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By William Shakespeare

THE PROLOGUE.

Most sacred Majesty, whose great deserts

Thy Subject England, nay, the World, admires:

Which Heaven grant still increase: O may your Praise,

Multiplying with your hours, your Fame still raise;

Embrace your Counsel; Love, with Faith, them guide,

That both, as one, bench by each other’s side.

So may your life pass on and run so even,

That your firm zeal plant you a Throne in Heaven,

Where smiling Angels shall your guardians be

From blemished Traitors, stained with Perjury:

And as the night’s inferiour to the day,

So be all earthly Regions to your sway.

Be as the Sun to Day, the Day to Night;

For, from your Beams, Europe shall borrow light.

Mirth drown your bosom, fair Delight your mind,

And may our Pastime your Contentment find.

[Exit.]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

Eight persons may easily play it.

THE KING and ROMBELO, for one.

KING VALENCIA, for one.

MUCEDORUS the prince of Valencia, for one.

ANSELMO, for one.

AMADINE the King’s daughter of Arragon, for one.

SEGASTO a Noble man, for one.

ENVY; TREMELIO a Captain; BREMO a wild

man, for one.

COMEDY, a BOY, an OLD WOMAN, ARIENA

Amadine’s maid, for one.

COLLEN a Counselor, a MESSENGER, for one.

MOUSE the Clown, for one.

INDUCTION.

[Enter Comedy joyful with a garland of bays in her hand.]

Why so! thus do I hope to please:

Music revives, and mirth is tolerable,

Comedy, play thy part and please,

Make merry them that comes to joy with thee:

Joy, then, good gentles; I hope to make you laugh.

Sound forth Bellona’s silver tuned strings.

Time fits us well, the day and place is ours.

[Enter Envy, his arms naked, besmeared with blood.]

ENVY.

Nay, stay, minion, there lies a block.

What, all on mirth! I’ll interrupt your tale

And mix your music with a tragic end.

COMEDY.

What monstrous ugly hag is this,

That dares control the pleasures of our will?

Vaunt, churlish cur, besmeared with gory blood,

That seemst to check the blossoms of delight,

And stifle the sound of sweet Bellona’s breath:

Blush, monster, blush, and post away with shame,

That seekst disturbance of a goddess’ deeds.

ENVY.

Post hence thy self, thou counterchecking trull;

I will possess this habit, spite of thee,

And gain the glory of thy wished port:

I’ll thunder music shall appall the nymphs,

And make them shiver their clattering strings:

Flying for succour to their dankish caves.

[Sound drums within and cry, ‘stab! stab!’]

Hearken, thou shalt hear a noise

Shall fill the air with a shrilling sound,

And thunder music to the gods above:

Mars shall himself breathe down

A peerless crown upon brave envy’s head,

And raise his chivall with a lasting fame.

In this brave music Envy takes delight,

Where I may see them wallow in their blood,

To spurn at arms and legs quite shivered off,

And hear the cries of many thousand slain.

How likst thou this, my trull? this sport alone for me!

COMEDY.

Vaunt, bloody cur, nurst up with tiger’s sap,

That so dost seek to quail a woman’s mind.

Comedy is mild, gentle, willing for to please,

And seeks to gain the love of all estates:

Delighting in mirth, mixt all with lovely tales,

And bringeth things with treble joy to pass.

Thou, bloody, Envious, disdainer of men’s joy,

Whose name is fraught with bloody stratagems,

Delights in nothing but in spoil and death,

Where thou maist trample in their luke warm blood,

And grasp their hearts within thy cursed paws:

Yet vail thy mind, revenge thou not on me;

A silly woman begs it at thy hands:

Give me the leave to utter out my play,

Forbear this place, I humbly crave thee: hence,

And mix not death amongst pleasing comedies,

That treats naught else but pleasure and delight.

If any spark of human rests in thee,

Forbear, be gone, tender the suite of me.

ENVY.

Why so I will; forbearance shall be such

As treble death shall cross thee with despite,

And make thee mourn where most thou joyest,

Turning thy mirth into a deadly dole,

Whirling thy pleasures with a peal of death,

And drench thy methods in a sea of blood:

This will I do, thus shall I bear with thee;

And more to vex thee with a deeper spite,

I will with threats of blood begin thy play,

Favoring thee with envy and with hate.

COMEDY.

Then, ugly monster, do thy worst,

I will defend them in despite of thee:

And though thou thinkst with tragic fumes

To brave my play unto my deep disgrace,

I force it not, I scorn what thou canst do;

I’ll grace it so, thy self shall it confess

From tragic stuff to be a pleasant comedy.

ENVY.

Why then, Comedy, send thy actors forth

And I will cross the first steps of their tread:

Making them fear the very dart of death.

COMEDY.

And I’ll defend them maugre all thy spite:

So, ugly fiend, farewell, till time shall serve,

That we may meet to parle for the best.

ENVY.

Content, Comedy; I’ll go spread my branch,

And scattered blossoms from mine envious tree

Shall prove to monsters, spoiling of their joys.

[Exit.]

ACT I.

SCENE I. Valentia. The Court.

[Sound. Enter Mucedorus and Anselmo his friend.]

MUCEDORUS.

Anselmo.

ANSELMO.

My Lord and friend.

MUCEDORUS.

True, my Anselmo, both thy Lord and friend

Whose dear affections bosom with my heart,

And keep their domination in one orb.

ANSELMO.

Whence near disloyalty shall root it forth,

But faith plant firmer in your choice respect.

MUCEDORUS.

Much blame were mine, if I should other deem,

Nor can coy Fortune contrary allow:

But, my Anselmo, loth I am to say

I must estrange that friendship—

Misconsture not, tis from the Realm, not thee:

Though Lands part Bodies, Hearts keep company.

Thou knowst that I imparted often have

Private relations with my royal Sire,

Had as concerning beautious Amadine,

Rich Aragon’s bright Jewel, whose face (some say)

That blooming Lilies never shone so gay,

Excelling, not excelled: yet least Report

Does mangle Verity, boasting of what is not,

Wing’d with Desire, thither I’ll straight repair,

And be my Fortunes, as my Thoughts are, fair.

ANSELMO.

Will you forsake Valencia, leave the Court,

Absent you from the eye of Sovereignty?

Do not, sweet Prince, adventure on that task,

Since danger lurks each where: be won from it.

MUCEDORUS.

Desist dissuasion,

My resolution brooks no battery;

Therefore, if thou retain thy wonted form,

Assist what I intend.

ANSELMO.

Your miss will breed a blemish in the Court,

And throw a frosty dew upon that Beard,

Whose front Valencia stoops to.

MUCEDORUS.

If thou my welfare tender, then no more;

Let Love’s strong magic charm thy trivial phrase,

Wasted as vainly as to gripe the Sun:

Augment not then more answers; lock thy lips,

Unless thy wisdom suite me with disguise,

According to my purpose.

ANSELMO.

That action craves no counsel,

Since what you rightly are will more command,

Than best usurped shape.

MUCEDORUS.

Thou still art opposite is disposition:

A more obscure servile habillament

Beseems this enterprise.

ANSELMO.

Than like a Florentine or Mountebank?

MUCEDORUS.

Tis much too tedious; I dislike thy judgement:

My mind is grafted on an humbler stock.

ANSELMO.

Within my Closet does there hang a Cassock,

Though base the weed is; twas a Shepherds,

Which I presented in Lord Julio’s Mask.

MUCEDORUS.

That, my Anselmo, and none else but that,

Mask Mucedorus from the vulgar view!

That habit suits my mind; fetch me that weed.

[Exit Anselmo.]

Better than Kings have not disdained that state,

And much inferiour, to obtain their mate.

[Enter Anselmo with a Shepherd’s coat.]

So!

Let our respect command thy secrecy.

At once a brief farewell:

Delay to lovers is a second hell.

[Exit Mucedorus.]

ANSELMO.

Prosperity forerun thee; Awkward chance

Never be neighbour to thy wishes’ venture:

Content and Fame advance thee; ever thrive,

And Glory thy mortality survive.

[Exit.]

SCENE II. A Forest in Arragon.

[Enter Mouse with a bottle of Hay.]

MOUSE. O horrible, terrible! Was ever poor Gentleman so scared out of his seven Senses? A Bear? nay, sure it cannot be a Bear, but some Devil in a Bear’s Doublet: for a Bear could never have had that agility to have frighted em. Well, I’ll see my Father hanged, before I’ll serve his Horse any more: Well, I’ll carry home my Bottle of Hay, and for once make my Father’s Horse turn puritan and observe Fasting days, for he gets not a bit. But soft! this way she followed me, therefore I’ll take the other Path; and because I’ll be sure to have an eye on him, I will take hands with some foolish Creditor, and make every step backward.

[As he goes backwards the Bear comes in, and he tumbles over, and runs away and leaves his bottle of Hay behind him.]

SCENE III. The same.

[Enter Segasto running and Amadine after him, being pursued by a bear.]

SEGASTO.

Oh fly, Madam, fly or else we are but dead.

AMADINE.

Help, Segasto, help! help, sweet Segasto, or else

I die.

SEGASTO.

Alas, madam, there is no way but flight;

Then haste and save your self.

[Segasto runs away.]

AMADINE.

Why then I die; ah help me in distress!

[Enter Mucedorus like a shepherd with a sword drawn and a bear’s head in his hand.]

MUCEDORUS.

Stay, Lady, stay, and be no more dismayed.

That cruel beast most merciless and fell,

Which hath bereaved thousands of their lives,

Affrighted many with his hard pursues,

Prying from place to place to find his prey,

Prolonging thus his life by others’ death,

His carcass now lies headless, void of breath.

AMADINE.

That foul deformed monster, is he dead?

MUCEDORUS.

Assure your self thereof, behold his head:

Which if it please you, Lady, to accept,

With willing heart I yield it to your majesty.

AMADINE.

Thanks, worthy shepherd, thanks a thousand times.

This gift, assure thy self, contents me more

Than greatest bounty of a mighty prince,

Although he were the monarch of the world.

MUCEDORUS.

Most gracious goddess, more than mortal wight,

Your heavenly hue of right imports no less,

Most glad am I in that it was my chance

To undertake this enterprise in hand,

Which doth so greatly glad your princely mind.

AMADINE.

No goddess, shepherd, but a mortal wight,

A mortal wight distressed as thou seest:

My father here is king of Arragon.

I Amadine his only daughter am,

And after him sole heir unto the crown.

Now, where as it is my father’s will

To marry me unto Segasto, one,

Whose wealth through father’s former usury

Is known to be no less than wonderful,

We both of custom oftentimes did use,

Leaving the court, to walk within the fields

For recreation, especially in the spring,

In that it yields great store of rare delights:

And passing further than our wonted walks,

Scarce were entered within these luckless woods,

But right before us down a steep fall hill

A monstrous ugly bear did hie him fast,

To meet us both. I faint to tell the rest,

Good shepherd, but suppose the ghastly looks,

The hideous fears, the thousand hundred woes,

Which at this instant Amadine sustained.

MUCEDORUS.

Yet, worthy princess, let thy sorrow cease,

And let this sight your former joys revive.

AMADINE.

Believe me, shepherd, so it doth no less.

MUCEDORUS.

Long may they last unto your heart’s content.

But tell me, Lady, what is become of him,

Segasto called, what is become of him?

AMADINE.

I know not, I; that know the powers divine,

But God grant this: that sweet Segasto live.

MUCEDORUS.

Yet hard hearted he in such a case,

So cowardly to save himself by flight:

And leave so brave a princess to the spoil.

AMADINE.

Well, shepherd, for thy worthy valour tried,

Endangering thy self to set me free,

Unrecompensed, sure, thou shalt not be.

In court thy courage shall be plainly known:

Throughout the Kingdom will I spread thy name,

To thy renown and never dying fame:

And that thy courage may be better known,

Bear thou the head of this most monstrous beast

In open sight to every courtiers view:

So will the king my father thee reward.

Come, let’s away, and guard me to the court.

MUCEDORUS.

With all my heart.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. Outskirts of the Forest.

[Enter Segasto solus.]

SEGASTO.

When heaps of harms to hover over head,

Tis time as then, some say, to look about,

And of ensuing harms to choose the least:

But hard, yea hapless, is that wretches chance,

Luckless his lot and caytiffe like acourste,

At whose proceedings fortune ever frowns.

My self I mean, most subject unto thrall,

For I, the more I seek to shun the worst,

The more by proof I find myself accurst:

Ere whiles assaulted with an ugly bear,

Fair Amadine in company all alone,

Forthwith by flight I thought to save my self,

Leaving my Amadine unto her shifts:

For death it was for to resist the bear,

And death no less of Amadine’s harms to hear.

Accursed I in lingering life thus long!

In living thus, each minute of an hour

Doth pierce my heart with darts of thousand deaths:

If she by flight her fury do escape,

What will she think?

Will she not say—yea, flatly to my face,

Accusing me of mere disloyalty—

A trusty friend is tried in time of need,

But I, when she in danger was of death

And needed me, and cried, Segasto, help:

I turned my back and quickly ran away.

Unworthy I to bear this vital breath!

But what! what needs these plaints?

If Amadine do live, then happy I;

She will in time forgive and so forget:

Amadine is merciful, not Juno like,

In harmful heart to harbor hatred long.

[Enter Mouse, the Clown, running, crying: clubs.]

MOUSE. Clubs, prongs, pitchforks, bills! O help! a bear, a bear, a bear, a bear!

SEGASTO. Still bears, and nothing else but bears. Tell me, sirrah, where she is.

MOUSE. O sir, she is run down the woods: I see her white head and her white belly.

SEGASTO.

Thou talkest of wonders, to tell me of white bears.

But, sirra, didst thou ever see any such?

MOUSE. No, faith, I never saw any such, but I remember my father’s words: he bade me take heed I was not caught with a white bear.

SEGASTO.

A lamentable tale, no doubt.

MOUSE. I tell you what, sir, as I was going a field to serve my father’s great horse, & carried a bottle of hay upon my head—now do you see, sir—I, fast hoodwinked, that I could see nothing, perceiving the bear coming, I threw my hay into the hedge and ran away.

SEGASTO.

What, from nothing?

MOUSE. I warrant you, yes, I saw something, for there was two load of thorns besides my bottle of hay, and that made three.

SEGASTO.

But tell me, sirra, the bear that thou didst see,

Did she not bear a bucket on her arm?

MOUSE. Ha, ha, ha! I never saw bear go a milking in my life. But hark you, sir, I did not look so high as her arm: I saw nothing but her white head, and her white belly.

SEGASTO.

But tell me, sirra, where dost thou dwell?

MOUSE.

Why, do you not know me?

SEGASTO.

Why no, how should I know thee?

MOUSE. Why, then, you know no body, and you know not me. I tell you, sir, I am the goodman rats son of the next parish over the hill.

SEGASTO.

Goodman rats son: why, what’s thy name?

MOUSE.

Why, I am very near kin unto him.

SEGASTO.

I think so, but what’s thy name?

MOUSE. My name? I have a very pretty name; I’ll tell you what my name is: my name is Mouse.

SEGASTO.

What, plain Mouse?

MOUSE. Aye, plain mouse with out either welt or guard. But do you hear, sir, I am but a very young mouse, for my tail is scarce grown out yet; look you here else.

SEGASTO.

But, I pray thee, who gave thee that name?

MOUSE. Faith, sir, I know not that, but if you would fain know, ask my father’s great horse, for he hath been half a year longer with my father than I have.

SEGASTO.

This seems to be a merry fellow;

I care not if I take him home with me.

Mirth is a comfort to a troubled mind,

A merry man a merry master makes.

How saist thou, sirra, wilt thou dwell with me?

MOUSE. Nay, soft, sir, two words to a bargain: pray you, what occupation are you?

SEGASTO.

No occupation, I live upon my lands.

MOUSE. Your lands! away, you are no master for me: why, do you think that I am so mad, to go seek my living in the lands amongst the stones, briars, and bushes, and tear my holy day apparel? not I, by your leave.

SEGASTO.

Why, I do not mean thou shalt.

MOUSE.

How then?

SEGASTO. Why, thou shalt be my man, and wait upon me at the court.

MOUSE.

What’s that?

SEGASTO.

Where the King lies.

MOUSE.

What’s that same King, a man or woman?

SEGASTO.

A man as thou art.

MOUSE. As I am? hark you, sir; pray you, what kin is he to good man king of our parish, the church warden?

SEGASTO.

No kin to him; he is the King of the whole land.

MOUSE.

King of the land! I never see him.

SEGASTO. If thou wilt dwell with me, thou shalt see him every day.

MOUSE. Shall I go home again to be torn in pieces with bears? no, not I. I will go home & put on a clean shirt, and then go drown my self.

SEGASTO. Thou shalt not need; if thou wilt dwell with me, thou shalt want nothing.

MOUSE. Shall I not? then here’s my hand; I’ll dwell with you. And hark you, sir, now you have entertained me, I will tell you what I can do: I can keep my tongue from picking and stealing, and my hands from lying and slandering, I warrant you, as well as ever you had man in all your life.

SEGASTO.

Now will I to court with sorrowful heart, rounded with

doubts.

If Amadine do live, then happy I:

Yea, happy I, if Amadine do live.

[Exeunt.]

ACT II.

SCENE I. The Camp of the King of Arragon.

[Enter the King with a young prince prisoner, Amadine,

Tremelio, with Collen and counselors.]

KING.

Now, brave Lords, our wars are brought to end,

Our foes to the foil, and we in safety rest:

It us behooves to use such clemency

In peace as valour in the war

It is as great honor to be bountiful

At home as to be conquerors in the field.

Therefore, my Lords, the more to my content,

Your liking, and your country’s safeguard,

We are disposed in marriage for to give

Our daughter to Lord Segasto here,

Who shall succeed the diadem after me,

And reign hereafter as I tofore have done,

Your sole and lawful King of Arragon:

What say you, Lordings, like you of my advise?

COLLEN. And please your Majesty, we do not only allow of your highness pleasure, but also vow faithfully in what we may to further it.

KING.

Thanks, good my Lords, if long Adrostus live,

He will at full requite your courtesies.

Tremelio,

In recompense of thy late valour done,

Take unto thee the Catalonea prince,

Lately our prisoner taken in the wars.

Be thou his keeper, his ransom shall be thine:

We’ll think of it when leisure shall afford:

Mean while, do use him well; his father is a King.

TREMELIO.

Thanks to your Majesty: his usage shall be such,

As he thereat shall think no cause to grutce.

[Exeunt Tremelio and Prince.]

KING.

Then march we on to court, and rest our wearied limbs.

But, Collen, I have a tale in secret kept for thee:

When thou shalt hear a watch word from thy king,

Think then some weighty matter is at hand

That highly shall concern our state,

Then, Collen, look thou be not far from me:

And for thy service thou to fore hast done,

Thy trueth and valour proud in every point,

I shall with bounties thee enlarge therefore:

So guard us to the court.

COLLEN.

What so my sovereign doth command me do,

With willing mind I gladly yield consent.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. The same.

[Enter Segasto, and the Clown with weapons about him.]

SEGASTO.

Tell me, sirra, how do you like your weapons?

MOUSE.

O very well, very well, they keep my sides warm.

SEGASTO. They keep the dogs from your shins very well, do they not?

MOUSE. How, keep the dogs from my shins? I would scorn but my shins should keep the dogs from them.

SEGASTO.

Well, sirra, leaving idle talk, tell me:

Dost thou know captain Tremelio’s chamber?

MOUSE.

Aye, very well; it hath a door.

SEGASTO.

I think so, for so hath every chamber.

But does thou know the man?

MOUSE.

Aye, forsooth, he hath a nose on his face.

SEGASTO.

Why so hath every one.

MOUSE.

That’s more than I know.

SEGASTO. But doest thou remember the captain, that was here with the king even now, that brought the young prince prisoner?

MOUSE.

O, very well.

SEGASTO.

Go unto him and bid him come to me. Tell him

I have a matter in secret to impart to him.

MOUSE.

I will, master:—master, what’s his name?

SEGASTO.

Why, captain Tremelio.

MOUSE. O, the meal man. I know him very well. He brings meal every Saturday. But hark you, master, must I bid him come to you or must you come to him?

SEGASTO.

No, sir, he must come to me.

MOUSE. Hark you, master, how if he be not at home? What shall I do then?

SEGASTO.

Why, then thou leavest word with some of his folks.

MOUSE. Oh, master, if there be no body within, I will leave word with his dog.

SEGASTO.

Why, can his dog speak?

MOUSE.

I cannot tell; wherefore doth he keep his chamber else?

SEGASTO.

To keep out such knaves as thou art.

MOUSE.

Nay, be lady, then go your self.

SEGASTO.

You will go, sir, will ye not?

MOUSE.

Yes, marry, will I. O tis come to my head:

And a be not within, I’ll bring his chamber to you.

SEGASTO.

What, wilt thou pluck down the King’s house?

MOUSE. Nay, be lady, I’ll know the price of it first. Master, it is such a hard name, I have forgotten it again. I pray you, tell me his name.

SEGASTO.

I tell thee, captain Tremelio.

MOUSE.

Oh, captain treble knave, captain treble knave.

[Enter Tremelio.]

TREMELIO.

How now, sirra, doost thou call me?

MOUSE.

You must come to my master, captain treble knave.

TREMELIO.

My Lord Segasto, did you send for me?

SEGASTO.

I did, Tremelio. Sirra, about your business.

MOUSE.

Aye, marry: what’s that, can you tell?

SEGASTO.

No, not well.

MOUSE. Marry, then, I can: straight to the kitchen dresser, to John the cook, and get me a good piece of beef and brewis, and then to the buttery hatch to Thomas the butler for a jack of beer, and there for an hour I’ll so be labour my self! therefore, I pray you, call me not till you think I have done, I pray you, good master.

SEGASTO.

Well, sir, away.

[Exit Mouse.]

Tremelio, this it is: thou knowest the valour of Segasto spread through all the kingdom of Arragon, and such as hath found triumph and favours, never daunted at any time; but now a shepherd is admired at in court for worthiness, and Segasto’s honour laid a side. My will, therefore, is this, that thou dost find some means to work the shepherd’s death. I know thy strength sufficient to perform my desire, & thy love no other wise than to revenge my injuries.

TREMELIO.

It is not the frowns of a shepherd that Tremelio fears.

Therefore, account it accomplished, what I take in hand.

SEGASTO.

Thanks, good Tremelio, and assure they self,

What I promise that will I perform.

TREMELIO.

Thanks, my good Lord, and in good time see where

He cometh: stand by a while, and you shall see

Me put in practise your intended drifts.

Have at thee, swain, if that I hit thee right.

[Enter Mucedorus.]

MUCEDORUS.

Viled coward, so without cause to strike a man.

Turn, coward, turn; now strike and do thy worst.

[Mucedorus killeth him.]

SEGASTO.

Hold, shepherd, hold; spare him, kill him not!

Accursed villain, tell me, what hast thou done?

Ah, Tremelio, trusty Tremelio!

I sorrow for thy death, and since that thou,

Living, didst prove faithful to Segasto,

So Segasto now, living, shall honour

The dead corpse of Tremelio with revenge.

Bloodthirsty villain,

Born and bred to merciless murther,

Tell me, how durst thou be so bold at once

To lay thy hands upon the least of mine?

Assure thy self,

Thou shalt be used according to the law.

MUCEDORUS.

Segasto, cease, these threats are needless.

Accuse not me of murther, that have done

Nothing but in mine own defence.

SEGASTO.

Nay, shepherd, reason not with me.

I’ll manifest thy fact unto the King,

Whose doom will be thy death, as thou deservest.

What ho, Mouse, come away!

[Enter Mouse.]

MOUSE.

Why how now, what’s the matter?

I thought you would be calling before I had done.

SEGASTO.

Come, help; away with my friend.

MOUSE.

Why, is he drunk? cannot he stand on his feet?

SEGASTO.

No, he is not drunk, he is slain.

MOUSE.

Flaine? no, by Lady, he is not flaine.

SEGASTO.

He’s killed, I tell thee.

MOUSE.

What, do you use to kill your friends?

I will serve you no longer.

SEGASTO.

I tell thee, the shepherd killed him.

MOUSE. O, did a so? but, master, I will have all his apparel if I carry him away.

SEGASTO.

Why, so thou shalt.

MOUSE. Come, then, I will help; mas, master, I think his mother song looby to him, he is so heavy.

[Exeunt Segasto and Mouse.}

MUCEDORUS.

Behold the fickle state of man, always mutable,

Never at one. Sometimes we feed on fancies

With the sweet of our desires; sometimes again

We feel the heat of extreme misery.

Now am I in favour about the court and country.

To morrow those favours will turn to frowns:

To day I live revenged on my foe,

To morrow I die, my foe revenged on me.

[Exit.]

SCENE III. The Forest.

[Enter Bremo, a wild man.]

BREMO.

No passengers this morning? what, not one?

A chance that seldom doth befall.

What, not one? then lie thou there,

And rest thyself till I have further need,

Now, Bremo, sith thy leisure so affords—

An endless thing. Who knows not Bremo’s strength,

Who like a king commands within these woods?

The bear, the boar, dares not abide my sight,

But hastes away to save themselves by flight:

The crystal waters in the bubbling brooks,

When I come by, doth swiftly slide away,

And claps themselves in closets under banks,

Afraid to look bold Bremo in the face:

The aged oaks at Bremo’s breath do bow,

And all things else are still at my command.

Else what would I?

Rent them in pieces and pluck them from the earth,

And each way else I would revenge my self.

Why who comes here with whom I dare not fight?

Who fights with me & doth not die the death?

Not one: What favour shews this sturdy stick to those,

That here within these woods are combatants with me?

Why, death, and nothing else but present death.

With restless rage I wander through these woods,

No creature here but feareth Bremo’s force,

Man, woman, child, beast and bird,

And every thing that doth approach my sight,

Are forced to fall if Bremo once but frown.

Come, cudgel, come, my partner in my spoils,

For here I see this day it will not be;

But when it falls that I encounter any,

One pat sufficeth for to work my will.

What, comes not one? then let’s begone;

A time will serve when we shall better speed.

[Exit.]

SCENE IV. Arragon. a Room of State in the Court.

[Enter the King, Segasto, the Shepherd, and the Clown, with others.]

KING.

Shepherd, thou hast heard thin accusers;

Murther is laid to thy charge.

What canst thou say? thou hast deserved death.

MUCEDORUS.

Dread sovereign, I must needs confess,

I slew this captain in mine own defence,

Not of any malice, but by chance;

But mine accuser hath a further meaning.

SEGASTO.

Words will not here prevail,

I seek for justice, & justice craves his death.

KING.

Shepherd, thine own confession hath condemned thee.

Sirra, take him away, 7 do him to execution straight.

MOUSE.

So he shall, I warrant him; but do you hear, master

King, he is kin to a monkey, his neck is bigger than

his head.

SEGASTO. Come, sirra, away with him, and hang him about the middle.

MOUSE. Yes, forsooth, I warrant you: come on, sir. A, so like a sheep biter a looks!

[Enter Amadine and a boy with a bear’s head.]

AMADINE.

Dread sovereign and wellbeloved sire,

On bended knees I crave the life of this

Condemned shepherd, which heretofore preserved

The life of thy sometime distressed daughter.

KING.

Preserved the life of my sometime distress daughter?

How can that be? I never knew the time

Wherein thou wast distressed; I never knew the day

But that I have maintained thy state,

As best beseemed the daughter of a king.

I never saw the shepherd until now.

How comes it, then, that he preserved thy life?

AMADINE.

Once walking with Segasto in the woods,

Further than our accustomed manner was,

Right before us, down a steep fall hill,

A monstrous ugly bear doth hie him fast

To meet us both: now whether this be true,

I refer it to the credit of Segasto.

SEGASTO.

Most true, and like your majesty.

KING.

How then?

AMADINE.

The bear, being eager to obtain his prey,

Made forward to us with an open mouth,

As if he meant to swallow us both at once;

The sight whereof did make us both to dread,

But specially your daughter Amadine,

Who, for I saw no succour incident

But in Segasto’s valour, I grew desperate,

And he most cowardlike began to fly—

Left me distressed to be devoured of him.

How say you, Segasto, is it not true?

KING.

His silence verifies it to be true. What then?

AMADINE.

Then I amazed, distressed, all alone,

Did hie me fast to scape that ugly bear,

But all in vain, for, why, he reached after me,

And hardly I did oft escape his paws,

Till at the length this shepherd came,

And brought to me his head.

Come hither boy: lo, here it is,

Which I present unto your majesty.

KING.

The slaughter of this bear deserves great fame.

SEGASTO.

The slaughter of a man deserves great blame.

KING.

Indeed occasion oftentimes so falls out.

SEGASTO.

Tremelio in the wars, O King, preserved thee.

AMADINE.

The shepherd in the woods, o king, preserved me.

SEGASTO.

Tremelio fought when many men did yield.

AMADINE.

So would the shepherd, had he been in field.

MOUSE.

So would my master, had he not run away.

SEGASTO.

Tremelio’s force saved thousands from the foe.

AMADINE.

The shepherd’s force would have saved thousands more.

MOUSE.

Aye, shipsticks, nothing else.

KING.

Segasto, cease to accuse the shepherd,

His worthiness deserves a recompense,

All we are bound to do the shepherd good:

Shepherd, whereas it was my sentence, thou shouldst die,

So shall my sentence stand, for thou shalt die.

SEGASTO.

Thanks to your majesty.

KING.

But soft, Segasto, not for this offence.—

Long maist thou live, and when the sisters shall decree

to cut in twain the twisted thread of life,

Then let him die: for this I set thee free:

And for thy valour I will honour thee.

MUCEDORUS.

Thanks to your majesty.

KING. Come, daughter, let us now depart, to honour the worthy valour of the shepherd with our rewards.

[Exeunt.]

MOUSE. O master, hear you, you have made a fresh hand now you would be slow, you; why, what will you do now? you have lost me a good occupation by the means. Faith, master, now I cannot hang the shepherd, I pray you, let me take the pains to hang you: it is but half an hour’s exercise.

SEGASTO.

You are still in your knavery, but sith a I cannot

have his life I will procure his banishment for ever.

Come one, sirra.

MOUSE.

Yes, forsooth, I come.—Laugh at him, I pray you.

[Exeunt.]

ACT III.

SCENE I. Grove near the Court.

[Enter Mucedorus solus.]

MUCEDORUS.

From Amadine and from her father’s court,

With gold and silver and with rich rewards,

Flowing from the banks of golden treasuries,—

More may I boast and say: but I,

Was never shepheard in such dignity.

[Enter the messenger and the clown.]

MESSENGER.

All hail, worthy shepherd.

MOUSE.

All reign, lowly shepherd..

MUCEDORUS.

Welcome, my friends; from whence come you?

MESSENGER. The King and Amadine greets thee well, and after greetings done, bids thee depart the court: shepherd, begone.

MUCEDORUS.

Whose words are these? came these from Amadine?

MESSENGER.

Aye, from Amadine.

MOUSE.

Aye, from Amadine.

MUCEDORUS.

Ah, luckless fortune, worse than Phaeton’s tale,

My former bliss is now become my bale.

MOUSE.

What, wilt thou poison thy self?

MUCEDORUS.

My former heaven is now become my hell.

MOUSE.

The worse ale house that I ever came in, in all my life.

MUCEDORUS.

What shall I do?

MOUSE.

Even go hang thy self half an hour.

MUCEDORUS.

Can Amadine so churlishly command,

To banish the shepherd from her Father’s court?

MESSENGER.

What should shepherds do in the court?

MOUSE.

What should shepherds do amongst us? have we not

Lords enough on us in the court?

MUCEDORUS.

Why, shepherds are men, and kings are no more.

MESSENGER.

Shepherds are men and masters over their flock.

MOUSE.

That’s a lie: who pays them their wages then?

MESSENGER. Well, you are always interrupting of me, but you are best look to him, least you hang for him when he is gone.

[Exit.]

[The Clown sings.]

MOUSE.

And you shall hang for company,

For leaving me alone.

Shepherd, stand forth and hear thy sentence:

Shepherd, begone within three days in pain of

My displeasure: shepherd, begone; shepherd, begone;

begone, begone, begone, shepherd, shepherd, shepherd.

[Exit.]

MUCEDORUS.

And must I go, and must I needs depart?

Ye goodly groves, partakers of my songs

In time tofore when fortune did not frown,

Pour forth your plaints and wail a while with me;

And thou bright sun, my comfort in the cold,

Hide, hide thy face and leave me comfortless;

Ye wholesome herbs, and sweet smelling favors,

Ye each thing else prolonging life of man,

Change, change your wonted course, that I,

Wanting your aide, in woeful sort may die.

[Enter Amadine and Ariana her maid.]

AMADINE.

Ariana, if any body ask for me,

Make some excuse till I return.

ARIANA.

What and Segasto call?

AMADINE.

Do thou the like to him; I mean not to stay long.

[Exit Ariana.]

MUCEDORUS.

This voice so sweet my pining spirits revives.

AMADINE.

Shepherd, well met; tell me how thou doest.

MUCEDORUS.

I linger life, yet wish for speedy death.

AMADINE.

Shepherd, although thy banishment already

Be decreed, and all against my will,

Yet Amadine—

MUCEDORUS.

Ah, Amadine, to hear of banishment

Is death, aye, double death to me,

But since I must depart, one thing I crave.

AMADINE.

Say on with all my heart.

MUCEDORUS.

That in absence, either far or near,

You honor me, as servant, with your name.

AMADINE.

Not so.

MUCEDORUS.

And why?

AMADINE.

I honour thee, as sovereign, with my heart.

MUCEDORUS.

A shepherd and a sovereign? nothing like.

AMADINE.

Yet like enough where there is no dislike.

MUCEDORUS.

Yet great dislike, or else no banishment.

AMADINE.

Shepherd, it is only

Segasto that procures thy banishment.

MUCEDORUS.

Unworthy wights are most in jealousy.

AMADINE.

Would God they would free thee from banishment,

Or likewise banish me.

MUCEDORUS.

Amen, say I, to have your company.

AMADINE.

Well, shepherd, sith thou sufferest this for my sake,

With thee in exile also let me live—

On this condition, shepherd, thou canst love.

MUCEDORUS.

No longer love, no longer let me live!

AMADINE. Of late I loved one indeed, now love I none but only thee.

MUCEDORUS.

Thanks, worthy princess; I borne likewise,

Yet smother up the blast,

I dare not promise what I may perform.

AMADINE.

Well, shepherd, hark what I shall say:

I will return unto my Father’s court,

There for to provide me of such necessaries,

As for our journey I shall think most fit;

This being done, i will return to thee.

Do thou, therefore, appoint the place where we may meet.

MUCEDORUS.

Down in the valley where I slew the bear:

And there doth grow a fair broad branched beech,

That overshades a well; so who comes first

Let them abide the happy meeting of us both.

How like you this?

AMADINE.

I like it very well.

MUCEDORUS.

Now, if you please, you may appoint the time.

AMADINE.

Full three hours hence, God willing, I will return.

MUCEDORUS.

The thanks that Paris gave the Grecian queen

The like doth Mucedorus yield.

AMADINE.

Then, Mucedorus, for three hours farewell.

[Exit.]

MUCEDORUS.

Your departure, lady, breeds a privy pain.

[Exit.]

SCENE II. The Court.

[Enter Segasto solus.]

SEGASTO.

Tis well, Segasto, that thou hast thy will;

Should such a shepherd, such a simple swain

As he, eclipse the credit famous through

The court? No, ply, Segasto, ply:

Let it not in Arragon be said,

A shepherd hath Segasto’s honour won.

[Enter Mouse the clown calling his master.]

MOUSE.

What ho, master, will you come away?

SEGASTO. Will you come hither? I pray you, what’s the matter?

MOUSE.

Why, is it not past eleven a clock?

SEGASTO.

How then, sir?

MOUSE.

I pray you, come away to dinner.

SEGASTO.

I pray you, come hither.

MOUSE.

Here’s such a do with you! will you never come?

SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, what news of the message I sent you about?

MOUSE.

I tell you all the messes be on the table already.

There wants not so much as a mess of mustard

half an hour ago.

SEGASTO.

Come, sir, your mind is all upon your belly;

You have forgotten what I did bid you do.

MOUSE. Faith, I know nothing, but you bade me go to breakfast.

SEGASTO.

Was that all?

MOUSE. Faith, I have forgotten it; the very scent of the meat hath made me forget it quite.

SEGASTO.

You have forgotten the arrant I bid you do?

MOUSE.

What arrant? an arrant knave, or arrant whore?

SEGASTO. Why, thou knave, did I not bid thee banish the shepherd?

MOUSE.

O, the shepherd’s bastard.

SEGASTO.

I tell thee, the shepherd’s banishment.

MOUSE.

I tell you the shepherd’s bastard shall be well kept;

I’ll look to it myself else; but I pray you, come away

to dinner.

SEGASTO. Then you will not tell me whether you have banished him or no?

MOUSE. Why, I cannot say banishment, and you would give me a thousand pounds to say so.

SEGASTO. Why, you whoreson slave, have you forgotten that I sent you and another to drive away the shepherd.

MOUSE. What an ass are you; here’s a stir indeed: here’s ‘message,’ ‘arrant,’ ‘banishment,’ and I cannot tell what.

SEGASTO. I pray you, sir, shall I know whether you have drove him away?

MOUSE. Faith, I think I have; and you will not believe me, ask my staff.

SEGASTO.

Why, can thy staff tell?

MOUSE.

Why, he was with me to.

SEGASTO.

Then happy I that have obtained my will.

MOUSE.

And happier I, if you would go to dinner.

SEGASTO.

Come, sirra, follow me.

MOUSE. I warrant you, I will not loose an inch of you, now you are going to dinner.—I promise you, I thought seven year before I could get him away.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. The Forest.

[Enter Amadine sola.]

AMADINE.

God grant my long delay procures no harm

Nor this my tarrying frustrate my pretence.

My Mucedorus surely stays for me,

And thinks me over long: at length I come

My present promise to perform.

Ah, what a thing is firm unfained love!

What is it which true love dares not tempt?

My father he may make, but I must match;

Segasto loves, but Amadine must like,

Where likes her best; compulsion is a thrall:

No, no, the hearty choice is all in all,

The shepherd’s virtue Amadine esteems.

But, what, me thinks my shepherd is not come.

I muse at that, the hour is sure at hand:

Well here I’ll rest till Mucedorus come.

[She sits her down.]

[Enter Bremo looking about, hastily taketh hold of her.]

BREMO.

A happy prey! now, Bremo, feed on flesh.

Dainties, Bremo, dainties, thy hungry panch to fill!

Now glut thy greedy guts with luke warm blood!

Come, fight with me, I long to see thee dead.

AMADINE.

How can she fight that weapons cannot wield?

BREMO.

What, canst not fight? then lie thou down and die.

AMADINE.

What, must I die?

BREMO.

What needs these words? I thirst to suck thy blood.

AMADINE.

Yet pity me and let me live a while.

BREMO.

No pity I, I’ll feed upon thy flesh,

I’ll tear thy body piecemeal joint from joint.

AMADINE.

Ah, now I want my shepherd’s company.

BREMO.

I’ll crush thy bones betwixt two oaken trees.

AMADINE.

Haste, shepherd, haste, or else thou comst too late.

BREMO.

I’ll suck the sweetness from thy marie bones.

AMADINE.

Ah spare, ah spare to shed my guiltless blood!

BREMO.

With this my bat will I beat out thy brains.

Down, down, I say, prostrate thy self upon the ground.

AMADINE.

Then, Mucedorus, farewell; my hoped joys, farewell.

Yea, farewell life, and welcome present death!

[She kneels.]

To thee, O God, I yield my dying ghost.

BREMO.

Now, Bremo, play thy part.—

How now, what sudden chance is this?

My limbs do tremble and my sinews shake,

My unweakened arms have lost their former force:

Ah Bremo, Bremo, what a foil hast thou,

That yet at no time ever wast afraid

To dare the greatest gods to fight with thee,

[He strikes.]

And now want strength for one down driving blow!

Ah, how my courage fails when I should strike:

Some new come spirit, abiding in my breast,

Sayth, ‘spare her, Bremo, spare her, do not kill.’

Shall I spare her which never spared any?

To it, Bremo, to it, say again.—

I cannot wield my weapons in my hand;

Me thinks I should not strike so fair a one:

I think her beauty hath bewitched my force

Or else with in me altered nature’s course.

Aye, woman, wilt thou live in woods with me?

AMADINE.

Fain would I live, yet loath to live in woods.

BREMO. Thou shalt not choose, it shall be as I say, & therefore, follow me.

[Exit.]

SCENE IV. The same.

[Enter Mucedorus solus.]

MUCEDORUS.

It was my will an hour ago and more,

As was my promise, for to make return,

But other business hindered my pretence.

It is a world to see when man appoints,

And purposely one certain thing decrees,

How many things may hinder his intent.

What one would wish, the same is farthest off:

But yet th’ appointed time cannot be past,

Nor hath her presence yet prevented me.

Well, here I’ll stay, and expect her coming.

[They cry within, ‘hold him, stay him, hold.’]

Some one or other is pursued, no doubt;

Perhaps some search for me: tis good

To doubt the worst, therefore I’ll begone.

[Exit.]

SCENE V. The same.

[Cry within ‘hold him, hold him.’ Enter Mouse the Clown with a pot.]

MOUSE. Hold him, hold him, hold him! here’s a stir indeed. Here came hue after the crier: and I was set close at mother Nips’ house, and there I called for three pots of ale, as tis the manner of us courtiers. Now, sirra, I had taken the maiden head of two of them. Now, as I was lifting up the third to my mouth, there came: hold him, hold him! now I could not tell whom to catch hold on, but I am sure I caught one: perchance a may be in this pot. Well, I’ll see: mas, I cannot see him yet; well, I’ll look a little further. Mas, he is a little slave, if a be here. Why, here’s no body. All this goes well yet: but if the old trot should come for her pot—aye, marry, there’s the matter, but I care not; I’ll face her out, and call her old rusty, dusty, musty, fusty, crusty firebrand, and worse than all that, and so face her out of her pot: but soft, here she comes.

[Enter the old woman.]

OLD WOMAN.

Come on, you knave: where’s my pot, you knave?

MOUSE. Go look your pot: come not to me for your pot twere good for you.

OLD WOMAN.

Thou liest, thou knave; thou hast my pot.

MOUSE.

You lie, and you say it. I your pot! I know what

I’ll say.

OLD WOMAN.

Why, what wilt thou say?

MOUSE.

But say I have him, and thou darst.

OLD WOMAN. Why, thou knave, thou hast not only my pot but my drink unpaid for.

MOUSE.

You lie like an old—I will not say whore.

OLD WOMAN.

Dost thou call me whore? I’ll cap thee for my pot.

MOUSE. Cap me & thou darest, search me whether I have it or no.

[She searcheth him, and he drinketh over her head and casts down the pot; she stumbleth at it; then they fall together by the ears; she takes her pot and goes out. Exit.]

[Enter Segasto.]

SEGASTO.

How now, sirra, what’s the matter?

MOUSE.

Oh, flies, master, flies.

SEGASTO.

Flies? where are they?

MOUSE.

Oh here, master, all about your face.

SEGASTO.

Why, thou liest; I think thou art mad.

MOUSE.

Why, master, I have killed a duncart full at the least.

SEGASTO.

Go to, sirra! leaving this idle talk, give ear to me.

MOUSE. How? give you one of my ears? not & you were ten masters.

SEGASTO.

Why, sir, I bid you give ear to my words.

MOUSE. I tell you I will not be made a curtall for no man’s pleasure.

SEGASTO. I tell thee, attend what I say: go thy ways straight and rear the whole town.

MOUSE. How? rear the town? even go your self; it is more than I can do: why, do you think I can rear a town, that can scarce rear a pot of ale to my head? I should rear a town, should I not?

SEGASTO. Go to the custable and make a privy search, for the shepherd is run away with the King’s daughter.

MOUSE. How? is the shepherd run away with the king’s daughter? or is the king’s daughter run away with the shepherd?

SEGASTO.

I cannot tell, but they are both gone together.

MOUSE. What a fool is she to run away with the shepherd! why, I think I am a little handsomer man than the shepherd my self; but tell me, master, must I make a privy search, or search in the privy?

SEGASTO.

Why, doest thou think they will be there?

MOUSE.

I cannot tell.

SEGASTO. Well, then, search every where; leave no place unsearched for them.

[Exit.]

MOUSE. Oh now am I in office; now will I to that old firebrand’s house & will not leave one place unsearched: nay, I’ll to her ale stand & drink as long as I can stand, & when I have done, I’ll let out all the rest, to see if he be not bid in the barrel. & I find him not there, I’ll to the cupboard; I’ll not leave one corner of her house unsearched: yfaith, ye old crust, I will be with you now.

[Exit.]