[SCENE 2.]
Reading edition
Enter Eudon, Eldegrade, Bertha & Gabrielle.
Eud. Ile sooner shrynke back when my lifes assaulted Then when my promyse shalbe claymd (good madam). I promysd to your lorde that Bertha here, My daughter, should be marryed to hys sonne, And Ile perform't; for onlye to that ende I've brought her nowe.
Eld. And, Sir, tis noblye doone; I knowe the matche is more desyred by hym Then the kyngs favors, which at thys tyme he Is laboringe to recover, but's retourne I knowe wilbe most sodayne.
Eud. Weele attend it.
Gab. Hey hoe.
Ber. Why syghes thou, frende?
Gab. Not at your joys but myne afflyctyons. Your in a good way, Bertha, ryde spurrd on, May come unto your journey: I must tyre, Theres not a swytche or prycke to quycken me.
Ber. Yes, when younge Rychard hunts your purlue ground. Come, I doe know you will not chaunge your ryder.
Gab. Not if a would fall to hys exercyse.
Ber. Th'art styll thy selfe (all madnes).—But no more; Here comes your brother.
Enter Ganelon, La Busse.
Eud. Healthe to my noble lorde!
Gan. You wishe me my worst enemye, yet, Sir, Tys wellcome since you wishe it. O I am At thys tyme nothynge but extreame disgrace.
Eud. Shake you for that? Why, noble lorde, you knowe Disgrace is ever like the greate assay Which turnes imperfytt mettalls into fume And shewes pure gould to have an absolute valewe Because it styll remayns unchaungable Disgrace can never scarre a good mans sence, Tys an undaunted harte shoes Innocence: Shame in a guyltie man (like wounds & scratches In a corrupted fleshe) may ranckell deepe, Good mens dishonors heale before they weepe.
Gan. Pray thee, noble Eudon, save thy selfe, And come not neare me; I am pestilent.
Eud. I doe not feare infection.
Gan. I knowe tharte noble & a man of warre, One that hathe feard no mortall wound so muche As to be recond fearfull; but the cause, The cause of my dull ruyne must affryghte you You have not flynte enoughe to arme your soule Agaynst compassyon; & that kylls a souldior. Let me have roame to breathe at lardge my woes And talke alone, least the proceedinge ayre That easeth me beget in you a payne. Leave me, pray leave me: my rude vyolence Will halfe distract your spyrrytts, my sadd speeche Like such a noyse as drownds all other noyse Will so afflyct your thoughts & cares on me That all your care besyde must be neglected. My tyme of patyence is expyrd; pray leave me.
Eld. Ithe name of wonder, sir, what dothe afflyct you.
Eud. You boare your banyshment most brave tyll nowe.
Gan. I did, & could as quyetlye endure To be exposd uppon the publique scaffold To all myne enemyes contempt, but nowe I'me more then banysht, all my honors lost, My wealthe, my places everye one the kyngs; I hardlye am a pryvate gentyllman. And more then thys, my onlye dearest frend, My Richard, I must never see agayne.
Gab.—Excellent newse! hould, there Ile honor thee.
Eud. Why, all thys is a tryfell; suche a blast As should not move a weake reede. Come, I love Your selfe and not your fortunes: pray forgett em. See, I have brought my daughter, and desyer The matche betwixt us may be consumate.
Gan. O you are noble that can pyttie scorne! And werte not for my frends losse all the rest I should loosse like my shadowe.
Eld. I, and hym, When I have toulde you myne intelligence. Come, hees not halfe so good as you imagine.
Gan. Goe, y'are a woman, and that styll implyes Can be malytious.—But are you then resolvd To match with myne ill fortunes?
Eud. Sir, I am.
Gan. What says fayre Bertha?
Ber. That my free will dothe bynde My love to his comandment.
Gan. Then take her, boy; we wilbe hencefourthe frends, And howsoever crosses come & goe Ile leave thee cloathes inowe for winter tyme.
Bus. Sir, I am bound to you & to my mistress, And will so arme my servyce with delighte That, madam, you shall counte thys maryadge yoake The onlye lyst of pleasure.
Ber. Thats my hope: Bate me the pleasure, and, beleive it, Sir, I shall crye out oth bargayne.
Bus. Feare me not.
Gan. Come, we will have thys maryage sollempnyzd, In which I meane to feighte with agonye And shoe the worlde I can cast honors of More easlye then my garments. Wisdome & thought Most precious ever when tys dearest bought.
[Exe. all but Gab.
Gab. Suer thys should be the day of Valentyne When everye byrd dothe coople, onlye I Pore forlorne turtle, haveinge lost my mate, Must dye on a bare braunche. Wytt defend me! Youthe & my pleasures will not suffer it. I've here contryved a letter to my frende In myne ill brothers name. It may worke Somethynge to gayne my wishes; at the worst It cannot make me more then I am accurst. And heres my messenger.—
Enter La Fue.
Howe nowe Mounseir Fue? Whyther gost thou in suche a sweatinge passyon?
Fue. O, Madam, sweatynge is goode for the itche, and the rascall Didier haveing playd the roague with my lord ist possyble but I should itche to be about hys eares when I see the knaves countenance? Therefore to avoyde troble I affect sweatinge.
Gab. Why, thou dost not see hym nor art thou licklye.
Fue. O by all meanes I cannot mysse the devyll. Why, I am goeing to the courte, Madam, & the knave wilbe in everye corner, Didier I meane, by all meanes; so that if I doe not sweate I shall scratche the skynne from myne elbowes.
Gab. Then to further your sweatinge take paynes with thys letter; tell noble Richard, the sonne of Aimon, your master sente it, but doe not tell your master I imployd you. Take this rewarde and deale wiselye.
Fue. As wisely as my blewe coate will suffer me.
[Exe.
Act 4.