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And like as to open it I was to you faithful,
So of Dame Custance honest truth I am joyful.
For, God forfend that I should hurt her by false
report.

G. Good. Well, I will no longer hold her in discomfort.

C. Custance. Now come they hitherward: I trust all shall be well.

G. Good. Sweet Custance, neither heart can think, nor tongue tell,

How much I joy in your constant fidelity.
Come now, kiss me, the pearl of perfect honesty.
C. Custance. God let me no longer to continue
in life,

Than I shall towards you continue a true wife.

In the last scene Ralph is badgered, and at last pardoned, and allowed to take part in the general merrymaking.

Our last example of the early regular English drama, is Thomas Sackville's (Lord Buckhurst) Ferrex and Porrex, the oldest extant tragedy.

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Vid. Even to Porrex, his younger son; Whose growing pride I do so sore suspect, That, being rais'd to equal rule with thee,

Vid. The silent night that brings the quiet Methinks I see his envious heart to swell,
pause,

From painful travails of the weary day,
Prolongs my careful thoughts, and makes me

blame

The slow Aurore, that so for love or shame
Doth long delay to show her blushing face;
And now the day renews my grieful plaint.
Fer. My gracious lady, and my mother dear,
Pardon my grief for your so grieved mind
To ask what cause tormenteth so your heart.

Vid. So great a wrong, and so unjust despite, Without all cause against all course of kind!1 Fer. Such causeless wrong, and so unjust despite,

May have redress, or, at the least, revenge. Vid. Neither, my son; such is the froward will,

The person such, such my mishap and thine. Fer. Mine! know I none, but grief for your distress.

Vid. Yes; mine for thine, my son. A father? No:

In kind a father, not in kindliness.

Fer. My father? why, I know nothing at all, Wherein I have misdone unto his grace. Vid. Therefore, the more unkind to thee and

me.

For, knowing well, my son, the tender love
That I have ever borne, and bear to thee,
He, grieved thereat, is not content alone
To spoil thee of my sight, my chiefest joy,
But thee, of thy birthright and heritage,
Causeless, unkindly, and in wrongful wise,
Against all law and right, he will bereave:
Half of his kingdom he will give away.
Fer. To whom?

1 kind-nature.

Fill'd with disdain and with ambitious hope. Fer. Madam, leave care and careful plaint for me.

Just hath my father been to every wight:
His first injustice he will not extend

To me, I trust, that give no cause thereof;
My brother's pride shall hurt himself, not me.
Vid. So grant the gods! But yet, thy father

SO

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The second act is occupied with long speeches from Gorboduc, Arostus, Philander, and Eubulus, concerning the king's proposed division of the kingdom between his two sons. Gorboduc concludes thus:

Gor. I take your faithful hearts in thankful part:

But since I see no cause to draw my mind,
To fear the nature of my loving sons,
Or to misdeem that envy or disdain

Can there work hate, where nature planteth love;

In one self purpose do I still abide.
My love extendeth equally to both,
My land sufficeth for them both also.
Humber shall part the marches of their realms:
The southern part the elder shall possess,
The northern shall Porrex, the younger, rule.
In quiet I will pass mine aged days,
Free from the travail, and the painful cares,
That hasten age upon the worthiest kings.
But lest the fraud, that ye do seem to fear,
Of flattering tongues, corrupt their tender youth,
And writhe them to the ways of youthful lust,
To climbing pride, or to revenging hate,
Or to neglecting of their careful charge,
Lewdly to live in wanton recklessness,
Or to oppressing of the rightful cause,
Or not to wreak the wrongs done to the poor,
To tread down truth, or favour false deceit;
I mean to join to either of my sons
Some one of those, whose long approved faith
And wisdom tried, may well assure my heart,
That mining fraud shall find no way to creep
Into their fenced ears with grave advice.
This is the end; and so I pray you all
To bear my sons the love and loyalty
That I have found within your faithful breasts.
[Exeunt.

ACT II-SCENE I.

FERREX; HERMON; DORDAN.

Fer. I marvel much what reason led the king, My father, thus, without all my desert, To reave me half the kingdom, which by course Of law and nature should remain to me.

Her. If you with stubborn and untamed pride
Had stood against him in rebelling wise;
Or if, with grudging mind, you had envied
So slow a sliding of his aged years;

Or sought before your time to haste the course
Of fatal death upon his royal head;
Or stain'd your stock with murder of your kin;
Some face of reason might perhaps have seem'd
To yield some likely cause to spoil ye thus.

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Dor. Ne yet your father, O most noble prince,

Did ever think so foul a thing of you!
For he, with more than father's tender love,
While yet the fates do lend him life to rule
(Who long might live to see your ruling well),

Hermon, in a long insidious speech,

Attempt redress by arms, and wreak yourself
Upon his life that gaineth by your loss,
Who now to shame of you, and grief of us,
In your own kingdom triumphs over you.
But if you like not yet so hot device,

1 reave-bereave of.

To you, my lord, and to his other son,
Lo, he resigns his realm and royalty;
Which never would so wise a prince have done,
If he had once misdeem'd that in your heart
There ever lodged so unkind a thought.
But tender love, my lord, and settled trust
Of your good nature, and your noble mind,
Made him to place you thus in royal throne,
And now to give you half his realm to guide;
Yea, and that half which, in abounding store
Of things that serve to make a wealthy realm,
In stately cities, and in fruitful soil,
In temperate breathing of the milder heaven,
In things of needful use, which friendly sea
Transports by traffic from the foreign parts,
In flowing wealth, in honour, and in force,
Doth pass the double value of the part
That Porrex hath allotted to his reign.
Such is your case, such is your father's love.
Fer. Ah love, my friends! Love wrongs not
whom he loves.

Dor. Ne yet he wrongeth you, that giveth

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Fer. Is this no wrong, say you, to reave from me

My native right of half so great a realm,
And thus to match his younger son with me
In equal pow'r, and in as great degree?
Yea, and what son? The son whose swelling
pride

Would never yield one point of reverence,
When I, the elder, and apparent heir,

Stood in the likelihood to possess the whole;
Yea, and that son which from his childish age
Envieth mine honour, and doth hate my life,
What will he now do, when his pride, his rage,
The mindful malice of his grudging heart
Is arm'd with force, with wealth, and kingly

state?

Dor. Alas, my lord, what grieful thing is this,

That of your brother you can think so ill?
I never saw him utter likely sign,
Whereby a man might see or once misdeem
Such hate of you, nor such unyielding pride.
Ill is their counsel, shameful be their end,
That raising such mistrustful fear in you,
Sowing the seed of such unkindly hate,
Travail by reason to destroy you both.
Wise is your brother, and of noble hope,
Worthy to wield a large and mighty realm.
So much a stronger friend have you thereby,
Whose strength is your strength if you 'gree in

one.

advises Ferrex to

Ne list to take such vantage of the time,
But, though with peril of your own estate,
You will not be the first that shall invade;
Assemble yet your force for your defence,
And for your safety stand upon your guard.
Dor. O heaven! was there ever heard or
known

So wicked counsel to a noble prince?
Let me, my lord, disclose unto your grace

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Think ye it safety to return again?

In mischiefs, such as Ferrex now intends,
The wonted courteous laws to messengers
Are not observ'd, which in just war they use.
Shall I so hazard any one of mine?
Shall I betray my trusty friends to him,
That have disclosed his treason unto me?
Let him entreat that fears; I fear him not.
Or shall I to the king, my father, send?
Yea, and send now, while such a mother lives,
That loves my brother, and that hateth me?
Shall I give leisure, by my fond delays,
To Ferrex to oppress me all unaware?
I will not; but I will invade his realm,
And seek the traitor prince within his court.
Mischief for mischief is a due reward.
His wretched head shall pay the worthy price
Of this his treason and his hate to me.
Shall I abide, and treat, and send, and pray,
And hold my yielding throat to traitor's knife,
While I, with valiant mind and conquering
force,

Might rid myself of foes, and win a realm?
Yet rather, when I have the wretch's head,
Then to the king, my father, will I send.
The bootless case may yet appease his wrath:
If not, I will defend me as I may.

[Exeunt PORREX and TYNDAR. Phil. Lo, here the end of these two youthful

kings!

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Flowing with blood of Trojan princes slain, Nor Phrygian fields made rank with corpses dead

Of Asian kings and lords, can yet appease;
Nor slaughter of unhappy Priam's race,
Nor Ilion's fall, made level with the soil,
Can yet suffice: but still continued rage
Pursues our lives, and from the farthest seas
Doth chase the issues of destroyed Troy.
'Oh, no man happy till his end be seen.'
If any flowing wealth and seeming joy
In present years might make a happy wight,
Happy was Hecuba, the wofull'st wretch
That ever lived to make a mirror of;
And happy Priam, with his noble sons;
And happy I, till now, alas! I see
And feel my most unhappy wretchedness.
Behold, my lords, read ye this letter here;
Lo, it contains the ruin of our realm,
If timely speed provide not hasty help.

A letter is read from Eubulus making known the resolution taken by Ferrex, immediately after which Philander enters and announces that Porrex

In haste prepareth to invade

His brother's land, and with unkindly war
Threatens the murder of your eldest son.

After some tedious speechifying, a messenger enters and tells the king,

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Why should I live, and linger forth my time
In longer life to double my distress?

But whereunto waste I this ruthful speech,
To thee that hast thy brother's blood thus
shed?

Shall I still think that from this womb thou sprung?

That I thee bare? or take thee for my son?
No, traitor, no; I thee refuse for mine:
Murderer, I thee renounce; thou art not mine.
Never, O wretch, this womb conceived thee;
Nor never bode I painful throes for thee.
Changeling to me thou art, and not my child,
Nor to no wight that spark of pity knew.
Ruthless, unkind, monster of nature's work,
Thou never suck'd the milk of woman's breast;
But, from thy birth, the cruel tiger's teats
Have nursed thee; nor yet of flesh and blood
Form'd is thy heart, but of hard iron wrought;
And wild and desert woods breed thee to life.
But canst thou hope to 'scape my just revenge?
Or that these hands will not be wroke' on thee?
Dost thou not know that Ferrex' mother lives,
That loved him more dearly than herself?
And doth she live, and is not 'venged on thee?

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Aros. Lo, where he comes, and Eubulus with him.

Enter IrBULUS and PORREX.

Eub. According to your highness's hest to me, Here have I Porrex brought, even in such sort As from his wearied horse he did alight, For that your grace did will such haste therein. Gor. We like and praise this speedy will in you,

To work the thing that to your charge we gave.

Porrex, we so far should swerve from kind, And from those bounds which law of nature sets,

As thou hast done by vile and wretched deed, In cruel murder of thy brother's life;

Our present hand could stay no longer time, But straight should bathe this blade in blood of thee,

As just revenge of thy detested crime.
No; we should not offend the law of kind,
If now this sword of ours did slay thee here:
For thou hast murder'd him, whose heinous
death

Even nature's force doth move us to revenge
By blood again; and justice forceth us
To measure death for death, thy due desert.
Yet since thou art our child, and since as yet
In this hard case what word thou canst allege
For thy defence, by us hath not been heard,
We are content to stay our will for that
Which justice bids us presently to work,
And give thee leave to use thy speech at full,
If ought thou have to lay for thine excuse.

Porrex then, in a long speech, endeavours to exculpate himself by urging that what he had done was purely in self-defence.

Gor. Oh cruel wight, should any cause prevail To make thee stain thy hands with brother's blood?

But what of thee we will resolve to do
Shall yet remain unknown. Thou in the mean
Shalt from our royal presence banish'd be,
Until our princely pleasure further shall
To thee be show'd. Depart therefore our sight,
Accursed child! [Exit PORREX.] What cruel
destiny,

What froward fate hath sorted 2 us this chance, That even in those, where we should comfort find,

Where our delight now in our aged days
Should rest and be, even there our only grief
And deepest sorrows to abridge our life,
Most pining cares and deadly thoughts do grow.
Aros. Your grace shall now, in these grave
years of yours,

Have found ere this the price of mortal joys;
How short they be, how fading here in earth,
How full of change, how brittle our estate,
Of nothing sure, save only of the death,

To whom both man and all the world doth owe
Their end at last; neither shall nature's power
In other sort against your heart prevail,

1 wroke-wreak'd, revenged.

Than as the naked hand whose stroke essays
The armed breast where force doth light in vain.
Gor. Many can yield right sage and grave
advice

Of patient spirit to others wrapp'd in woe,
And can in speech both rule and conquer kind;
Who, if by proof they might feel nature's force,
Would show themselves men as they are indeed,
Which now will needs be gods. But what doth

mean

The sorry cheer of her that here doth come?

Enter MARCELLA.

Mar. Oh where is ruth? or where is pity now? Whither is gentle heart and mercy fled? Are they exil'd out of our stony breasts, Never to make return? is all the world. Drowned in blood, and sunk in cruelty? If not in women mercy may be found, If not, alas, within the mother's breast, To her own child, to her own flesh and blood; If ruth be banish'd thence, if pity there May have no place, if there no gentle heart Do live and dwell, where should we seek it then? Gor. Madam, alas, what means your woful tale?

2 sorted-allotted.

Ivi

ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF THE BRITISH DRAMA.

Mar. O silly woman I! why to this hour
Have kind and fortune thus deferr'd my breath,
That I should live to see this doleful day?
Will ever wight believe that such hard heart
Could rest within the cruel mother's breast,
With her own hand to slay her only son?
But out, alas! these eyes beheld the same:
They saw the dreary sight, and are become
Most ruthful records of the bloody fact.
Porrex, alas, is by his mother slain,
And with her hand, a woful thing to tell,
While slumbering on his careful bed he rests,
His heart stabb'd in with knife is reft of life.
Gor. O Eubulus, oh draw this sword of ours,
And pierce this heart with speed! O hateful
light,

O loathsome life, O sweet and welcome death!
Dear Eubulus, work this we thee beseech!
Eub. Patience, your grace; perhaps he liveth
yet,

With wound receiv'd, but not of certain death.
Gor. Oh let us then repair unto the place,
And see if Porrex live, or thus be slain.

[Exeunt GORBODUC and EUBULUS. Mar. Alas, he liveth not! it is too true, That with these eyes, of him a peerless prince, Son to a king, and in the flower of youth, Even with a twink a senseless stock I saw. Aros. Oh damned deed!

Mar. But hear this ruthful end:
The noble prince, pierc'd with the sudden wound,
Out of his wretched slumber hastily start,
Whose strength now failing straight he over-
threw,

When in the fall his eyes, e'en new unclos'd,
Beheld the queen, and cried to her for help.
We then, alas, the ladies which that time
Did there attend, seeing that heinous deed,
And hearing him oft call the wretched name
Of mother, and to cry to her for aid,
Whose direful hand gave him the mortal wound,
Pitying, alas (for nought else could we do),
His ruthful end, ran to the woful bed,
Dispoiled straight his breast, and all we might
Wiped in vain, with napkins next at hand,
The sudden streams of blood that flushed fast
Out of the gaping wound. Oh what a look!
Oh what a ruthful steadfast eye methought
He fixed upon my face, which to my death
Will never part from me, when with a braid'
A deep-fetched sigh he gave, and therewithal
Clasping his hands, to heaven he cast his sight,

And straight pale death pressing within his face, The flying ghost his mortal corpse forsook!

Aros. Never did age bring forth so vile a fact. Mar. Oh hard and cruel hap, that thus assigned

Unto so worthy a wight so wretched end;
But most hard cruel heart, that could consent
To lend the hateful destinies that hand,
By which, alas, so heinous crime was wrought.
O queen of adamant, O marble breast,
If not the favour of his comely face,
If not his princely cheer and countenance,
His valiant active arms, his manly breast,
If not his fair and seemly personage,
His noble limbs in such proportion cast
As would have wrapt a silly woman's thought;
If this might not have moved thy bloody heart,
And that most cruel hand the wretched weapon
Even to let fall, and kissed him in the face,
With tears for ruth to reave such one by death;
Should nature yet consent to slay her son?
Oh mother, thou to murder thus thy child!
Ah, noble prince, how oft have I beheld
Thee mounted on thy fierce and trampling steed,
Shining in armour bright before the tilt,
And with thy mistress' sleeve tied on thy helm,
And charge thy staff to please thy lady's eye,
That bowed the headpiece of thy friendly foe!
How oft in arms on horse to bend the mace,
How oft in arms on foot to break the sword,
Which never now these eyes may see again!

...

Aros. Madam, alas, in vain these plaints are shed;

Rather with me depart, and help to swage
The thoughtful griefs that in the aged king
Must needs by nature grow by death of this
His only son, whom he did hold so dear.

Mar. What wight is that which saw that I did see,

And could refrain to wail with plaint and tears?

Not I, alas, that heart is not in me:
But let us go, for I am grieved anew,
To call to mind the wretched father's woe.

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The fifth act concludes with the following couplet, Tennysonian in style and sentiment:

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