LEIR

No more, nor less, but even all alike, My zeal is fixed, all fashioned in one mould: Wherefore unpartial shall my censure be, Both old and young shall have alike for me. Herein, my Lords, your wishes sort-with mine, And mine (I hope) do sort with heavenly powers: For at this instant two near neyghbouring Kings Of Cornwall and of Cambria, motion love To my two daughters, Gonorill and Ragan. My youngest daughter, fair Cordella, vows No liking to a Monarch, unless love allows, She is solicited by diverse Peers; But none of them her partial fancy hears. Yet, if my policy may her beguile, I'll match her to some King within this I'll, And so establish such a perfect peace, As Fortune's force shall never prevail to cease. I am resolved, and even now my mind Does meditate a sudden stratagem, To try which of my daughters loves me best: Which till I know, I cannot be in rest. This granted, when they jointly shall contend, Eke to exceed the other in their love: Then at the vantage will I take Cordella, Even as she does protest she loves me best, I'll say, Then, daughter, grant me one request, To show thou love me as thy sisters do, Accept a husband, whom my self will woo. This said, she cannot well deny my suit, Although (poor soul) her senses will be mute: Then will I triumph in my policy, And match her with a King of Brittany. Perillus, go seek my daughters, Will them immediately come and speak with me. O, what a combat feels my panting heart, Betwixt children's love, and care of Common weal! How deer my daughters are unto my soul, None knows, but he, that knows my thoughts & secret deeds. Ah, little do they know the deer regard, Wherein I hold their future state to come: When they securely sleep on beds of down, These aged eyes do watch for their behalf: While they Like wantons sport in youthful toys, This throbbing heart is pierced with dire annoys. As does the Sun excceed the smallest Star, So much the father's love exceeds the child's. Yet my complaints are causeless: for the world. Affords not children more conformable: And yet, me thinks, my mind presages still I know not what: and yet I fear some ill. Well, here my daughters come me: I have found out A present means to rid me of this doubt. Oh, how thy words revive my dying soul! But what say Ragan to her father's will? Did never Philomel sing so sweet a note. Speak now, Cordalla, make my joys at full, And drop down Nectar from thy honey lips. Why how now, Minion, are you grown so proud; Does our deer love make you thus peremptory: What, is your love become so small to us, As that you scorn to tell us what it is: Do you love us, as every child does love Their father? True indeed, as some, Who by disobedience short their father's days, And so would you; some are so father-sick, That they make means to rid them from the world; And so would you: some are indifferent, Whither their aged parents live or die; And so are you. But didst thou know, proud girl, What care I had to foster thee to this, Ah, then thou wouldst say as thy sisters do: Our life is less, then love we owe to you. Peace, bastard Imp, no issue of King Leir, I will not hear thee speak one tittle more. Call not me father, if thou love thy life, Nor these thy sisters once presume to name: Look for no help henceforth from me nor mine; Shist as thou wilt, and trust unto thy self: My Kingdom will I equally divide Betwixt thy two sisters to their royal dowry, And will bestow them worthy their deserts: This done, because thou shalt not have the hope, To have a child's partly in the time to come, I presently will dispossess my self, And set up these upon my princely throne. Cease, good my Lords, and sue not to reverse Our censure, which is now irrevocable We have dispatched letters of contract Unto the Kings of Cambria and of Cornwall; Our hand and seal will justify no less: Then do not so dishonour me, my Lords, As to make shipwreck of our kingly word. I am as kind as is the Pelican, That kills itself, to save her young ones lives: And yet as jealous as the princely Eagle, That kills her young ones, if they-do but dazzle Upon the radiant splendour of the Sun. Within this two days I expect their coming. But in good time, they are arrived already. This haste of yours, my Lords, does testify The fervent love you bear unto my daughters: And think your selves as welcome to King Leir, As ever Pryams children were to him. What rests then, but that we consummate, The celebration of these nuptial Rites? My Kingdom I do equally divide. Princes, draw lots, and take your chance as falls. These I resign as freely unto you, As erst by true succession they were mine. And here I do freely dispossess my self, And make you two my true adopted heirs: My self will sojourn with my son of Cornwall, And take me to my prayers and my beads. I know, my daughter Ragan will be sorry, Because I do not spend my days with her: Would I were able to be with both at once; They are the kindest Gytles in Christian dome. Urge this no more, and if thou love thy life: I say, she is no daughter, that does scorn To tell her father how she loves him. Who ever speaks hereof to me again, I will esteem him for my mortal foe. Come, let us in, to celebrate with joy, The happy Nuptials of these lovely pairs. The nearer we do grow unto our graves, The less we do delight in worldly joys. Then welcome sorrow, Leirs only friend, Who does desire his troubled days had end. But more does grieve, I fear, to see me live. Alas, not I: poor soul, she breeds young bones, And that is it makes her so tuteliy sure. Thus, say or do the best that ever I can, 'Tis wrested straight into another sense. This punishment my heavy sins deserve, And more then this ten thousand thousand times: Else aged Leir them could never find Cruel to him, to whom he hath been kind. Why do I overlive my self, to see The course of nature quite rouerst in me? Ah, gentle Death, if ever any wight Did wish thy presence with a perfect zeal: Then come, I pray thee, even with all my heart, And end my sorrows with thy fatal dart. What man art thou that takest any pity Upon the worthless state of old Leir? Ah, good my friend, how ill art thou advised, For to consort with miserable men: Go learn to flatter, where thou mayest in time Get favour amongst the mighty, and so climb; For now I am so poor and full of want. As that I never can recompense thy love. Did I ererayse thee higher then the rest Of all thy ancestors which were before? Did I ere give thee living, to increase The endue revenues which thy father left? O, did I ever dispossess my self, And give thee half my Kingdom in good will: Nay, if thou talk of reason, then be mute; For with good reason I can thee confute. If they, which first by nature's sacred law, Do owe to me the tribute of their lives; If they to whom I always have been kind, And bountiful beyond comparison; If they, for whom I have undone my self, And brought my age unto this extreme want, Do now reject, contemn, despise, abhor me, What reason moves thee to sorrow for me: O, how thy words add sorrow to my soul, To think of my unkindness to Cordella! Whom causelesle I did dispossess of all, Upon th'vnkind suggestions of her sisters: And for her sake, I think this heavy doom Is fallen on me, and not without desert: Yet unto Ragan was I always kind, And gave to her the half of all I had: It may be, if I should to her repair, She would be kinder, and entreat me fair. Well, since thou dost advise me for to go, I am resolved to try the worst of woe. Nay, rest on me, kind friend, and stay thy self, Thou art as old as I, but more kind. But it fits worse, that I should bring thee forth, That had no cause to come along with me, Through these uncouth paths, and tirefull ways, And never ease thy fainting limbs a whit. Thou hast left all, I, all to come with me, And I, for all, have nought to guerdon thee. Cease, good Perillus, for to call me Lord, And think me but the shadow of my self. Were I best speak, or fit me down and die: I am ashamed to tell this heavy tale. 'Tis news indeed, I am so extreme: heavy, That I can scarcely keep my eyelids open. Hither my daughter means to come disguised I'll fit me down, and read until she come. 'Twere not for us to stand upon our hands Even pray to God, to bless us from ̄ their hands: For fervent prayer much ill hap withstands. I marvel, that my daughter stays so long. God grant we do not miscarry in the place: I had a short nap, but so full of dread, As much amazes me to think thereof. Me thought, my daughters, Gonorill & Ragan, Stood both before me with such grim aspects, Eke brandishing a Falchion in their hand, Ready to lop a lymme off where it fell, And in their other hands a naked poynyard, Wherewith they stabbed me in a hundred places, And to their thinking left me there for dead: But then my youngest daughter, fair Cordella, Came with a box of Balsome in her hand, And poured it into my bleeding wounds, By whose good means I was recovered well, In perfect health, as erst I was before: And with the fear of this I did awake, And yet for fear my feeble joints quake. We do, my friend, although with much ado. My friend, thou seemest to be a proper man. If that I have will do thee any good, I give it thee, even with a right good will. Why then farewell: and if thou have occasion In any thing, to use me to the Queen, It's Like enough that I can pleasure thee. I, any thing that lies within my power. Here is my hand upon it, so farewell. Affright us not with terror, good my friend, Nor strike such fear into our aged hearts. Play not the Cat, which dallieth with the mouse; And on a sudden makes her a pray: But if thou art marked for the man of death To me and to my Damion, tell me plain, That we may be prepared for the stroke, And make our selves fit for the world to come. Camest thou from France, of purpose to do this? Because my daughter, whom I have offended, And at whose hands I have deserved as ill, As ever any father did of child, Is Queen of France, no thanks at all to me, But unto God, who my injustice see. If it be so, that she does seek revenge, As with good reason she may justly do, I will most willingly resign my life, A sacrifice to mitigate her ire: I never will entreat thee to forgive, Because I am unworthy for to live. Therefore speak soon, & I will soon make speed: Whither Cordella willed thee do this deed? Ah no, my friend, thou art deceived much: For her except, whom I confess I wronged, Through doting frenzy, and o're-ielous love. There lives not any under heavens bright eye, That can convict me of impiety. And therefore sure thou dost mistake the mark: For I am in true peace with all the world. Yet, gentle friend, grant one thing ere I die. O, but assure me by some certain token, That my two daughters hired thee to this deed: If I were once resolved of that, then I Would wish no longer life, but crave to die. Swear not by heaven, for fear of punishme ̄ to: The heavens are guiltless of such heinous acts. Swear not by earth; for she abhors to bear Such bastards, as are murderers of her sons. Swear not by hell; for that stands gaping wide, To swallow thee, and if thou do this deed. Ah, my true friend in all extremity, Let us submit us to the will of God: Things passed all sense, let us not seek to know; It is Gods will, and therefore must be so. My friend, I am prepared for the stroke: Strike when thou wilt, and I forgive thee here, Even from the very bottom of my heart. Farewell, Perillus, even the truest friend, That ever lived in adversity: The latest kindness isle request of thee, Is that thou go unto my daughter Cordella, And carry her her father's latest blessing: Withal desire her, that she will forgive me; For I have wronged her without any cause. Now, Lord, receive me, for I come to thee, And die, I hope, in perfect charity. Dispatch, I pray thee, I have lived too long. No doubt, he shall, when by the course of nature, He must surrender up his endue to death: But that time shall not come, till God permit. The letter which I read, imports not so, It only touches me, no word of him. Friend, thy commission is to deal with me, And I am he that hath deserved all: The plot was laid to take away my life: And here it is, I do entreat thee take it: Yet for my sake, and as thou art a man, Spare this my friend, that hither with me came? I brought him forth, whereas he had not been, But for good will to bear me company. He left his friends, his country and his goods, And came with me in most extremity. O, if he should miscarry here and die, Who is the cause of it, but only I? Oh no, 'tis I. Oh, had I now to give thee The monarchy of all the spacious world To save his life, I would bestow it on thee: But I have nothing but these tears and prayer, And the submission of a bent knee. kneels. Oh, if all this to mercy move they mind, Spare him, in heaven thou shalt Like mercy find. Oh, heavens be thanked, he will spare my friend, Now when thou wilt come make and end of me. Why stayst thou to do execution? Thou art deceived; for I am passed the best, And know not whither for to go from hence: Death had been better welcome unto me, Then longer life to add more misery. O, how can I persuade myself of that, Since the other two are quite devoid of love; To whom I was so kind, as that my gifts, Might make them love me, if 'twere nothing else? But she did find, my love was not to her, As should a father bear unto a child. Come, truest friend, that ever man possessed, I know thou counsailst all things for the best: If this third daughter play a kinder partly, It comes of God, and not of my desert. Faith, had we others to supply their room, Though never so mean, you willingly should have them. With all my heart, and xx. thanks. Kind friend, it is much better as it is; For by this means we may escape unknown; Till time and opportunity do fit. I know thou wilt; but we hope to bring ready money With us, when we come back again. Were ever men in this extremity, In a strange country, and devoid of friends, And not a penny for to help our selves? Kind friend, what thinkest thou will become of us? Ah, kind Perillus, that is it I fear, And makes me faint, or ever I come there. Can kindness spring out of ingratitude? Or love be reaped, where hatred hath been sown? Can Henbane join in league with Methridate? Or Sugar grow in Wormwood's bitter stalk? It cannot be, they are too opposite: And so am I to any kindness here. I have thrown Wormwood on the sugared youth, And Like to Henbane poisoned the Fount, Whence flowed the Methridate of a child's goodwill: I, Like and envious thorn, have pricked the heart, And turned sweet Grapes, to sour unrelished Sloes: The causelesseire of my respectless breast, Hath sowrd the sweet milk of dame Nature's paps: My bitter words have galled her honey thoughts, And weeds of rancour choked the flower of grace. Then what remainder is of any hope, But all our Fortune's will go quite aslope? Thou pleasing Orator unto me in woe, Cease to beguile me with thy hopeful speeches Oh join with me, and think of nought but crosses, And then weel one lament another's losses. Overcome with thy strong arguments, I yield, To be directed by thee, as thou wilt: As thou yeeldst comfort to my crazed thoughts, Would I could yield the Like unto thy body, Which is full weak, I know, and ill payed, For want of fresh meat and endue sustenance. Come, let us go, and see what God will send; When all means fail, he is the surest friend. Ah, my Perillus, now I see we both Shall end our days in this vntrustfull soil. O, I do faint for want of sustenance: And thou, I know, in little better case. No gentle tree affords one taste of fruit, To comfort us, until we meet with men: No lucky path conducts our luckless steps Unto a place where any comfort dwells. Sweet rest betide unto our happy souls; For here I see our bodies must have end. I am no Cannibal, that I should delight To slake my hungry jaws with humane flesh: I am no devil, or ten times worse then so, To suck the blood of such a peerless friend. Oh, do not think that I respect my life So dearly, as I do thy loyal love. Ah, Britain, I shall never see thee more, That hast unkindly banished thy King: And yet not thou dost make me to complain, But they which were more near to me then thou. Ah, Gonorill, was half my Kingdoms gift The cause that thou didst seek to have my life: Ah, cruel Ragan, did I give thee all, And all could not suffice without my blood? Ah, poor Cordella, did I give thee nought, Nor never shall be able for to give? Oh, let me warn all ages that ensueth, How they trust flattery, and reject the truth. Well, unkind Girls, I here forgive you both, Yet the joust heavens will hardly do the Like; And only crave forgiveness at the end Of good Cordella, and of thee, my friend; Of God, whose Majesty I have offended, By my transgression many thousand ways: Of her, deer heart, whom I for no occasion Turned out of all, through flatterers persuasion: Of thee, kind friend, who but for me, I know, Hadst never come unto this place of woe. Oh, let kind pity mollify their hearts, That they may help us in our great extremes. The thanks be his, and these kind courteous folk, By whose humanity we are preserved. Me thinks, I never ate such savoury meat: It is as pleasant as the blessed Manna, That reigned from heaven amongst the Israelites: It hath recalled my spirits home again, And made me fresh, as erst I was before. But how shall we congratulate their kindness? Nay, stay, Perillus, for they shall have mine. Ah, who would think such kindness should remain Among such strange and unacquainted men: And that such hate should harbour in the breast Of those, which have occasion to be best? Ah, good young daughter, I may call thee so; For thou art Like a daughter I did owe. No, God forbid: but all my interest's gone, By showing my self too much unnatural: So have I lost the title of a father, and me be called a stranger to her rather. Yes, I have more by two, then would I had. If from the first I should relate the cause, IT would make a heart of Adamant to weep; And thou, poor soul, kindhearted as thou art, Dost weep already, ere I do begin. The know this first, I am a Britain born, and had three daughters by one loving wife: And though I say it, of beauty they were sped; Especially the youngest of the three, For her perfections hardly matched could be: On these I doted with a jealous love, And thought to try which of them loved me best, By asking them, which would do most for me? The first and second flattered me with words, And vowed they loved me better then their lives: The youngest said, she loved me as a child Might do ̄ : her answer I esteemed most vild, And presently in and outrageous mood, I turned her from me to go sink or swim: And all I had, even to the very clothes, I gave in dowry with the other two: And she that best deserved the greatest share, I gave her nothing, but disgrace and care. Now mark the sequel: When I had done thus, I sojourned in my eldest daughters house, Where for a time I was entreated well, And lived in state sufficing my content: But every day her kindness did grow cold, Which I with patience put up well enough, And seemed not to see the things I saw: But at the last she grew so far incensed With moody fury, and with causeless hate, That in most vild and contumelious terms, She bade me pack, and harbour some where else. Then was I fain for refuge to repair Unto my other daughter for relief, Who gave me pleasing and most courteous words; But in her actions showed her self so soar, As never any daughter did before: She prayed me in a morning out betime, To go to a thicket two miles from the Court, Pointing that there she would come talk with me: There she had set a shaghayrd murdering wretch, To massacre my honest friend and me. Then judge your self, although my tale be brief, If ever man had greater cause of grief. And now I am constrained to seek relief Of her, to whom I have been so unkind; Whose censure, if it do award me death, I must confess she pays me but my endue: But if the show a loving daughters partly, It comes of God and her, not my desert. How know you that, not knowing what she is? Oh, no men's children are unkind but mine. Oh, stand thou up, it is my partly to kneel, And ask forgiveness for my former faults. Then I will rise, to satisfy your mind, But kneel again, till pardon be resigned. But you gave life to me and to my friend, Whose days had else, had and untimely end. I cast thee forth, when as thou wast but young, And far unable for to help thy self. The blessing, which the God of Abraham gave Unto the tribe of Juda, light on thee, And multiply thy days, that thou mayest see Thy children's children prosper after thee. Thy faults, which are joust none that I do know, God pardon on high, and I forgive below. Oh, he hath been the kindest friend to me, That ever man had in adversity. Thanks, good Lord Mumford, 'tis more of your good will, Then any merit or desert in me. Kind Countrymen, it grieves me, that perforce, I am constrained to use extremities. Thanks, loving subjects; and thanks, worthy son, Thanks, my kind daughter, thanks to you, my Lord, Who willingly adventured have your blood, (Without desert) to do me so much good. The while your hands do manage ceaseless toil, Our hearts shall pray, the foes may have the foil. Out on thee, viper, scum, filthy parricide, More odious to my sighed then is a Toad, Knowest thou these letters? Who ever herd the Like impiety? First to the heavens, next, thanks to you, my son, By whole good means I repossess the same: Which if it please you to accept your self, With all my heart I will resign to you: For it is yours by right, and none of mine. First, have you raised, at your own charge, a power Of valiant Soldiers; (this comes all from you) Next have you ventured your own persons scathe. And lastly, (worthy Gallia never stained) My kingly title I by thee have gained. Ah, my Cordella, now I call to mind, The modest answer, which I took unkind: But now I see, I am no whit beguiled, Thou lovedest me dearly, and as ought a child. And thou ( Perillus ) partner once in woe, Thee to requite, the best I can, I'll do: Yet all I can, I, were it never so much, Were not sufficient, thy true love is such. Thanks (worthy Mumford ) to thee last of all, Not greeted last, because thy desert was small; No, thou hast Lion-like laid on to day, Chasing the Cornwall King and Cambria; Who with my daughters, daughters did I say? To save their lives, the fugitives did play. Come, son and daughter, who did me advance, Repose with me awhile, and then for France. Dear Gonorill, kind Ragan, sweet Cordella You flourishing branches of a Kingly stock, Sprung from a tree that once did flourish green, Whose blossoms now are nipped with Winter's frost, And pale grim death does wait upon my steps, And summons me unto his next Assizes. Therefore, deer daughters, as you tender the safety Of him that was the cause of your first being, Resolve a doubt which much molests my mind, Which of you three to me would prove most kind; Which loves me most, and which at my request Will soonest yield unto their father's hest.