A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition) | Page 8

end, Do but increase the floods of thy lament;
And since the world knows well there was no want In thee of ought,
that did to him belong, Yet all, thou seest, could not his life prolong.
Why then dost thou provoke the heavens to wrath? His doom of death
was dated by his stars, "And who is he that may withstand his fate?" By
these complaints small good to him thou dost, Much grief to me, more
hurt unto thyself, And unto nature greatest wrong of all.
GISMUNDA. Tell me not of the date of nature's days, Then in the
April of her springing age: No, no, it was my cruel destiny, That spited
at the pleasance of my life.
TANCRED. My daughter knows the proof of nature's course. "For as
the heavens do guide the lamp of life, So can they reach no farther forth
the flame, Than whilst with oil they do maintain the same."
GISMUNDA. Curst be the stars, and vanish may they curst, Or fall
from heaven, that in their dire aspèct[47] Abridg'd the health and

welfare of my love.
TANCRED. Gismund, my joy, set all these griefs apart; "The more
thou art with hard mishap beset, The more thy patience should procure
thine ease."
GISMUNDA. What hope of hap may cheer my hapless chance? What
sighs, what tears may countervail my cares? What should I do, but still
his death bewail, That was the solace of my life and soul? Now, now, I
want the wonted guide and stay Of my desires and of my wreakless
thoughts. My lord, my love, my life, my liking gone, In whom was all
the fulness of my joy, To whom I gave the first-fruits of my love, Who
with the comfort of his only sight All care and sorrows could from me
remove. But, father, now my joys forepast to tell, Do but revive the
horrors of my hell. As she that seems in darkness to behold The
gladsome pleasures of the cheerful light.
TANCRED. What then avails thee fruitless thus to rue His absence,
whom the heavens cannot return? Impartial death thy husband did
subdue, Yet hath he spar'd thy kingly father's life: Who during life to
thee a double stay, As father and as husband, will remain, With double
love to ease thy widow's want, Of him whose want is cause of thy
complaint. Forbear thou therefore all these needless tears, That nip the
blossoms of thy beauty's pride.
GISMUNDA. Father, these tears love challengeth of due.
TANCRED. But reason saith thou shouldst the same subdue.
GISMUNDA. His funerals are yet before my sight.
TANCRED. In endless moans princes should not delight.
GISMUNDA. The turtle pines in loss of her true mate.
TANCRED. And so continues poor and desolate.
GISMUNDA. Who can forget a jewel of such price?
TANCRED. She that hath learn'd to master her desires. "Let reason
work, what time doth easily frame In meanest wits, to bear the greatest
ills."
GISMUNDA. So plenteous are the springs Of sorrows that increase my
passions, As neither reason can recure my smart, Nor can your care nor
fatherly comfort Appease the stormy combats of my thoughts; Such is
the sweet remembrance of his life. Then give me leave: of pity, pity me,
And as I can, I shall allay these griefs.
TANCRED. These solitary walks thou dost frequent, Yield fresh

occasions to thy secret moans: We will therefore thou keep us company,
Leaving thy maidens with their harmony. Wend[48] thou with us.
Virgins, withdraw yourselves.
[TANCRED and GISMUNDA, _with the guard, depart into the palace;
the four maidens stay behind, as Chorus to the Tragedy_.
CHORUS 1. The diverse haps which always work our care, Our joys so
far, our woes so near at hand, Have long ere this, and daily do declare
The fickle foot on which our state doth stand. "Who plants his
pleasures here to gather root, And hopes his happy life will still endure,
Let him behold how death with stealing foot Steps in when he shall
think his joys most sure." No ransom serveth to redeem our days If
prowess could preserve, or worthy deeds, He had yet liv'd, whose
twelve labours displays His endless fame, and yet his honour spreads.
And that great king,[49] that with so small a power Bereft the mighty
Persian of his crown, Doth witness well our life is but a flower, Though
it be deck'd with honour and renown.
CHORUS 2. "What grows to-day in favour of the heaven, Nurs'd with
the sun and with the showers sweet, Pluck'd with the hand, it withereth
ere even. So pass our days, even as the rivers fleet." The valiant Greeks,
that unto Troia gave The ten years' siege, left but their names behind.
And he that did so