If he had once misdemed that in
your
harte
There ever lodged so unkinde a thought.
But tendre love, my lord, and setled truste
Of your good nature, and your noble minde,
Made him to place you thus in royall throne,
And now to geve you half his realme to guide,
Yea and that halfe, which in abounding store
Of things that serve to make a welthy realme,
In stately cities, and in fruitful soyle,

In temperate breathing of the milder heaven,
In things of nedefull use, which frendly sea
Transports by traffike from the forreine partes,
In flowing wealth, in honour, and in force,
Doth passe the double value of the parte
That Porrex hath allotted to his reigne:
Such is your case, such is your father's love.
Fer. Ah! love, my friends: love wrongs not
whom he loves.

Dor. Ne yet he wrongeth you that geveth you
So large a reigne ere that the course of time
Bring you to kingdome by discended right,
Which time perhaps might end your time before.
Fer. Is this no wrong, say you, to reave froin me
My native right of halfe so great a realme,
And thus to match his yonger sonne with me
In egall power, and in as great degree?

Yea and what sonne? the sonne whose swelling pride

Woulde never yelde one pointe of reverence,
When I the elder and apparaunt heire

Stoode in the likelihode to possesse the whole :
Yea, and that sonne which from his childish age
Envieth myne honour, and doth hate my life,
What will he now do, when his pride, his rage,
The mindfull malice, or his grudging harte,
Is armed with force, with wealth, and kingly state?
Her. Was this not wrong, yea yll advised wrong,
To give so mad a man so sharpe a sworde,
To so great perill of so great missehappe,
Wide open thus to set so large a waye?

Dor. Alas, iny lord, what griefull thing is this
That of your brother you can thinke so ill?
I never saw him utter likelie signe
Whereby a man might see or once misdemė.
Such hate of you, ne such unyelding pride:
Ill is their counsell, shamefull be their ende,
That raysing such mistrustfull feare in you,
Sowing the seede of such unkindly hate,
Travaile by treason to destroy you both.
Wise is your brother, and of noble hope,
Worthie to welde a large and mighte realme,
So much a stronger frende have you therby,
Whose strength is your strength, if you gree in one.
Her. If nature and the goddes had pinched so
Their flowing bountie and their noble giftes
Of princelie qualities from you, my lorde,
And powrde them all at ones in wastfull wise
Upon your fathers yonger sonne alone;

Perhappes there be that in your prejudice
Would say that birth should yeld to worthinese:
But sithe in eche good gift and princelie arte
Ye are his matche, and in the chiefe of all
In mildnesse and in sobre governaunce,
Ye farre surmount; and sith there is in you
Sufficing skill and hopefull towardnesse,
To weld the whole and match your elders prayse;
I see no cause why ye should loosse the halfe,
Ne would I wishe you yelde to such a losse,
Lest your milde suffieraunce of so great a wronge
Be deemed cowardise and simple dreade:
Which shall geve courage to the fierie head
Of your yonge brother to invade the whole.
While yet therfore stickes in the peoples minde
The lothed wrong of your disheritaunce,
And ere your brother have by settled power,
By guilefull cloke of an alluring showe,
Got him some force and favour in the realme;
And while the noble queene your mother lyves,
To worke and practise all for your availe,
Attempt redresse by arms, and wreake yourself "
Upon his life that gayneth by your losse,
Who nowe to shame of you, and griefe of us,
In your owne kingdome triumphes over you.
Shew now your courage meete for kingly state,
That they which have avowed to spend theyr goods,
Their landes, their lives, and honours, in your cause,
May be the bolder to mainteyne your parte
When they do see that cowarde feare in you
Shall not betray, ne faile their faithfull hartes.
If once the death of Porrex ende the strife,
And pay the price of his usurped reigne,
Your mother shall perswade the angry kyng,
The lords your frends eke shall appease his rage;
For they be wise, and well they can forsee,
That ere longe time your aged father's death
Will bryng a time when you shall well requite
Their friendlie favour, or their hateful spite,
Yea, or their slacknesse to avaunce your cause.
"Wise men do not so hang on passing state
Of prescut princes, chiefly in their age,
But they will further cast their reaching eye
To viewe and weye the times and reignes to come."
Ne is it likely though the king be wrothe,
That he yet will, or that the realme will beare
Extreme revenge upon his onely sonne;
Or if he woulde, what one is he that dare
Be minister to such an enterprise?

And here you be now placed in your owne,
Amyd your frendes, your vassalles, and your
strength,

We shall defende and kepe your person safe,
Till either counsell turne his tender minde,
Or age or sorrow ende his weric dayes.
But if the feare of goddes, and secret grudge
Of nature's law, repining at the fact,
Witholde your courage from so great attempt;

Know ye that lust of kingdomes hath no law,
The goddes do beare and well allow in kinges
The thinges that they abhorre in rascall routes.
"When kinges on slender quarrels runne to warres,
And then in cruell and unkindely wise
Commaund theftes, rapes, murder of innocents,
The spoile of townes, ruines of mighty realms,
Thinke you such princes do suppose themselves
Subject to lawes of kinde and teare of gods ?”
Murders and violent theftes in private men
Are hainous crimes, and full of foule reproach;
Yet none offence, but deckt with glorious name
Of noble conquestes in the handes of kinges.
But if you like not yet so hote devise,
Ne list to take such vauntage of the time,
But, though with perill of your owne estate,
You will not be the first that shall invade,
Assemble yet your force for your defence,
And for your safetie stand upon your garde.
Dor. O heaven, was there ever heard or knowne,
So wicked counsell to a noble prince?
Let me, my lord, disclose unto your grace
This bainous tale, what mischiefe it contanes,
Your father's death, your brother's, and your owne,
Your present murder and eternall shame :
Heare me, O king, and suffer not to sinke
So high a treason in your princely brest.

Fer. The mighty goddes forbid that ever I
Should once conceave such mischiefe in my hart!
Although my brother hath bereft my realme,
And beare perhappes to me an hatefull minde,
Shall I revenge it with his death therefore?
Or shall I so destroy my father's life,
That gave me life? The gods forbid I
say:
Cease you to speake so any more to me,
Ne you my friend with answere once repeate
So foule a tale. In silence let it dye :
What lord or subject shall have hope at all,
That under me they safely shall enjoye
Their goods, their honours, landes, and liberties,
With whom, neither one onely brother deare,
Ne father dearer, could enjoye their lives?
But sith, I feare my yonger brother's rage,
And sith perhappes some other man may geve
Some like advise, to move his grudging head
At mine estate; which counsell may perchaunce
Take greater force with him, then this with me,
I will in secrete so prepare myselfe,
As if his malice or his lust to reigne,
Breake forth in arms, or sodeine violence,

I may withstand his rage, and keepe mine owne.
Dor. I feare the fatal time now draweth on,
When civill hate shall end the noble line
Of famous Brute, aud of his royall seede:
Great Jove defend the mischiefes now at hand!
O that the secretaries wise advise
Had erst bene heard, when he besought the king
Not to divide his land, nor send his sonnes
To further partes from presence of his court,
Ne yet to yeld to them his governaunce.
Lo such are they now in the royall throne
As was rashe Phæton in Phoebus carre
Ne then the fiery stedes did draw the flame

VOL. I.

With wilder randon through the kindled skies,
Than traitorous counsell now will whirle about
The youthfull heades of these unskilfull kinges.
But I hereof their father will enforme,
The reverence of him perhappes shall stay
The growing mischiefes, while they yet are greene;
If this helpe not, then woe unto themselves,
The prince, the people, the divided land.

SCENA SECUNDA.

PORREX, TYNDAR, PHILANDER. Por. AND is it thus? and doth he so prepare Against his brother as his mortall foe? And now while yet his aged father lives? Neither regardes he him, nor feares he me? Warre would he have? and he shall have it so.

Tyn. I saw myselfe the great prepared store Of horse, of armour, and of weapons there, Ne bring I to my lord reported tales, Without the ground of seen and searched trouth, Loe secrete quarrells runne about his court, To bring the name of you, my lorde, in hate: Ech man almost can now debate the cause, And aske a reason of so great a wrong, Why he so noble, and so wise a prince, Is, as unworthy, reft his heritage. And why the king, misseledde by craftie meanes, Divided thus his land from course of right? The wiser sorte holde downe their griefull hedes, Eche man withdraws from talke and company Of those that have bene knowne to favour you To hide the mischiefe of their meaning there.

Rumours are spread of your preparing here.)

The rascall numbers of unskilfull sort

Are filled with monstrous tales of you and yours.
In secrete I was counselled by my frendes
To hast me thence, and brought you, as you know,
Letters from those that both can truely tell,
And would not write unlesse they knew it well.

Phi. My lord, yet ere you move unkindly warre,
Send to your brother to demaund the cause:
Perhappes some traiterous tales have filled his eares
With false reportes against your noble grace,
Which once disclosed shall end the growing strife,
That els not stayed with wise foresight in time
Shall hazarde both your kingdomes and your lives:
Send to your father eke, he shall appease
Your kindled mindes, and rid you of this feare.

Por. Ridde me of feare? I feare him not at all, Ne will to him, ne to my father send; If danger were for one to tary there, Thinke ye it safetie to returne againe? In mischiefes such as Ferrex now intendes, The wonted courteous lawes to messengers Are not observed, which in just warre they use. Shall I so hazard any one of mine? Shall I betray my trusty frendes to him That hath disclosed his treason unto me? Let him entreate that feares, I feare him not: Or shall I to the king, my father, send ; Yea, and send now while such a mother lives, That loves my brother, and that hateth me? E

Shall I geve leasure by my fonde delayes
To Ferrex to oppresse me all unware?
I will not, but I will invade his realme,
And seeke the traitour prince within his court,
Mischiefe for mischiefe is a due reward.
His wretched head shall pay the worthy price
Of this his treason and his hate to me.
Shall I abide, and treate, and send and pray,
And holde my yelden throate to traitour's knife;
While I with valiant minde and conquering force
Might rid myselfe of foes, and winne a realme?
Yet rather when I have the wretches head,
Then to the king, my father, will I send,
The bootelesse case may yet appease his wrath;
If not, I will defend me as I may.

Phi. Lo here the end of these two youthful kings,
The father's death, the ruine of their realmes.
"O most unhappy state of counsellors,
That light on so unhappy lordes and times,
That neither can their good advise be heard,
Yet must they beare the blames of ill successe!"
But I will to the king, their father, haste,
Ere this mischiefe come to the likely eud,
That if the mindfull wrath of wrekefull gods,
Since mightie Ilions fall not yet appeased
With these poore remnantes of the Trojan name
Have not determined, by unmoved fate,
Out of this realme to rase the Brittishe line,
By good advise, by awe of father's name,
By force of wiser lordes, this kindled hate
May yet be quenched ere it consume us all.

CHORUS.

When youth, not bridled with a guiding stay, Is left to randon of their owne delight, Andwelds whole realmesby force of soveraign sway, Great is the daunger of unmaistred might, Lest skillesse rage throwes downe with headlongfall Their lands, their states, their lives, themselves, and all.

When growing pride doth fill the swelling brest, And gredy lust doth rayse the climbing minde, Oh hardlie maye the perill be represt,

Ne feare of angrie goddes, ne lawes kinde,
Ne countries care can fired hartes restrayne
Whan force hath armed envie and disdaine.

When kinges of foresette 20 will neglect the rede 21

Of best advise, and yelde to pleasing tales, That do their fansies noysome humour feede, Ne reason, nor regarde of right, availes; Succeding heapes of plagues shall teach to late To learne the mischiefes of misguided state.

Fowle fall the traitour false, that undermines The love of brethren to destroye them both. Woe to the prince, that pliant care enclynes And yeldes his minde to poysonous tale that floweth

From flattering mouth; and woe to wretched land, That wastes itselfe with civill sworde in hande. Loe, thus it is, poyson in golde to take,

And holsome drinke in homely cuppe forsake.

In present yeres might make a happy wight,
Happie was Hecuba, the wofullest wretch
That ever lyved to make a myrrour of;
And happie Pryam with his noble sonnes,
And happie I till nowe. Alas, I see
And feele my most unhappie wretchednesse:
Beholde, my lordes, read ye this letter here,
Loe it conteins the ruine of our realme,
If timelie speede provide not hastie helpe.
Yet, O ye goddes, if ever wofull kyng
Might move ye, kings of kinges, wreke it on me
And on my sonnes, not on this giltlesse realme.
Send downe your wasting flames from wrathfull
skies,

To reve me and my sonnes the hateful breath.

21 Redc-i. e. advice.

Read, read, my lordes; this is the matter why I called ye nowe, to have your good advyse.

The Letter from DORDAN, the counsellour of the elder Prince.

EUBULUS readeth the Letter.

My soveraigne lord, what I am loth to write, But lothest am to see, that I am forced By letters nowe to make you understande, My lord Ferrex, your eldest sonne, misledde By traitorous fraude of yong untempred wittes, Assembleth force agaynst your yonger sonne, Ne can my counsell yet withdrawe the heate And furious panges of his enflamed head; Disdaine, saith he, of his disheritance, Armes him to wreke the great pretended wrong With civyll sword upon his brother's life; If present helpe do not restraine this rage, This flame will wast your sonnes, your land, and you. Your Majesty's faithfull and most humble subject, DORDAN.

Aros. O king, appease your griefe, and stay your plaint;

Great is the matter, and a wofull case;
But timely knowledge may bring timely helpe.
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 quicklie knit agayne this broken peace;
And if in either of my lordes, your sonnes,
Be suche untamed and unyelding pride

As will not bende unto your noble hestes; 22
If Ferrex, the elder sonne, can bear no peere,
Or Porrex not content, aspires to more
Than you him gave above his native right;
Joyne with the juster side, so shall you force
Them to agree, and hoide the lande in stay.
Eub. What meaneth this? loe yonder comes in
hast

Philander from my lord, your yonger sonne.
Gorb. The goddes sende joyful newes!
Phi. The mightie Jove
Preserve your majestie, O noble king.
Gorb. Philander, welcome; but how doth my

sonne?

Phi. Your sonne, sir, lyves, and healthie I him left: But yet, O king, this want of lustfull health Could not be halfe so griefefull to your grace, As these most wretched tidynges that I bryng. Gorb. O heavens, yet more? no ende of woes to me?

Phi. Tyndar, O king, came lately from the court Of Ferrex, to my lord, your yonger sonne, And made reporte of great prepared store For warre, and sayth that it is wholly ment

Agaynst Porrex, for high disdayne that he
Lyves now a king, and egall in degree
With him that claimeth to succede the whole,
As by due title of discending right:
Porrex is nowe so set on flaming fire,
Partely with kindled rage of cruell wrath,
Partely with hope to gaine a realme thereby,
That he in hast prepareth to invade
His brother's land, and with unkindely warre
Threatens the murder of your elder sonne;
Ne could I him perswade that first he should
Send to his brother to demaunde the cause;
Nor yet to you to staie this hateful strife.
Wherefore sith there no more I can be hearde,
I come myselfe now to enforme your grace,
And to beseche you, as you love the life
And safetie of your children and your realme,
Now to employ your wisdome and your force
To staye this mischiefe ere it be to late.

Gorb. Are they in armes? would he not sendé to me?

Is this the honour of a father's name?
In vain we travaile to asswage their mindes,
As if their hartes, whome neither brother's love,
Nor father's awe, nor kingdomes care, can move,
Our counsells could withdrawe from raging heat.
Jove slay them both, and end the cursed line!
For though perhappes feare of such mightie force
As I, my lordes, joyned with your noble aides,
Maye yet raise, shall represse their present heate,
The secret grudge and malice will remayne,
The fire not quenched, but kept in close restraint
Fedde still within, breakes forth with double flame;
Their death and myne must peaze 23 the angrie gods.
Phi. Yelde not, O king, so much to weake dis-

peire;

Your sonnes yet lyve, and long I trust they shall:
If fates had taken you from earthly life,
Before beginning of this civyll strife;
Perhappes your sonnes, in their unmaistered youth,
Loose from regarde of any lyving wight,
Would runne on headlong, with unbridled race,
To their owne death and ruine of this realme;
But sith the gods, that have the care for kinges,
Of thinges and times dispose the order so,
That in your life this kindled flame breakes forth,
While yet your lyfe, your wisdome, and your power,
May stay the growing mischiefe, and represse
The fierie blaze of their inkindled heate;
It seemes, and so ye ought to deeme thereof,
That lovying Jove hath tempred so the time
Of this debate to happen in your dayes,
That you yet lyving may the same appeaze,
And adde it to the glory of your age,
And they, your sonnes, may learne to live in peace.
Beware, O king, the greatest harme of all,
Lest by your waylefull plaints your hastened death

24

22 Hestes-commands.

23 Peaze-i. e. appease. S.

Do yelde large roume unto their growing rage;
Preserve your life, the onely hope of stay;
And if your highnes herein list to use
Wisdome or force, counsell or knightly aide,
Loe we, our persons, powers, and lyves, are yours;
Use us tyll death, O king, we are your owne.

Eub. Loe here the perill that was erst foresene,
When you, O king, did first devide your lande,
And yelde your present reigne unto your sonnes.
But now, O noble prince, now is no time
To waile and plaine, and wast your wofull life,
Now is the time for present good advise,
Sorrow doth darke the judgement of the wytte;
"The hart unbroken, and the courage free
From feble faintenesse of bootelesse despeire,
Doth either ryse to safetie or renowne,
By noble valure of unvanquisht minde,
Or yet doth perishe in more happy sort."
Your grace may send to either of your sonnes,
Some one both wise and noble personage,
Which with good counsell and with weightie name
Of father shall present before their eyes
Your hest, your life, your safetic, and their owne;
The present mischiefe of their deadly strife,
And in the while assemble you the force
Which your commaundment and the spedy hast
Of all my lordes here present can prepare:
The terrour of your mightie power shall staye
The rage of both, or yet of one at lest.

Nun. O king, the greatest griefe that ever prince dyd heare,

That ever wofull messenger dyd tell,
That ever wretched land hath sene before,
I bryng to you. Porrex, your yonger sonne,
With soden force invaded hath the lande
That you to Ferrex did allotte to rule';

And with his owne most blondy hand he hath
His brother slaine, and doth possesse his realme.
Gorb. O heavens send down the flames of your
revenge!

Destroy, I say, with flash of wreakefull fier
The traitour sonne, and then the wretched sire.
But let us go, that yet perhappes I may
Die with revenge, and peaze the hatefull gods.
CHORUS.

The lust of kingdome knowes no sacred faith,
No rule of reason, no regarde of right,
No kindely love, no feare of heaven's wrath,
But with contempt of goddes, and man's despite,
Through blodie slaughter doth prepare the waies,
To fatall scepter and accursed reigne.

The sonne so loathes the father's lingering daies, Ne dreades his hand in brother's blode to staine.

O wretched prince, ne dost thou yet recorde The yet fresh murthers done within the lande Of thy forefathers, when the cruell sworde 24 Bereft Morgan his life with cosyn's hand? Thus fatail plagues pursue the giltie race, Whose murderous hand, imbrued with giltlesse blood,

Askes vengeance still before the heavens face, With endlesse mischiefes on the cursed broode. The wicked childe thus bringes to wofull sire The mournefull plaintes to wast his very life : Thus do the cruell flames of civyll fier

Destroy the parted reigne with hatefull strife. And hence doth spring the well from which doth flow,

The dead black streames of mourning, plaints, and

woe.

VIDENA Sola.

Long ere this day could have bereved hence. Mought not these handes, by fortune or by fate,

time

In longer life to double my distresse?

O me most wofull wight! whome no mishappe

Or in this palace here where I so long
Have spent my daies, could not that happie houre
Once, once have hapt, in which these hugie frames