Act 4
Act 4.
[Enter MOTTO, RAPHE bringing in ALBERDURE.]
MOTTO. So, sir, lay even down your handiwork.
RAPHE. Nay, sir, your handiwork, for you were the cause of his drowning.
MOTTO. I? I defy thee. Wer’t not thou next him when he leapt into the river?
RAPHE. O monstrous liar!
MOTTO. Lie! You peasant, go too: I’ll go tell the Duke.
RAPHE. I, sir, I’ll go with you, I warrant you. [Exeunt.]
ALBERDURE. What sudden cold is this that makes me shake,
Whose veins even now were filled with raging fire?
How am I thus all wet? What water’s this
That lies so icelike, freezing in my blood?
I think the cold of it hath cured my heat,
For I am better tempered than before.
But in what unacquainted place am I?
O where is my Hyanthe, where’s Leander?
What, all alone? Nothing but woods and streams?
I cannot guess whence these events should grow. [Enter PEASANT.]
PEASANT. O that I could lose my way for another cup, now. I was well paid for it, yfaith.
ALBERDURE. Yonder is one; I’ll enquire of him. Fellow, ho! Peasant!
PEASANT. Aye me, the mad man again, the mad man!
ALBERDURE. Say, whither fliest thou?
PEASANT. Pray, let me go, sir; I am not Hyanthe, in truth I am not, sir.
ALBERDURE. Hyanthe, villain? Wherefore namest thou her?
PEASANT. If I have any stars in my belly, pray God I starve, sir.
ALBERDURE. The wretch is mad, I think.
PEASANT. Not I, sir, but you be not mad, you are well amended, sir.
ALBERDURE. Why tellest thou me of madness?
PEASANT. You were little better then mad even now, sir, when you gave me such a twitch by the beard.
ALBERDURE. I can remember no such thing, my friend.
PEASANT. No, sir, but if you had a beard you would.
ALBERDURE. What place is this? How far am I from court?
PEASANT. Some two miles and a wee bit, sir.
ALBERDURE. I wonder much my friends have left me thus. Peasant, I pray thee change apparel with me.
PEASANT. Change apparel? Yfaith you will lose by that, sir.
ALBERDURE. I care not; come, I pray thee, let’s change.
PEASANT. With all my heart, sir, and I thank you, too. ‘Sblood y’are very moist, sir, did you sweat all this, I pray? you have not the disease, I hope?
ALBERDURE. No, I warrant thee.
PEASANT. At a venture, sir, I’ll change. Nothing venter, nothing enter.
ALBERDURE. Come, let’s be gone.
PEASANT. Back, sir, I pray. [Exeunt.]
SCENE 2.
[Enter HARDENBERGH with a GUARD, bringing in CASSIMERE, FLORES, DOCTOR, MERCHANT, CORNELIA, MOTTO, and RAPHE.]
HARDENBERGH. Thus, Flores, you apparently perceive
How vain was your ambition and what dangers,
All unexpected, fall upon your head,
Poverty, exile, guiltiness of heart,
And endless misery to you and yours.
Your goods are seized already for the Duke;
And, if Prince Alberdure be found deceased,
The least thou canst expect is banishment.
Earl Cassimere, I take your word of pledge
Of his appearance. Pages of the Prince,
Come guide me straight where his drowned body lies,
Drowns his father in eternal tears. [Exit cum servis; manet Al.]
MOTTO. Drowns him and will hang us.
MERCHANT. Good Signor Flores, I am sorry for you.
DOCTOR. Marshan, parle vu pen. Be garr, me vor grand love me beare de good Mershan, vor de grand worte, be garr, and de grand deserte me sea in you, de bravea Mershan, me no point rival; you have Cornelia alone, by my trot, ha, ha, ha!
MERCHANT. Mr. Doctor Doddie, surnamed the Amorous’de, I will overcome you in courtesy, yourself shall have her.
DOCTOR. No, by garr, Marshan: you bring de fine tings from de strange land vere de sun do rise, de jewel, de fine stuff vor de brave gown: me no point. Come, by garr, you have Cornel.
CASSIMERE. Hands off, base Doctor! She despiseth thee,
Too good for thee to touch or look upon.
FLORES. What wretched state is this, Earl Cassimere,
That I and my unhappy progeny
Stand subject to the scorns of such as these!
CASSIMERE. Grieve not, dear friends, these are but casual darts.
That wanton Fortune daily casts at those
In whose true bosoms perfect honour grows.
Now, Dodypoll, to you: you here refuse Cornelia’s marriage? You’ll none of her!
DOCTOR. Be garr, you be the prophet; not I by my trot.
CASSIMERE. Nor you, master merchant? She’s too poor for you!
MERCHANT. Not so, sir; but yet I am content to let fall my suite.
CASSIMERE. Cornelia, both dissembled they would have you; Which like you best?
CORNELIA. My lord, my fortunes are no choosers now — Nor yet accepters of discourtesies.
CASSIMERE. You must choose one here needs.
DOCTOR. By garr, no choose mee, me clime to heaven, me sinke to hell, me go here, me go dare, me no point deere, by garr.
CASSIMERE. If you will none, whose judgment are too base
To censure true desert, your betters will.
FLORES. What means Lord Cassimere by these strange words?
CASSIMERE. I mean to take Cornelia to my wife.
FLORES. Will you, then, in my misery, mock me too?
CASSIMERE. I mock my friend in misery? Heavens, scorn such!
Half my estate and half my life is thine;
The rest shall be Cornelia’s and mine.
DOCTOR. O bitter shame, be garr.
FLORES. My Lord, I know your noble love to me
And do so highly your deserts esteem
That I will never yield to such a match.
Choose you a beauteous dame of high degree
And leave Cornelia to my fate and me.
CASSIMERE. Ah, Flores, Flores, were not I assured
Both of thy nobleness, thy birth and merit,
Yet my affection vowed with friendship’s tongue,
In spite of all base changes of the world
That tread on noblest head once stooped by fortune
Should love and grace thee to my utmost power.
Cornelia is my wife: what says my love?
Cannot thy father’s friend entreat so much.
CORNELIA. My humble mind can ne’er presume
To dream in such high grace to my low seat.
CASSIMERE. My graces are not ordered in my words.
Come love, come friend; for friendship now and love
Shall both be joined in one eternal league.
FLORES. O me, yet happy in so true a friend. [Exeunt.]
DOCTOR. Est possible, by garr? De fool Earl drinke my powder, I tinke. Mershan tella me.
MERCHANT. What, master Doctor Doddie?
DOCTOR. Hab you de blue and de yellow velvet, ha?
MERCHANT. What of that, sir?
DOCTOR. Be gar, me buy too, three peece for make de Coxcombe pur the fool Earl, ha, ha, ha! [Exit.]
MERCHANT. Fortune fights low when such triumph on Earls. [Exit.]
SCENE 3.
[Enter LASSINGBERGH singing, LUCILIA following; after the song he speaks.]
LASSINGBERGH. O weary of the way and of my life,
Where shall I rest my sorrow-tired limbs!
LUCILIA. Rest in my bosom, rest you here, my lord;
A place securer you can nowhere find.
LASSINGBERGH. Nor more unfit for my displeased mind.
A heavy slumber calls me to the earth; Here will I sleep, if sleep will harbour here.
LUCILIA. Unhealthful is the melancholic earth:
O let my Lord rest on Lucilia’s lap.
I’ll help to shield you from the searching air,
And keep the cold damps from your gentle blood.
LASSINGBERGH. Pray thee, away; for, whilst thou art so near,
No sleep will seize on my suspicious eyes.
LUCILIA. Sleep then, and I am pleased far off to sit
Like to a poor and forlorn sentinel,
Watching the unthankful sleep that severs me
From my due part of rest, dear love, with thee. [She sits far off from him. Enter CONSTANTINE, and DUCHESS with a willow garland, cum aliis.]
CONSTANTINE. Now are we near the court of Saxony,
Where the duke dreams such tragical ostents.
AMBASSADOR. I wonder we, now treading on his soil,
See none of his strange apparitions.
KATHERINE. We are not worthy of such means divine,
Nor hath heaven care of our poor lives like his.
I must endure the end and show I live
Though this same plaintive wreath doth show me forsaken.
Come, let us forth.
CONSTANTINE. Stay, sister; what fair sight
Sits mourning in this desolate abode?
DUCHESS. Fair sight indeed it is, and much too fair
To sit so sad and solitary there.
CONSTANTINE. But what is he that cur-like sleeps alone?
DUCHESS. Look, is it not my nephew Lassingbergh?
AMBASSADOR. Madame, ‘tis he.
DUCHESS. I’ll sure learn more of this. —
Lady, if strangers that do wish you well
May be so bold to ask, pray what’s the cause
That you so more than strangely sit alone?
LUCILIA. Madam, thus must forsaken creatures sit
Whose merits cannot make their loves consort them.
DUCHESS. What a poor fellow in my misery!
Welcome, sweet partner, and of favour tell me,
Is this some friend of yours that slumbers here?
LUCILIA. My husband (madame) and myself his friend,
But he of late unfriendly is to me.
CONSTANTINE. Sister, let’s wake her friend.
DUCHESS. No, let him sleep;
And, gentle dame, if you will be ruled by me,
I’ll teach you how to rule your friend in love:
Nor doubt you our acquaintance, for the man
Whom you so much affect is friend to us. [She riseth.]
LUCILIA. Pardon me, Madame; now I know your grace.
DUCHESS. Then knowst thou one in fortune like thyself,
And one that tenders thy state as her own.
Come, let our nephew Lassingbergh sleep there,
And, gentle niece, come you to court with us,
If you dare mix your love’s success with mine.
I warrant you I counsel for the best.
LUCILIA. I must not leave him now (madame) alone,
Whom thus long I have followed with such care.
DUCHESS. You weary him with too much courtesy;
Leave him a little, and he’ll follow you.
LUCILIA. I know not what to do.
DUCHESS. Come, come with us.
CONSTANTINE. Dame, never fear; get you a willow wreath;
The Duchess (doubt not) can advise you well.
LUCILIA. Let’s wake him then, and let him go with us.
DUCHESS. That’s not so good; I pray be ruled by me.
LUCILIA. Sleep, then, dear love; and let sleep that doth bind
Thy sense so gently, make thee more kind. [Exeunt. Enter HANS in the Prince’s apparel, and the PEASANT.]
PEASANT. Come, sirrah, money for your gentleman’s apparel; you promised me money, sir, but I perceive you forget yourself.
HANS. True, pride makes a man forget himself; and I have quite forgot that I owe thee any.
PEASANT. But I’ll put you in mind, sir, if there be any sergeants in Saxony; I think I mean not to lose so much by you.
HANS. Why, I have lost a master and a mistress, and yet I ask thee no money for them.
PEASANT. I bought them not of you, sir; therefore pay me my money.
HANS. I will pay thee morningly every morning as long as thou livest; look in thy right shoe and thou shalt find six pence.
PEASANT. What a foul knave and fairy! Well, use thy conscience: I thank God I stand in need of no such trifles. I have another jewel here which I found in the Prince’s pocket when I changed apparel with him; that will I make money of, and go to the jeweller that bought the cup of me. Farewell: if God put in thy mind to pay me, so; if not, so. [Exit.]
HANS. O brave free-hearted slave, he has the lask of mind upon him.
LASSINGBERGH. What speech is this that interrupts my rest? Who have we here?
HANS. Sometime a serving man, and so were ye,
Both now jolly gentlemen you see.
LASSINGBERGH. What, sir, how came you thus gallant, I beseech you?
HANS. I turned the spit in Fortune’s wheel, sir.
LASSINGBERGH. But, stay, where is Lucilia?
HANS. Marry, where say you, sir?
LASSINGBERGH. Villain, look for her, call her, seek her out.
Lucilia! Where’s my love, ô where’s Lucilia!
Aye me, I fear my barbarous rudeness to her
Hath driven her to some desperate exigent.
Who would have tempted her true love so far?
The gentlest minds with injuries overcome
Grow most impatient: ô Lucilia,
Thy absence strikes a loving fear in me,
Which from what cause so ever it proceeds
Would God I had been kinder to thy love. [Enter HARDENBERGH, with a GUARD, MOTTO, RAPHE.]
HARDENBERGH. Slaves, can ye not direct us to the place?
MOTTO. Yes, sir, here’s the place we left him in.
RAPHE. O see (my lord) here’s one wears his apparel.
HARD. But where is he? Stay, sirrah, what are you
That jet thus in the garments of the Prince?
HANS. Bought and sold, sir, in the open market, sir.
Ask my master.
HARDENBERGH. Earl Lassingbergh, where is the Prince’s body?
LASSINGBERGH. Why ask you me, my Lord?
HARDENBERGH. Since you are in the place where he was drowned,
And this your hind here hath his garments on.
LASSINGBERGH. Enquire of him, then.
HARDENBERGH. I’ll enquire of you
And of your gallant, too. Guard, apprehend them
And bring them presently to court with us.
LASSINGBERGH. What means Lord Hardenbergh to entreat me thus?
HARDENBERGH. That you shall know anon: bring them away. [Exeunt.]
SCENE 4
[Enter LEANDER and HYANTHE.]
LEANDER. O, Madam, never were our tears bestowed
Of one whose death was worthier to be moaned.
Dear Alberdure, why parted I from thee,
And did not like the faithful Pylades
Attend my dear Orestes in his rage?
HYANTHE. O my sweet love, O princely Alberdure,
Would God the river where thy course lay drowned
Were double deep in me and turned to tears
That it might be consumed for swallowing thee. [Enter ALBERDURE, with a basket of apricots, disguised.]
ALBERDURE. In this disguise I’ll secretly enquire
Why I was so forsaken of my friend
And left to danger of my lunacy.
Here is the man that most I blame for this,
Whose vowed friendship promised greater care;
But he, it seems, enamoured of my love,
Was glad of that occasion, and I fear
Hath turned her womanish conceit from me.
I’ll prove them both. Master, will’t please you buy
A basket of well-riped apricots?
LEANDER. I pray thee keep thy dainties; I am full
Of bitter sorrows as my hart can hold.
ALBERDURE. It may be, Master, your fair lady will.
HYANTHE. No, friend; my stomach is more full than his.
LEANDER. Where dwellest thou, friend?
ALBERDURE. Not far from hence, my lord.
LEANDER. Then thou knowest well which was the fatal stream
Wherein the young prince Alberdure was drowned?
ALBERDURE. I know not he was drowned, but oft have seen
The piteous manner of his lunacy;
In depth whereof he still would echo forth
A lady’s name that I have often heard,
Beauteous Hyanthe; but in such sad sort
As if his frenzy felt some secret touch
Of her unkindness and inconstancy,
And when his passions somewhat were appeased,
Affording him (it seemed) some truer sense.
Of his estate, left in his fits alone
Then would he wring his hands, extremely weeping,
Exclaiming on the name of one Leander,
Calling him traitor and unworthy friend
So to forsake him in his misery.
LEANDER. Accursed I! Ô thou hast moved me more
Than if a thousand showers of venomed darts
With several pains at once had pricked my soul.
HYANTHE. O thou ordained to bear swords in thy tongue,
Dead thou hast struck me and I live no more.
ALBERDURE. It seems your honours loved him tenderly.
LEANDER. O my good friend, knewest thou how dear I loved him.
HYANTHE. Nay, knewest thou, honest friend, how dear I loved him.
ALBERDURE. I see, then, you would rejoice at his health.
LEANDER. As at my life, were it revived from death.
HYANTHE. As at my soul, were it preserved from hell.
ALBERDURE. Be then from death and hell recovered both
As I am now by your firm loves to me.
Admire me not, I am that Alberdure
Whom you thought drowned; that friend, that love am I.
LEANDER. Pardon, sweet friend.
HYANTHE. Pardon, my princely love.
ALBERDURE. Dear love, no further gratulations now
Lest I be seen and known; but, sweet Leander,
Do you conceal me in thy father’s house.
That I may now remain with my Hyanthe
And at our pleasures safely joy each other’s love.
LEANDER. I will (dear friend) and bless my happy stars
That give me means to so desired a deed.
[Finis Actus Quarti.]