A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition) | Page 7

the soil Who forc'd Leander with
his naked breast So many nights to cut the frothy waves, But Hero's
love, that lay inclos'd in Sest? The stoutest hearts to me shall yield them
slaves. Who could have match'd the huge Alcides'[31] strength? Great
Macedon[32] what force might have subdu'd? Wise Scipio who
overcame at length, But we, that are with greater force endu'd? Who
could have conquered the golden fleece[33] But Jason, aided by
Medea's art? Who durst have stol'n fair Helen out of Greece But I, with
love that bold'ned Paris' heart? What bond of nature, what restraint
avails[34] Against our power? I vouch to witness truth. The myrrh
tree,[35] that with shamefast tears bewails Her father's love, still
weepeth yet for ruth,[36] But now, this world not seeing in these days
Such present proofs of our all-daring[37] power, Disdains our name,

and seeketh sundry ways To scorn and scoff, and shame us every hour.
A brat, a bastard, and an idle boy: A[38] rod, a staff, a whip to beat him
out! And to be sick of love, a childish toy: These are mine honours now
the world about, My name disgrac'd to raise again therefore, And in this
age mine ancient renown By mighty acts intending to restore, Down to
the earth in wrath now am I come; And in this place such wonders shall
ye hear, As these your stubborn and disdainful hearts In melting tears
and humble yielding fear Shall soon relent by sight of others' smarts.
This princely palace will I enter in, And there inflame the fair
Gismunda so, Enraging all her secret veins within, Through fiery love
that she shall feel much woe.[39] Too-late-Repentance, thou shalt bend
my bow; Vain Hope, take out my pale, dead, heavy shaft, Thou, Fair
Resemblance, foremost forth shalt go, With Brittle Joy: myself will not
be least, But after me comes Death and deadly Pain. Thus shall ye
march, till we return again.[40] Meanwhile, sit still, and here I shall
you show Such wonders, that at last with one accord Ye shall relent,
and say that now you know Love rules the world, Love it a mighty
lord.[41]
[CUPID with his train entereth into KING TANCRED'S palace.

ACT I., SCENE 2.
GISMUNDA _in purple cometh out of her chamber, attended by four
maids that are the Chorus_.
GISMUNDA. "O vain, unsteadfast state of mortal things! Who trust
this world, leans to a brittle stay: Such fickle fruit his flattering bloom
forth brings, Ere it be ripe, it falleth to decay." The joy and bliss that
late I did possess, In weal at will, with one I loved best, Is turned now
into so deep distress, As teacheth me to know the world's unrest.[42]
For neither wit nor princely stomachs serve Against his force, that slays
without respect The noble and the wretch: ne doth reserve So much as
one for worthiness elect. Ah me, dear lord! what well of tears may
serve To feed the streams of my foredulled eyes, To weep thy death, as
thy death doth deserve, And wail thy want in full sufficing wise? Ye
lamps of heaven, and all ye heavenly powers,[43] Wherein did he
procure your high disdain? He never sought with vast huge mountain
towers To reach aloft, and over-view your reign: Or what offence of
mine was it unwares, That thus your fury should on me be thrown, To

plague a woman with such endless cares? I fear that envy hath the
heavens this shown: The sun his glorious virtues did disdain; Mars at
his manhood mightily repin'd; Yea, all the gods no longer could sustain,
Each one to be excelled in his kind. For he my lord surpass'd them
every one;[44] Such was his honour all the world throughout. But now,
my love, oh! whither art thou gone? I know thy ghost doth hover
hereabout, Expecting me, thy heart, to follow thee: And I, dear love,
would fain dissolve this strife. But stay awhile, I may perhaps foresee
Some means to be disburden'd of this life, "And to discharge the duty
of a wife,[45] Which is, not only in this life to love, But after death her
fancy not remove." Meanwhile accept of these our daily rites, Which
with my maidens I shall do to thee, Which is in songs to cheer our
dying sprites With hymns of praises of thy memory.
_Cantant.
Quae mihi cantio nondum occurrit_.[46]

ACT I, SCENE 3.
_The song ended_, TANCRED the King cometh out of his palace with
his guard.
TANCRED. Fair daughter, I have sought thee out with grief, To ease
the sorrows of thy vexed heart. How long wilt thou torment thy father
thus, Who daily dies to see thy needless tears? Such bootless plaints,
that know nor mean nor