ORLANDO

Lords of the South, & Princes of esteem, Viceroys unto the State of Africa: I am no King, yet am I princely born, Descended from the royal house of France, And nephew to the mighty Charlemagne, Surnamed Orlando the County Palatine. Swift Fame that sounded to our Western seas The matchless beauty of Angelica, Fairer than was the Nymph of Mercury, Who when bright Phœbus mounts up his coach And tracts Aurora in her silver steps, And sprinkles from the folding of her lap, White lilies, roses and sweet violets. Yet thus believe me, Princes of the South, Although my Countries love dearer than pearl, Or mines of gold might well have kept me back; The sweet conversing with my King and friends, (Left all for love) might well have kept me back; The Seas by Neptune hoised to the heavens, Whose dangerous flaws might well have kept me back; The savage Moors & Anthropagei Whose lands I passed might well have kept me back; The doubt of entertainment in the Court When I arriude might well have kept me back: But so the fame of fair Angelica, Stamped in my thoughts the figure of her love, As neither Country, King, or Seas, or Cannibals, Could by despairing keep Orlando back. I list not boast in acts of chivalry, (And humour never fitting with my mind) But come there forth the proudest champion That hath suspicion in the Palatine, And with my trusty sword Durandell Single, I'll register upon his helm, What I dare do for fair Angelica. But leaving these, such glories as they be; I love my Lord. Angelica her self shall speak for me. Injurious Cuba, ill it fits thy gree To wrong a stranger with discourtesy. Wertenberg not the sacred presence of Angelica Prevails with me (as Venus smiles with Mars) To set a Super sedeas of my wrath, Soon should I teach thee what it were to brave. Then as did Hector before Achilles Tent, Trotting his Courser softly on the plains, Proudly darde forth the stoutest youth of Greece: So who stands highest in his own conceit, And thinks his courage can perform the most, Let him but throw his gauntlet on the ground, And I will pawn my honour to his gage, He shall ere night be met and combated. I sirs, inskonce you how you can, see what we dare, And thereon set your rest. Princes of France, the sparkling light of fame, Whose glories brighter than the burnished gates, From whence Latona's lordly son does march, When mounted on his coach tinseld with flames, He triumphs in the beauty of the heavens. This is the place where Rodamant lies hid: Here lies he Like the thief of Thessaly, Which scuds abroad, and searches for his pray; And being got, straight he gallops home, As one that dares not break a spear in field. But trust me Princes I have girded his fort, And I will sack it, or on this Castle wall, I'll write my resolution with my blood. Therefore drum found a parley. Why sluggard, seest thou not Lycaons son The hardy plough-swain unto mighty Jove, Hath tracde his silver furrows in the heavens, And turning home his overwatched teem, Gives leave unto Apollos Chariot. I tell thee sluggard, sleep is far unfit For such as still have hammering in their heads, But only hope of honour and revenge. These called me forth to rouse thy master up. Tell him from me, false coward as he is, That Orlando the County Palatine, Is come this morning with a band of French, To play him hunts-up with a point of war. I'll be his minstrel with my drum and fife: Bid him come forth, and dance it if he dare, Let Fortune throw her favors where she list. Brave Centynell if nature hath enchased, Asympathie of courage to thy tale, And Like the champion of Andromache, Thou or thy master dare came out the gates, Maugre the watch, the round, or Court of guard, I will attend to abide the coward here. If not, but still the crauin sleeps secure, Pitching his guard within a trench of stones; Tell him his walls shall serve him for no proof, But as the son of Saturn in his wrath Pashed all the mountains at Typheus head, And topsy turuie turned the bottom up, So shall the Castle of proud Rodamant: And so brave Lords of France, lets to the fight. The Fox is scapde, but heres his case: I missed him never, it time for him to trudge. How now my Lord of Aquitaine? Come then, lets post amain to find out Rodamant, And then in triumph march unto Marsillus. Orgalio, go see a Centernell be placed, And bid the soldiers keep a Court of guard, So to hold watch till secret here alone, I meditate upon the thoughts of love. Fair Queen of love, thou mistress of delight, Thou gladsome lamp that waitst on Phoebes train, Spreading thy kindness through the jarring Orbs, That in their union praise thy lasting powers. Thou that hast stayed the fiery Phlegons course, And madest the Coachman of the glorious wain To droop, in view of Daphne's excellence. Fair pride of morn, sweet beauty of the Even, Look on Orlando languishing in love. Sweet solitary groves, whereas the Nymphs With pleasance laugh to see the Satires play; Witness Orlandos faith unto his love. Tread she these lands, kind Flora boast thy pride; Seek she for shades, spread Cedars for her sake, Fair Flora make her couch amid thy flowers, Sweet Crystal springs, wash you with roses, When she longs to drink. Ah, thought my heaven; Ah heaven that knows my thought. Smile joy, in her that my content hath wrought. Orlando, what contrarious thoughts be these, That flock with doubtful motions in thy mind? Heaven smiles, & trees do boast their summer's pride: What? Venus writes her triumphs here beside. Angelica. Ah sweet and heavenly name, Life to my life, and essence to my joy. But soft this Gordion knot together co-unites A Medor partner in her peerless love. Unkind: and will she bend her thoughts to change? Her name, her writing? Ah foolish and unkind. No name of hers; unless the brooks relent To hear her name, and Rhodanus vouchsafe To raise his moistened locks from out the redes, And flow with calm alongst his turning bounds: No name of hers, unless Zephyrus blow Her dignities alongst Ardenia woods; Where all the world for wonders do await. And yet her name; for why Angelica: But mixed with Medor, not Angelica. Only by me was loved Angelica, Only for me must live Angelica. I find her drift, perhaps the modest pledge Of my content, hath with a secret smile And sweet disguise restrained her fancy thus, Figuring Orlando under Medors name: Fine drift (fair Nymph) Orlando Hope's no less. Ah false Angelica. What have we more? What dares Medor court my Venus? What may Orlando deem? Aetna forsake the bounds of Sicily, For now in me thy restless flames appear, Refused, contemned, disdained: what worse than these? Orgalio. Boy, view these trees carved with true love knots, The inscription Medor and Angelica: And read these verses hung up of their loves. Now tell me boy, what dost thou think? And what of that? What messenger hath Ate sent abroad, With idle looks to listen my laments. Sirrah, who wronged happy Nature so, To spoil these trees with this Angelica? Yet in her name (Orlando) they are blessed. As follow love? why darest thou dispraise my heaven, Or once disgrace or prejudice her name? Is not Angelica the Queen of love, Decked with the compound wreathe of Adonis flowers She is. Then speak thou peasant, what is he that dares Attempt to court my Queen of love. Or I shall send thy soul to Charon's charge. Angelica does none but Medor love? Shall Medor then possess Orlandos love? Dainty and gladsome beams of my delight, Delicious brows, why smiles your heaven for those That wandering make you prove Orlandos foes: Lend me your plaints, you sweet Arcadian Nymph's, That wont to wail your new departed loves: Thou weeping flood, leave Orpheus wail for me, And Titan's Nieces gather all in one Those fluent springs of your lamenting tears, And let them flow alongst my faintful looks. Foemineum servile genus, crudele, superbum: Discourteous women, Nature's fairest ill, The woe of man, that first created curse; Base female sex, sprung from black Ates loins, Proud, disdainful, cruel and unjust: Whose words are shaded with enchanting wills, Worse than Medusa, mateth all our minds, And in their hearts sits shameless treachery Turning a truthles vile circumference. Oh could my fury paint their furies forth, For hels no hell compared to their hearts, Too simple devils to conceal their arts. Born to be plagues unto the thoughts of men, Brought for eternal pestilence to the world. Oh Femmenelle in genio de toute malle seed, Comet, vulge, mute, fachilmente, Contrario, zero, propriam de la fede; Oh infelice, miserate, crede, Importuna, superbiam, dispetoze: Preva de more, de fede, de consilia, Timmorare, crudele, ineque, ingrate, Par pestelenze eternal monde nate. Villain, what art thou that followest me? thou art Medor that ranst away with Angelica. Art thou Orgalio? tell me where Medor is. What, sits he here, and braves me too? Yes villain. Villain, provide me straight a Lions skin, Thou seest I now am mighty Hercules: Look where my massy club upon my neck. I must to hell, to seek for Medor and Angelica, Or else I die. You that are the rest, get you quickly away, Provide you horses all of burnished gold, Saddles of cork because I'll have them light, For Charlemagne the Great is up in arms. And Arthur with a crew of Britons comes To seek for Medor and Angelica. Woods, trees, leaves; leaves, trees, woods: tria sequuntur tria. Ho Minerva, salve, God morrow how do you to day? Tell me sweet Goddess, will Jove send Mercury to Calipso to let me go. Will he? why then he's a Gentleman eueriehaire a the head on him. But ho Orgalio, where art thou boy? No, nor name thee. Nay pree thee good Orgalio stay, Canst thou not tell me what to say? Oh this it is, Angelica is dead. But my Angelica is dead. But she's dead and buried. Nothing but I think so, and it may be so. Why shall I tell you that my Love is dead, and can you not weep for her. Well do so then. Orgalio. Angelica is dead. Orgalio cries. Ah, poor slave, so, cry no more now. Orgalio. Medors Angelica is dead. Why slave, wilt thou weep for Medors And licam, thou must laugh for her. Medors Angelica is dead. So, 'tis well now. Now away, seek the herb Moly, for I must to hell, to seek for Medor and Angelica. Come I'll led you to it by the ears. 'Tis indeed, now to Charon, bid him dress his boat, for he had never such a passenger. No, then he will be afraid, & not be at home. What sayest thou villain? He beats them. So now you shall be both my Soldiers. You must fight against Medor. Come then and I'll give you weapons strait, Soldiers, this is the City of great Babylon, Where proud Darius was rebated from, Play but the men and I will lay my head, Weel sack and raze it ere the sun be set. Orgalio, knowest thou the cause of my laugh ter? Why sirrah to think that if the enemy were fled ere we come, weel not leave one of our own soldiers alive, for we two will kill them with our fists. No, no, thou shalt not be hurt, nor thee, Back soldiers, look where the enemy is. And what of that? No I am challenged the single fight, Syrra, ift you challenge me the combat. I tell thee villain Medor wronged me so, Sith thou art come his Champion to the field, I'll learn thee know I am the Palatine. Who killed him? I? No, no, I see who killed him. Come hither gentle sir, whose prowess hath per formde such and act, think not the courteous Palatine will hinder that thine Honour hath atchieude, Or galio fetch me a sword, that presently this squire may be dubbed a Knight. If thou be'st come of Lancelots worthy line welcome thou art, Kneel down sir Knight, rise up sir Knight, Here take this sword, and High thee to the fight. Now tell me Orgalio, what dost thou think, Will not his Knight prove a valiant Squire? But where Angelica now? Villain find her out, Or else the torments that Ixion feels, The rolling stone, the tubs of the Belides, Villain wilt thou find her out. Run to Charlemagne, spare for no cost, Tell him Orlando sent for Angelica. As though that Sagittarius in his pride, Could take brave Laeda from stout Jupiter? And yet forsooth Medor, base Medor durst Attempt to reue Orlando of his love. Sirrah, you that are the messenger of Jove, You that can sweep it through the milk white path That leads unto the Senate house of Mars. Fetch me my shield tempered of purest steel, My helm forged by the Cyclops for Anchises son, And see if I dare not combat for Angelica. Mass thou sayest true, 'tis she indeed; How fares the fair Angelica? Why art thou not that same Angelica, Whose hiew as bright as fair Erythea That darks Canopus with her silver hiew? Are not these the beauteous checks, Wherein the Lilies and the native Rose Sits equal suited with a blushing read? Are not my dear those radiant eyes, Whereout proud Phœbus flasheth out his beams? You are Angelica? Where your sweet heart Medor? Speak strumpet, speak. Why strumpet, worse than Mars his troth less love. Falser than faithless Cresida: strumpet thou shalt not escape. Are you, that will I try. He beats him out. Orgalio, is not my love Like those purple coloured swans, That gallop by the Coach of Cynthia. Is not her face siluerd Like that milkwhite shape, When love came dancing downeto Semele. Then tell him he is a sleepy knave: But sirrah let no body trouble me, for I must lie down a while and talk with the stars. Who is this, Shan Cuttelero? heartily well come, Shan Cuttelero. What, hast thou brought me my sword? But dost thou think the temper to be good And will it hold, when thus and thus we Medor do assail? Tell me, why hast thou marred my sword? The pummells well, the blade is curtald short. Villain why hast thou made it so, Fair Polyxena, the pride of Illion, Fear not Achilles over-madding boy, Pyrrus shall not, &c. Sounes Orgalio, why sufferest thou this old trot to come so nigh me? What, be all the Trogians fled, Then give me some drink. What here the paltry bottle that Darius quaffed, Else would I set my mouth to Tigers streams, And drink up overflowing Euphrates, My eyes are heavy, and I needs must sleep. Melissa striketh with her wand, and the Satires enter with music and play round about him, which done, they stay, he awakes and speaks. What shows are these that fill mine eyes With view of such regard as heaven admires, To see my slumbering dreams, Skies are fulfilled with lamps of lasting joy, That boast the pride of haught Latona's son, He lighteneth all the candles of the night. Nymosene hath kissed the kingly Jove, And entertained a feast within my brains, Making her daughter solace on my brow, Me thinks I feel how Cinthya tunes conceits Of sad repent, and meloweth those desires Which frenzies scares had ripened in my head. Ate I'll kiss thy restless cheek a while, And suffer vile repent to bide control, What sights, what shows, what fearful shapes are these? More dreadful then appeared to Hecuba, When fallen of Troy was figured in her sleep. Juno me thought sent down from heaven by love. Came swiftly sweeping through the gloomy air And calling Fame the Satires and the nymphs, She gave them viols full of heavenly Due, With that mounted on her particoloured coach Being drawn with peacocks proudly through the air, She flew with Iris to the sphere of love. What fearful thoughts arise upon this show? What desert grove is this? How thus disguised? Where is Orgalio? Sirrah, how came I thus disguised, Like made Orestes quaintly thus disguised? Like mad Orestes, nay my Lord, you may boldly justify the comparison, for Orestes was never so mad in his life as you were. What was I mad? What fury hath in chanted me? Why, what art thou, some Sybel or some goddess, freely speak? Stay Princes, base not your selves to cum bat such a dog. Mount on your coursers, follow those that fly, And let your conquering Swords be tainted in their bloods Pass you, for him he shall be combated. I am thou seest a mercenary soldier Homely, yet of such haughty thoughts; As nought can serve to que ̄ changed th'aspiring thoughts That burns as do the fires of Cicely, Unless I win that princely diadem, That seems so ill upon thy cowards head. Then mayest thou think that Mars himself Came down to veil thy plumes, and heave thee from thy pomp. Proud that thou art, I reck not of thy gree, But I will have the conquest of my sword, Which is the glory of thy diadem. Nay first let me know thine? Sacrepant. Then let me at thy dying day entreat, By that same sphere wherein thy soul shall rest, If love deny not passage to thy ghost, Thou tell me whither thou wrongdst Angelica or no. Then dead is the fatal author of my ill, Base villain, vassal, unworthy of a crown, Know that the man that struck the fatal stroke, Is Orlando the County Palatine, Whom fortune sent to quittance all my wrongs Thou foiled and slave, it now behooves me straight To High me fast to massacre thy men, And so farewell thou devil in shape of man. Frenchman, for so thy quaint array imports, Be thou a Pier, or be thou Charlemagne, Or hadst thou Hector or Achilles heart, Or never daunted thoughts of Hercules, That did in courage far surpass them all, I tell thee sir, thou liest in thy throat, The greatest brave transalpine France can brook, In saying that sacred Angelica, Did offer wrong unto the Palatine: I am a common mercenary soldier, Yet for I see my Princess is abused By new come stragglers from a foreign coast, I dare the proudest of these western Lords To crack a blade in trial of her right. How Madam, the twelve Peers of France? Why let them be twelve devils of hell: What I have said I'll pawn my sword To seal it on the shield of him that dares Malgrado of his honour combat me. Yar a welcome man sir. Hear you sir: You that so peremptorily bade him fight, Prepare your weapons for your turn is next, 'Tis not one Champion that can discourage me, Come are ye ready. So stand aside, and Madam if my fortune last it out, I'll guard you with twelve Peers of France. Well said Frenchman, you have made a goodly oration: But you had best to use your sword better, lest I beswing you. Then to assure you that I am no devil, Heres your friend and companion Orlando. So was I Lordings: but give me leave a while, Humbly as Mars did to his Paramour, So to submit to fair Angelica. Pardon thy Lord, fair saint Angelica, Whose love stealing by steps into extremes, Grew by suspicion to a causeless lunacy. Thanks my good Lord, & now my friends of France, From , be merry, we will hasten home, So soon as King will consent, To let his daughter with us to France, Mean while weel richly rig up all our Fleet, More brave than was that gallant Grecian keel, That brought away the Colchyan fleece of gold. Our Sails of sendall spread into the wind, Our ropes and tacklings all of finest silk, Fetched from the native looms of labouring worms, The pride of Barbary, and the glorious wealth, That is transported by the Western bounds: Our stems cut out of gleming Ivory, Our planks and sides framed out of Cypress wood, That bears the name of Cyparissus change, To burst the billows of the Ocean Sea, Where Phœbus dips his amber-tresses oft, And kisses Thetis in the days decline, That Neptune proud shall call his Trytons forth, To cover all the Ocean with a calm: So rich shall be the rubbish of our barks, Taken here for ballas to the ports of France, That Charles himself shall wonder at the sighed. Thus Lordings when our banquetings be done, And Orlando espoused to Angelica, Weel furrow through the moving Ocean, And cherely frolic with great Charlemagne. Thanks my sweet love. But why stands the Prince of Africa, And Mandrecarde the King of Mexico, So deep in dumps when all rejoice beside: First know my Lord, I slaughtered Sacrepant, I am the man that did the slave to death, Who frankly there did make confession, That he ingravde the Roundelays on the trees, And hung the schedules of poor Medors love, Intending by suspect to breed debate, Deeply betwixt me and fair Angelica: His hope had hap but we had all the harm, And now Revenge leaping from out the seat, Of him that may command stern Nemesis, Hath powrde those treasons justly on his head. What says my gracious Lord to this? Thanks sacred Gods for thy helping hand Thither will I High to be revenged. Alarms. Orgalio. Orgalio who is this?