William Shakespeare - The Complete Apocryphal Works of William Shakespeare - All 17 Rare Plays in One Edition

But suddenly, through weakness of my age,

And the defect of youthful puissance,

My malady increaseth more and more,

And cruel death hasteneth his quickened pace,

To dispossess me of my earthly shape.

Mine eyes wax dim, overcast with clouds of age,

The pangs of death compass my crazed bones;

Thus to you all my blessings I bequeath,

And with my blessings, this my fleeting soul

My glass is run, and all my miseries

Do end with life; death closeth up mine eyes,

My soul in haste flies to the Elysian fields.

[He dieth.]

LOCRINE.

Accursed stars, damned and accursed stars,

To abbreviate my noble father’s life!

Hard-hearted gods, and too envious fates,

Thus to cut off my father’s fatal thread!

Brutus, that was a glory to us all,

Brutus, that was a terror to his foes,

Alas, too soon, by Demagorgon’s knife,

The martial Brutus is bereft of life!

CORINEIUS.

No sad complaints may move just Aeacus,

No dreadful threats can fear judge Rhodomanth.

Wert thou as strong as mighty Hercules,

That tamed the huge monsters of the world,

Playedst thou as sweet, on the sweet sounding lute,

As did the spouse of fair Eurydice,

That did enchant the waters with his noise,

And made stones, birds, and beasts, to lead a dance,

Constrained the hilly trees to follow him,

Thou couldst not move the judge of Erebus,

Nor move compassion in grim Pluto’s heart;

For fatal Mors expecteth all the world,

And every man must tread the way of death.

Brave Tantalus, the valiant Pelops’ sire,

Guest to the gods, suffered untimely death,

And old Tithonus, husband to the morn,

And eke grim Minos, whom just Jupiter

Deigned to admit unto his sacrifice.

The thundering trumpets of bloodthirsty Mars,

The fearful rage of fell Tisiphone,

The boistrous waves of humid Ocean,

Are instruments and tools of dismal death.

Then, novel cousin, cease to mourn his chance,

Whose age & years were signs that he should die.

It reseth now that we inter his bones,

That was a terror to his enemies.

Take up the course, and, princes, hold him dead,

Who while he lived, upheld the Trojan state.

Sound drums and trumpets; march to Troinouant,

There to provide our chieftain’s funeral.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE 2. The house of Strumbo.

[Enter Strumbo above in a gown, with ink and paper in his hand, saying:—]

STRUMBO. Either the four elements, the seven planets, and all the particular stars of the pole Antastick, are adversative against me, or else I was begotten and born in the wane of the Moon, when every thing as Lactantius in his fourth book of Consultations doth say, goeth asward. Aye, masters, aye, you may laugh, but I must weep; you may joy, but I must sorrow; shedding salt tears from the watery fountains of my most dainty fair eyes, along my comely and smooth cheeks, in as great plenty as the water runneth from the buckingtubs, or red wine out of the hogs heads: for trust me, gentlemen and my very good friends, and so forth, the little god, nay the desparate god Cuprit, with one of his vengible birdbolts, hath shot me unto the heel: so not only, but also, oh fine phrase, I burn, I burn, and I burn a, in love, in love, and in love a. Ah, Strumbo, what hast thou seen? not Dina with the Ass Tom? Yea, with these eyes thou hast seen her, and therefore pull them out, for they will work thy bale. Ah, Strumbo, hast thou heard? not the voice of the Nightingale, but a voice sweeter than hers. Yea, with these ears hast thou heard it, and therefore cut them off, for they have caused thy sorrow. Nay, Strumbo, kill thy self, drown thy self, hang thy self, starve thy self. Oh, but then I shall leave my sweet heart. Oh my heart! Now, pate, for thy master! I will dite an eloquent love-pistle to her, and then she hearing the grand verbosity of my scripture, will love me presently.

[Let him write a little and then read.]

My pen is naught; gentlemen, lend me a knife. I think the more haste the worst speed.

[Then write again, and after read.]

So it is, mistress Dorothy, and the sole essence of my soul, that the little sparkles of affection kindled in me towards your sweet self hath now increased to a great flame, and will ere it be long consume my poor heart, except you, with the pleasant water of your secret fountain, quench the furious heat of the same. Alas, I am a gentleman of good fame and name, majestical, in parrel comely, in gate portly. Let not therefore your gentle heart be so hard as to despise a proper tall, young man of a handsome life, and by despising him, not only, but also to kill him. Thus expecting time and tide, I bid you farewell. Your servant, Signior Strumbo.

Oh wit! Oh pate! O memory! O hand! O ink! O paper! Well, now I will send it away. Trompart, Trompart! what a villain is this? Why, sirra, come when your master calls you. Trompart!

[Trompart, entering, saith:]

TROMPART.

Anon, sir.

STRUMBO. Thou knowest, my pretty boy, what a good mast I have been to thee ever since I took thee into my service.

TROMPART.

Aye, sir.

STRUMBO. And how I have cherished thee always, as if you had been the fruit of my loins, flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone.

TROMPART.

Aye, sir.

STRUMBO. Then show thy self herein a trusty servant, and carry this letter to mistress Dorothy, and tell her—

[Speaking in his ear. Exit Trompart.]

Nay, masters, you shall see a marriage by and by. But here she comes. Now must I frame my amorous passions.

[Enter Dorothy and Trompart.]

DOROTHY. Signior Strumbo, well met. I received your letters by your man here, who told me a pitiful story of your anguish, and so understanding your passions were so great, I came hither speedily.

STRUMBO. Oh my sweet and pigsney, the fecundity of my ingenie is not so great, that may declare unto you the sorrowful sobs and broken sleeps, that I suffered for your sake; and therefore I desire you to receive me into your familiarity.

For your love doth lie,

As near and as nigh

Unto my heart within,

As mine eye to my nose,

My leg unto my hose,

And my flesh unto my skin.

DOROTHY. Truly, Master Strumbo, you speak too learnedly for me to understand the drift of your mind, and therefore tell your tale in plain terms, and leave off your dark riddles.