart and all within this cup I bring, And am constrained now unto the face Of his dear lady to present the same.

CHORUS. What kind of cruelty is this you name?

Declare forthwith, and whereunto doth tend This farther plaint.

RENUCHIO. After his breath was gone, Forced perforce thus from his panting breast, Straight they despoiled him; and not alone Contented with his death, on the dead corpse, Which ravenous beasts forbear to lacerate, Even upon this our villains fresh begun To show new cruelty; forthwith they pierce His naked belly, and unripp'd it so, That out the bowels gush'd. Who can rehea.r.s.e Their tyranny, wherewith my heart yet bleeds?

The warm entrails were torn out of his breast, Within their hands trembling, not fully dead; His veins smok'd, his bowels all-to reeked, Ruthless were rent, and thrown about the place: All clottered lay the blood in lumps of gore, Sprent[80] on his corpse, and on his paled face; His trembling heart, yet leaping, out they tore, And cruelly upon a rapier They fix'd the same, and in this hateful wise Unto the king this heart they do present: A sight long'd for to feed his ireful eyes.

The king perceiving each thing to be wrought As he had will'd, rejoicing to behold Upon the b.l.o.o.d.y sword the pierced heart, He calls then for this ma.s.sy cup of gold, Into the which the woful heart he cast; And reaching me the same: now go, quoth he, Unto my daughter, and with speedy haste Present her this, and say to her from me, Thy father hath here in this cup thee sent That thing to joy and comfort thee withal, Which thou lovedst best, even as thou wert content To comfort him with his chief joy of all.

CHORUS. O hateful fact! O pa.s.sing cruelty!

O murder wrought with too much hard despite!

O heinous deed, which no posterity Will once believe!

RENUCHIO. Thus was Earl Palurin Strangled unto the death, yea, after death His heart and blood disbowell'd from his breast.

But what availeth plaint? It is but breath Forewasted all in vain. Why do I rest Here in this place? Why go I not, and do The hateful message to my charge committed?

O, were it not that I am forced thereto By a king's will, here would I stay my feet, Ne one whit farther wade in this intent!

But I must yield me to my prince's hest; Yet doth this somewhat comfort mine unrest, I am resolv'd her grief not to behold, But get me gone, my message being told.

Where is the princess' chamber?

CHORUS. Lo, where she comes.

ACT V., SCENE 2.

GISMUND _cometh out of her chamber, to whom_ RENUCHIO _delivereth his cup, saying_:

RENUCHIO. Thy father, O queen, here in this cup hath sent The thing to joy and comfort thee withal Which thou lovedst best, even as thou wast content To comfort him with his chief joy of all.

GISMUNDA. I thank my father, and thee, gentle squire, For this thy travail; take thou, for thy pains, This bracelet, and commend me to the king. [RENUCHIO _departeth_.

So, now is come the long-expected hour, The fatal hour I have so looked for; Now hath my father satisfied his thirst With guiltless blood, which he so coveted.

What brings this cup? Ah me! I thought no less, It is mine Earl's, my County's pierced heart.

Dear heart, too dearly hast thou bought my love; Extremely rated at too high a price!

Ah, my sweet heart, sweet wast thou in thy life, But in thy death thou provest pa.s.sing sweet.

A fitter hea.r.s.e than this of beaten gold Could not be 'lotted to so good an heart: My father therefore well provided thus To close and wrap thee up in ma.s.sy gold, And therewithal to send thee unto me, To whom of duty thou dost best belong.

My father hath in all his life bewray'd A princely care and tender love to me; But this surpa.s.seth--in his later days To send me this, mine own dear heart, to me.

Wert thou not mine, dear heart, whilst that my love Danced and play'd upon thy golden strings?

Art thou not mine, dear heart, now that my love Is fled to heaven, and got him golden wings?

Thou art mine own, and still mine own shalt be, Therefore my father sendeth thee to me.

Ah, pleasant harborough[81] of my heart's thought!

Ah, sweet delight, the quickener of my soul!

Seven times accursed be the hand that wrought Thee this despite, to mangle thee so foul: Yet in this wound I see mine own true love, And in this wound thy magnanimity, And in this wound I see thy constancy.

Go, gentle heart, go rest thee in thy tomb, Receive this token at thy last farewell. [_She kisseth it_.

Thine own true heart anon will follow thee, Which panting l.u.s.teth[82] for thy company.

Thus hast thou run, poor heart! thy mortal race, And rid thy life from fickle fortune's snares; Thus hast thou lost this world and worldly cares, And of thy foe, to honour thee withal, Receiv'd a golden grave to thy desert.

Nothing doth want to thy just funeral, But my salt tears to wash thy b.l.o.o.d.y wound: Which to the end thou might'st receive, behold My father sends thee in this cup of gold; And thou shalt have them, though I was resolv'd To shed no tears, but with a cheerful face Once did I think to wet thy funeral Only with blood and with no weeping eye.

This done, forthwith my soul shall fly to thee; For therefore did my father send thee me.

Ah, my pure heart! with sweeter company Or more content, how safer may I prove To pa.s.s to places all unknown with thee!

Why die I not therefore? why do I stay?

Why do I not this woful life forego, And with these hands enforce this breath away?

What means this gorgeous glittering head-attire?

How ill beseem these billaments[83] of gold Thy mournful widowhood? away with them-- [_She undresseth her hair_.

So let thy tresses, flaring in the wind, Untrimmed hang about thy bared neck.

Now, h.e.l.lish furies, set my heart on fire, Bolden my courage, strengthen ye my hands, Against their kind, to do a kindly deed.

But shall I then unwreaken[84] down descend?

Shall I not work some just revenge on him That thus hath slain my love? shall not these hands Fire his gates, and make the flame to climb Up to the pinnacles with burning brands, And on his cinders wreak my cruel teen[85]?

Be still, fond girl; content thee first to die, This venom'd water shall abridge thy life: [_She taketh a vial of poison out of her pocket_.

This for the same intent provided I, Which can both ease and end this raging strife.

Thy father by thy death shall have more woe, Than fire or flames within his gates can bring: Content thee then in patience hence to go, Thy death his blood shall wreak upon the king.

Now not alone (a grief to die alone) "The only mirror of extreme annoy;"

But not alone thou diest, my love, for I Will be copartner of thy destiny.

Be merry then, my soul; can'st thou refuse To die with him, that death for thee did choose?

CHORUS 1. What d.a.m.ned fury hath possessed our Queen?

Why sit we still beholding her distress?

Madam, forbear, suppress this headstrong rage.

GISMUNDA. Maidens, forbear your comfortable words.

CHORUS 2. O worthy Queen, rashness doth overthrow The author of his resolution.

GISMUNDA. Where hope of help is lost, what booteth fear?

CHORUS 3. Fear will avoid the sting of infamy.

GISMUNDA. May good or bad reports delight the dead?

CHORUS 4. If of the living yet the dead have care.

GISMUNDA. An easy grief by counsel may be cur'd.

CHORUS 1. But headstrong mischiefs princes should avoid.

GISMUNDA. In headlong griefs and cases desperate?

CHORUS 2. Call to your mind, Gismund, you are the Queen.

GISMUNDA. Unhappy widow, wife, and paramour.

CHORUS 3. Think on the king.

GISMUNDA. The king, the tyrant king?

CHORUS 4. Your father.

GISMUNDA. Yes, the murtherer of my love.

CHORUS 4. His force.