Classic Poem

THE ORDER AND SIGNIFICATION OF THE DUMB SHOW BEFORE THE THIRD ACT . First, the music of flutes began to play, during which came in upon the stage, a company of mourners, all clad in black, betokening death and sorrow to ensue upon the ill-advised misgovernment and dissension of brethren, as befel upon the murder of Ferrex by his younger brother. After the mourners had passed thrice about the stage, they departed, and then the music ceased .

ACT. III. Scene I.

G ORBODUC . E UBULUS . A ROSIUS .

Gorboduc.

O CRUEL fates, O mindful wrath of gods,
Whose vengeance, neither Simois' stained streams
Flowing with blood of Trojan princes slain,
Nor Phrygian fields made rank with corpses dead
Of Asian kings and lords, can yet appease;
Ne slaughter of unhappy Priam's race,
Nor Ilion's fall, made level with the soil,
Can yet suffice: but still continued rage
Pursues our lives, and from the farthest seas
Doth chase the issues of destroyed Troy .
" Oh, no man happy till his end be seen. "
If any flowing wealth and seeming joy
In present years might make a happy wight,
Happy was Hecuba , the wofull'st wretch
That ever lived to make a mirror of;
And happy Priam , with his noble sons;
And happy I, till now, alas! I see
And feel my most unhappy wretchedness.
Behold, my lords, read ye this letter here;
Lo, it contains the ruin of our realm,
If timely speed provide not hasty help.
Yet, O ye gods, if ever woeful king
Might move ye, kings of kings, wreak it on me
And on my sons, not on this guiltless realm:
Send down your wasting flames from wrathful skies,
To reave me and my sons the hateful breath.
Read, read my lords; this is the matter why
I call'd ye now, to have your good advice.

The letter from D ORDAN , the Counsellor of the elder Prince .

E UBULUS readeth the letter .

My sovereign lord, what I am loath to write,
But loathest am to see, that I am fore'd
By letters now to make you understand.
My lord Ferrex , your eldest son, misled
By traiterous fraud of young untemper'd wits,
Assembleth force against your younger son,
Ne can my counsel yet withdraw the heat
And furious pangs of his inflamed head.
Disdain, saith he, of his disheritance
Arms him to wreak the great pretended wrong,
With civil sword upon his brother's life.
If present help do not restrain this rage,
This flame will waste your sons, your land, and you.
Your Majesty's faithful ,
and most humble subject ,
D ORDAN .

Aros. O king, appease your grief, and stay your plaint;
Great is the matter, and a woeful case:
But timely knowledge may bring timely help.
Send for them both unto your presence here:
The reverence of your honour, age, and state,
Your grave advice, the awe of father's name,
Shall quickly knit again this broken peace.
And if in either of my lords, your sons,
Be such untamed and unyielding pride,
As will not bend unto your noble hests;
If Ferrex , the elder son, can bear no peer,
Or Porrex , not content, aspires to more
Than you him gave above his native right;
Join with the juster side, so shall you force
Them to agree, and hold the land in stay.
Eub. What meaneth this? Lo, yonder comes in haste
Philander from my lord, your younger son.

Enter P HILANDER .

Gor. The gods send joyful news!
Phil. The mighty Jove
Preserve your majesty, O noble king.
Gor. Philander , welcome: but how doth my son?
Phil. Your son, sir, lives, and healthy I him left.
But yet, O king, the want of lustful health
Could not be half so griefful to your grace,
As these most wretched tidings that I bring.
Gor. O heavens, yet more? no end of woes to me?
Phil. Tyndar , O king, came lately from the court
Of Ferrex , to my lord your younger son,
And made report of great prepared store
For war, and saith that it is wholly meant
Against Porrex , for high disdain that he
Lives now a king, and equal in degree
With him that claimeth to succeed the whole,
As by due title of descending right.
Porrex is now so set on flaming fire,
Partly with kindled rage of cruel wrath,
Partly with hope to gain a realm thereby,
That he in haste prepareth to invade
His brother's land, and with unkindly war
Threatens the murder of your elder son;
No could I him persuade, that first he should
Send to his brother to demand the cause;
Nor yet to you to stay this hateful strife.
Wherefore sith there no more I can be heard,
I come myself now to inform your grace,
And to beseech you, as you love the life
And safety of your children and your realm,
Now to employ your wisdom and your force
To stay this mischief ere it be too late.
Gor. Are they in arms? would he not send to me?
Is this the honour of a father's name?
In vain we travail to assuage their minds,
As if their hearts, whom neither brother's love,
Nor father's awe, nor kingdom's cares, can move,
Our counsels could withdraw from raging heat.
Jove slay them both, and end the cursed line.
For though perhaps fear of such mighty force
As I, my lords, joined with your noble aids,
May yet raise, shall repress their present heat,
The secret grudge and malice will remain,
The fire not quench'd, but kept in close restraint,
Fed still within, breaks forth with double flame.
Their death and mine must 'pease the angry gods.
Phil. Yield not, O king, so much to weak despair:
Your sons yet live, and long, I trust, they shall.
If fates had taken you from earthly life,
Before beginning of this civil strife,
Perhaps your sons in their unmaster'd youth,
Loose from regard of any living wight,
Would run on headlong, with unbridled race,
To their own death, and ruin of this realm.
But sith the gods, that have the care for kings,
Of things and times dispose the order so,
That in your life this kindled flame breaks forth,
While yet your life, your wisdom, and your power,
May stay the growing mischief; and repress
The fiery blaze of their enkindled heat;
It seems, and so ye ought to deem thereof,
That loving Jove hath temper'd so the time
Of this debate to happen in your days,
That you yet living may the same appease,
And add it to the glory of your age,
And they your sons may learn to live in peace.
Beware, O king, the greatest harm of all,
Lest, by your wailful plaints, your hastened death
Yield larger room unto their growing rage.
Preserve your life, the only hope of stay.
And if your highness herein list to use
Wisdom or force, counsel or knightly aid,
Lo we, our persons, powers, and lives are yours;
Use us till death, O king, we are your own.
Eub. Lo, here the peril that was erst foreseen,
When you, O king, did first divide your land,
And yield your present reign unto your sons.
But now, O noble prince, now is no time
To wail and plain, and waste your woeful life;
Now is the time for present good advice.
Sorrow doth dark the judgment of the wit.
" The heart unbroken, and the courage free
" From feeble faintness of bootless despair,
" Doth either rise to safety or renown
" By noble valour of unvanquish'd mind,
" Or yet doth perish in more happy sort. "
Your grace may send to either of your sons
Some one both wise and noble personage,
Which with good counsel, and with weighty name
Of father, shall present before their eyes
Your hest, your life, your safety, and their own,
The present mischief of their deadly strife.
And in the while, assemble you the force
Which your commandment and the speedy haste
Of all my lords here present can prepare.
The terror of your mighty power shall stay
The rage of both, or yet of one at least.

Enter N UNITUS .

Nun. O king, the greatest grief that ever prince did hear,
That ever woeful messenger did tell,
That ever wretched land hath seen before,
I bring to you: Porrex your younger son
With sudden force invaded hath the land
That you to Ferrex did allot to rule;
And with his own most bloody hand he hath
His brother slain, and doth possess his realm.
Gor. O heavens, send down the flames of your revenge!
Destroy, I say, with flash of wreakful fire
The traitor son, and then the wretched sire!
But let us go, that yet perhaps I may
Die with revenge, and 'pease the hateful gods.
[ Exeunt.

C HORUS .

The lust of kingdom knows no sacred faith,
No rule of reason, no regard of right,
No kindly love, no fear of heaven's wrath;
But with contempt of gods, and man's despite,
Through bloody slaughter doth prepare the ways
To fatal sceptre and accursed reign.
The son so loathes the father's lingering days,
No dreads his hand in brother's blood to stain.
O wretched prince, ne dost thou yet record
The yet fresh murders done within the land
Of thy forefathers, when the cruel sword
Bereft Morgan his life with cousin's hand?
Thus fatal plagues pursue the guilty race,
Whose murderous hand, imbru'd with guiltless blood,
Asks vengeance still before the heaven's face,
With endless mischiefs on the cursed brood.
The wicked child thus brings to woeful sire
The mournful plaints to waste his very life.
Thus do the cruel flames of civil fire
Destroy the parted reign with hateful strife.
And hence doth spring the well from which doth flow
The dead black streams of mourning, plaints, and woe.