Act V

SCENE I. The Forest

Enter Mucedorus solus.

MUCEDORUS. Unknown to any here within these woods, With bloody Bremo do I lead my life. The monster! he doth murther all he meets; He spareth none, and none doth him escape. Who would continue—who, but only I— In such a cruel cut-throat’s company? Yet Amadine is there, how can I choose? Ah, silly soul! how oftentimes she sits And sighs, and calls: Come, shepherd, come, Sweet Mucedorus, come and set me free, When Mucedorus present stands her by! But here she comes.

Enter Amadine.

What news, fair lady, as you walk these woods?

AMADINE. Ah, hermit! none but bad and such as thou know’st.

MUCEDORUS. How do you like your Bremo and his woods?

AMADINE. Oh, not my Bremo, nor my Bremo’s woods.

MUCEDORUS. And why not yours? Methinks he loves you well.

AMADINE. I like him not, his love to me is nothing worth.

MUCEDORUS. Lady, in this, methinks, you offer wrong, To hate the man that ever loves you best.

AMADINE. Hermit, I take no pleasure in his love, Neither doth Bremo like me best.

MUCEDORUS. Pardon my boldness, fair lady, sith we both May safely talk now out of Bremo’s sight, Unfold to me, if so you please, the full discourse How, when, and why you came into these woods, And fell into this bloody butcher’s hands.

AMADINE. Hermit, I will; Of late a worthy shepherd I did love—

MUCEDORUS. A shepherd, lady? Sure, a man unfit To match with you!

AMADINE. Ay, hermit, this is true, And when we had—

MUCEDORUS. Stay there, the wild man comes; Defer the rest until another time.

Enter Bremo.

BREMO. What secret tale is this? What whispering have we here? Villain, I charge thee tell thy tale again.

MUCEDORUS. If needs I must, lo! here it is again: Whenas we both had lost the sight of thee, It griev’d us both, but specially thy queen, Who in thy absence ever fears the worst, Lest some mischance befall your royal grace. Shall my sweet Bremo wander through the woods, Toil to and fro for to redress my wants, Hazard his life and all to cherish me? I like not this, quoth she, And thereupon crav’d to know of me, If I could teach her handle weapons well. My answer was, I had small skill therein, But glad, most mighty king, to learn of thee. And this was all.

BREMO. Was ’t so? None can dislike of this. I’ll teach You both to fight; but first, my queen, begin: Here, take this weapon; see how thou canst use it.

AMADINE. This is too big, I cannot wield it in my arm.

BREMO. Is’t so? We’ll have a knotty crabtree-staff For thee. [To Mucedorus.] But, sirrah, tell me, what say’st thou?

MUCEDORUS. With all my heart I willing am to learn.

BREMO. Then take my staff, and see how canst wield it.

MUCEDORUS. First teach me how to hold it in my hand.

BREMO. Thou holdst it well. [To Amadine.] Look how he doth, thou mayst the sooner learn.

MUCEDORUS. Next tell me how and when ’tis best to strike.

BREMO. [Aside.] ’Tis best to strike when time doth serve, ’Tis best to lose no time.

MUCEDORUS. [Aside.] Then now or never is my time to strike.

BREMO. And when thou strikest, be sure thou hit the head.

MUCEDORUS. The head?

BREMO. The very head.

MUCEDORUS. Then have at thine.

So! lie there and die; A death, no doubt, according to desert, Or else a worse, as thou deservest a worse.

AMADINE. It glads my heart, this tyrant’s death to see.

MUCEDORUS. Now, lady, it remains in you To end the tale you lately had begun, Being interrupted by this wicked wight— You said you loved a shepherd?

AMADINE. Ay, so I do, and none but only him; And will do still, as long as life shall last.

MUCEDORUS. But tell me, lady, sith I set you free, What course of life do you intend to take?

AMADINE. I will disguised wander through the world, Till I have found him out.

MUCEDORUS. How, if you find your shepherd in these woods?

AMADINE. Ah, none so happy then as Amadine.

MUCEDORUS. In tract of time a man may alter much: Say, lady, do you know your shepherd well?

AMADINE. My Mucedorus, hath he set me free?

MUCEDORUS. He hath set thee free.

AMADINE. And lived so long unknown to Amadine?

MUCEDORUS. Ay, that’s a question whereof you mayn’t be resolved. You know that I am banish’d from the court, I know likewise each passage is beset, So that we cannot long escape unknown, Therefore my will is this, that we return, Right through the thickets, to the wild man’s cave, And there a while live on’s provision, Until the search and narrow watch be past. This is my counsel, and I think it best.

AMADINE. I think the very same.

MUCEDORUS. Come, let’s be gone.

Enter the Clown, who searches, and falls over the wild Man, and so carries him away.

MOUSE. Nay, soft, sir, are you here? A bots on you! I was like to be hanged for not finding you; we would borrow a certain stray king’s-daughter of you; a wench, a wench, sir, we would have.

MUCEDORUS. A wench of me? I’ll make thee eat my sword.

MOUSE. Oh Lord, nay, an you are so lusty, I’ll call a cooling card for you. Ho, master, master, come away quickly!

Enter Segasto.

SEGASTO. What’s the matter?

MOUSE. Look, master, Amadine and the shepherd! O brave!

SEGASTO. What, minion, have I found you out?

MOUSE. Nay, that’s a lie, I found her out myself.

SEGASTO. Thou gadding huswife, What cause hadst thou to gad abroad, Whenas thou knowest our wedding-day so nigh?

AMADINE. Not so, Segasto; no such thing in hand. Show your assurance, then I’ll answer you.

SEGASTO. Thy father’s promise my assurance is.

AMADINE. But what he promised, he hath not perform’d.

SEGASTO. It rests in thee for to perform the same.

AMADINE. Not I.

SEGASTO. And why?

AMADINE. So is my will, and therefore even so.

MOUSE. Master, with a nonny, nonny, no!

SEGASTO. Ah, wicked villain! art thou here?

MUCEDORUS. What needs these words? We weigh them not.

SEGASTO. We weigh them not! proud shepherd, I scorn thy company.

MOUSE. We’ll not have a corner of thy company.

MUCEDORUS. I scorn not thee, nor yet the least of thine.

MOUSE. That’s a lie, a would have killed me with his pugsnando.

SEGASTO. This stoutness, Amadine, contents me not.

AMADINE. Then seek another, that may you better please.

MUCEDORUS. Well, Amadine, it only rests in thee Without delay to make thy choice of three: There stands Segasto, here a shepherd stands, There stands the third: now make thy choice.

MOUSE. A lord at the least I am.

AMADINE. My choice is made, for I will none but thee.

SEGASTO. A worthy mate, no doubt, for such a wife.

MUCEDORUS. And, Amadine, why wilt thou none but me? I cannot keep thee as thy father did; I have no lands for to maintain thy state, Moreover if thou mean to be my wife, Commonly this must be thy use: To bed at midnight, up at four, Drudge all the day, and trudge from place to place, Whereby our daily victuals for to win: And last of all, which is the worst of all, No princess then, but plain a shepherd’s wife.

MOUSE. [Aside.] Then God gi’ you good morrow, goody shepherd!

AMADINE. It shall not need; if Amadine do live, Thou shalt be crowned king of Aragon.

MOUSE. O master, laugh; when he’s king, then I’ll be a queen.

MUCEDORUS. Then know that which never tofore was known, I am no shepherd, no Aragonian I, But born of royal blood: My father’s of Valencia king, my mother queen; Who for thy sacred sake took this hard task in hand.

AMADINE. Ah, how I joy my fortune is so good!

SEGASTO. Well, now I see Segasto shall not speed. But, Mucedorus, I as much do joy To see thee here within our court of Aragon, As if a kingdom had befallen me this time. I with my heart surrender it to thee.

And loose what right to Amadine I have.

MOUSE. [Aside.] What, a barn’s door, and born where my father was constable? A bots on thee, how dost thou?

MUCEDORUS. Thanks, good Segasto; but yet you levell’d at the crown.

MOUSE. Master, bear this, and bear all.

SEGASTO. Why so, sir?

MOUSE. He says you take a goose by the crown.

SEGASTO. Away, go to, sir; post you to the king, Whose heart is fraught with careful doubts, Gladden him up, and tell him these good news, And we will follow, as fast as we may.

MOUSE. I go, master; I run, master.

SCENE II. Open Place near the Court of the King of Aragon

Enter the King of Aragon and Collen.

KING OF ARAGON. Break, heart, and end my pallid woes! My Amadine, the comfort of my life, How can I joy, except she were in sight? Her absence breeds sorrow to my soul And with a thunder breaks my heart in twain.

COLLEN. Forbear those passions, gentle king, And you shall see ’twill turn unto the best, And bring your soul to quiet and to joy.

KING OF ARAGON. Such joy as death, I do assure me that, And nought but death, unless of her I hear, And that with speed; I cannot sigh thus long— But what a tumult do I hear within?

COLLEN. I hear a noise of overpassing joy Within the court. My lord, be of good comfort, And here comes one in haste.

Enter the Clown running.

MOUSE. A king, a king, a king!

COLLEN. Why, how now, sirrah? What’s the matter?

MOUSE. Oh, ’tis news for a king, ’tis worth money.

COLLEN. Why, sirrah, thou shalt have silver and gold, if it be good.

MOUSE. O, ’tis good, ’tis good. Amadine—

KING OF ARAGON. Oh, what of her? Tell me, and I will make thee a knight.

MOUSE. How a sprite? No, by’r Lady, I will not be a sprite, masters. Get ye away, if I be a sprite, I shall be so lean, I shall make you all afraid.

COLLEN. Thou sot, the King means to make thee a gentleman.

MOUSE. Why, I shall want ’parel.

KING OF ARAGON. Thou shalt want for nothing.

MOUSE. Then stand away, trick up thyself, here they come.

Enter Segasto, Mucedorus, and Amadine.

AMADINE. My gratious father, pardon thy disloyal daughter.

KING OF ARAGON. What, do mine eyes behold my daughter Amadine? Rise up, dear daughter, and let these my embracing arms Show thee some token of thy father’s joy, Which e’er since thy departure, hath languished in sorrow.

AMADINE. Dear father, Ne’er were your sorrows greater than my griefs, Ne’er you so desolate, as I comfortless: Yet, ne’ertheless, acknowledging myself To be the cause of both, on bended knees, I humbly crave your pardon.

KING OF ARAGON. I’ll pardon thee, dear daughter; But as for him—

AMADINE. Ah, father! what of him?

KING OF ARAGON. As sure as I am a king, and wear the crown, I will revenge on that accursed wretch.

MUCEDORUS. Yet, worthy prince, work not thy will in wrath, Show favour—

KING OF ARAGON. Ay, such favour thou deserv’st.

MUCEDORUS. I do deserve the daughter of a king.

KING OF ARAGON. Oh, impudent! A shepherd and so insolent!

MUCEDORUS. No shepherd am I, but a worthy prince.

KING OF ARAGON. In fair conceit, not princely born.

MUCEDORUS. Yes, princely born, my father is a king, My mother queen, and of Valencia both.

KING OF ARAGON. What, Mucedorus? Welcome to our court! What cause hadst thou to come to me disguis’d?

MUCEDORUS. No cause to fear, I caused no offence, but this— Desiring thy daughter’s virtues for to see, Disguis’d myself from out my father’s court, Unknown to any, in secret I did rest, And passed many troubles near to death; So hath your daughter my partaker been, As you shall know hereafter more at large, Desiring you, you will give her to me, E’en as mine own, and sovereign of my life, Then shall I think my travels are well spent.

KING OF ARAGON. With all my heart, but this— Segasto claims my promise made tofore, That he should have her as his only wife, Before my council, when we came from war. Segasto, may I crave thee, let it pass, And give Amadine as wife to Mucedorus.

SEGASTO. With all my heart, were ’t far a greater thing; And what I may to furnish up their rites With pleasing sports and pastimes, you shall see.

KING OF ARAGON. Thanks, good Segasto; I will think of this.

MUCEDORUS. Thanks, good my lord; and while I live, Account of me in what I can or may.

AMADINE. And, good Segasto, these great courtesies Shan’t be forgot.

MOUSE. Why, hark you, master! bones, what have you done? What, given away the wench you made me take such pains for? You are wise indeed; mass, an I had known of that, I would have had her myself. Faith, master, now we may go to breakfast with a woodcock-pie.

SEGASTO. Go, sir, you were best leave this knavery.

KING OF ARAGON. Come on, my lords, let’s now to court, Where we may finish up the joyfullest day That ever happ’d to a distressed king. Were but thy father, the Valencia lord, Present in view of this combining knot.

A shout within; enter a Messenger.

What shout was that?

MESSENGER. My lord, the great Valencia king, Newly arrived, entreats your presence.

MUCEDORUS. My father?

KING OF ARAGON. Prepared a welcome; give him entertainment; A happier planet never reign’d than that Which governs at this hour.

Sound. Enter the King of Valencia, Anselmo, Rodrigo, Borachius, with others; the King runs and embraces his son.

KING OF VALENCIA. Rise honour of my age, food to my rest: Condemn not, mighty King of Aragon, My rude behaviour, so compell’d by nature, That manners stood unacknowledged.

KING OF ARAGON. What we have to recite would tedious prove By declaration; therefore in and feast. Tomorrow the performance shall explain What words conceal: till then, drums speak, bells ring, Give plausive welcomes to our brother king.

EPILOGUE

Enter Comedy and Envy.

COMEDY. How now, Envy? What, blushest thou already? Peep forth, hide not thy head with shame, But with a courage praise a woman’s deeds. Thy threats were vain, thou couldst do me no hurt, Although thou seem’dst to cross me with despite, I overwhelm’d and turned upside down thy block And made thyself to stumble at the same.

ENVY. Though stumbled, yet not overthrown, Thou canst not draw my heart to mildness, Yet must I needs confess, thou hast done well, And play’d thy part with mirth and pleasant glee. Say all this, yet canst thou not conquer me, Although this time thou’st got—yet not the conquest neither, A double revenge another time I’ll have.

COMEDY. Envy, spit thy gall; Plot, work, contrive, create new fallacies, Teem from thy womb each minute a black traitor, Whose blood and thoughts have twins conception; Study to act deeds yet unchronicled, Cast native monsters in the moulds of men; Case vicious devils under sainted rochets; Unhasp the wicked where all perjuries roost, And swarm this ball with treasons, do thy worst, Thou canst not, hell-hound, cross my star tonight, Nor blind that glory, where I wish delight.

ENVY. I can, I will.

COMEDY. Nefarious hag, begin; And let us tug, till one the mastery win.

ENVY. Comedy, thou art a shallow goose, I’ll overthrow thee in thine own intent, And make thy fall my comic merriment.

COMEDY. Thy policy wants gravity, thou art Too weak. Speak, fiend, as how?

ENVY. Why, thus. From my foul study will I hoist a wretch, A lean and hungry meager cannibal, Whose jaws swell to his eyes with chawing malice; And him I’ll make a poet.

COMEDY. What’s that to the purpose?

ENVY. This scrambling raven with his needy beard, Will I whet on to write a comedy; Wherein shall be compos’d dark sentences, Pleasing to factious brains: And every otherwhere place me a jest, Whose high abuse shall more torment than blows. Then I myself, quicker than lightning, Will fly me to a puissant magistrate, And waiting with a trencher at his back, In midst of jollity rehearse those galls, With some additions, so lately vented in your theatre: He upon this cannot but make complaint, To your great danger, or at least restraint.

COMEDY. Ha, ha, ha! I laugh to hear thy folly; This is a trap for boys, not men, nor such, Especially desertful in their doings, Whose staid discretion rules their purposes. I and my faction do eschew those vices. But see, O see, the weary sun for rest Hath lain his golden compass to the west, Where he perpetual bide and ever shine, As David’s offspring in his happy clime. Stoop, Envy, stoop, bow to the earth with me, Let’s beg our pardon on our bended knee.

ENVY. My power has lost her might, and Envy’s date’s expired, Yon splendant majesty hath ’fell’d my sting, And I amazed am.

COMEDY. Glorious and wise Arch-Cæsar on this earth, At whose appearance, Envy’s stricken dumb, And all bad things cease operation, Vouchsafe to pardon our unwilling error, So late presented to your gracious view, And we’ll endeavour with excess of pain, To please your senses in a choicer strain. Thus we commit you to the arms of night, Whose spangled darkness would, for your delight, Strive to excell the day: be blessed then, Who other wishes, let him never speak—

ENVY. Amen! To Fame and Honour we commend your rest, Live still more happy, every hour more blest.