A Select Collection of Old English Plays, Vol. VII (4th edition) | Page 9

long and only save His father's walls,[50] found
there at last his end. Proud Rome herself, that whilome laid her yoke
On the wide world, and vanquish'd all with war, Yet could she not
remove the fatal stroke Of death from them that stretch'd her pow'r so
far.
CHORUS 3. Look, what the cruel sisters once decree'd, The Thunderer
himself cannot remove: They are the ladies of our destiny, To work
beneath what is conspir'd above. But happy he that ends this mortal life
By speedy death: who is not forc'd to see The many cares, nor feel the
sundry griefs, Which we sustain in woe and misery. Here fortune rules
who, when she list to play, Whirleth her wheel, and brings the high full
low: To-morrow takes, what she hath given to-day, To show she can
advance and overthrow. Not Euripus'[51] (unquiet flood) so oft Ebbs in
a day, and floweth to and fro, As fortune's change plucks down that
was aloft, And mingleth joy with interchange of woe.
CHORUS 4. "Who lives below, and feeleth not the strokes, Which
often-times on highest towers do fall, Nor blustering winds, wherewith

the strongest oaks Are rent and torn, his life is sur'st of all:" For he may
fortune scorn, that hath no power On him, that is well pleas'd with his
estate: He seeketh not her sweets, nor fears her sour, But lives
contented in his quiet rate, And marking how these worldly things do
vade,[52] Rejoiceth to himself, and laughs to see The folly of men, that
in their wits have made Fortune a goddess, placed in the sky.
Exegit ROD. STAF.
FINIS ACTUS I.

ACT II, SCENE 1.
GISMUNDA AND LUCRECE.
GISMUNDA. Dear aunt, my sole companion in distress, And true
copartner of my thoughtful cares: When with myself I weigh my
present state, Comparing it with my forepassed days, New heaps of
cares afresh begin t'assay My pensive heart, as when the glittering rays
Of bright Phoebus are suddenly o'erspread With dusky clouds, that dim
his golden light: Namely, when I, laid in my widow's bed, Amid the
silence of the quiet night, With curious thought the fleeting course
observe Of gladsome youth, how soon his flower decays, "How time
once past may never have recourse, No more than may the running
streams revert To climb the hills, when they been rolled down The
hollow vales. There is no curious art, Nor worldly power: no, not the
gods can hold The sway of flying time, nor him return, When he is past:
all things unto his might Must bend, and yield unto the iron teeth Of
eating time." This in the shady night When I record: how soon my
youth withdraws Itself away, how swift my pleasant spring Runs out
his race,--this, this, aunt, is the cause, When I advise me sadly[53] on
this thing, That makes my heart in pensive dumps dismay'd. For if I
should my springing years neglect, And suffer youth fruitless to fade
away; Whereto live I? or whereto was I born? Wherefore hath nature
deck'd me with her grace? Why have I tasted these delights of love,
And felt the sweets of Hymeneus' bed? But to say sooth, dear aunt, it is
not I, Sole and alone, can thus content to spend My cheerful years: my
father will not still Prolong my mournings, which have griev'd him,
And pleased me too long. Then this I crave, To be resolved of his

princely mind. For, stood it with the pleasure of his will To marry me,
my fortune is not such, So hard, that I so long should still persist
Makeless alone in woful widowhood. And shall I tell mine aunt? Come
hither then, Give me that hand: By thine own right hand, I charge thy
heart my counsels to conceal. Late have I seen, and seeing took delight,
And with delight, I will not say, I love A prince, an earl, a county in the
court. But love and duty force me to refrain, And drive away these fond
affections, Submitting them unto my father's hest. But this, good aunt,
this is my chiefest pain, Because I stand at such uncertain stay. For, if
my kingly father would decree His final doom, that I must lead my life
Such as I do, I would content me then To frame my fancies to his
princely hest, And as I might, endure the grief thereof. But now his
silence doubleth all my doubts, Whilst my suspicious thoughts 'twixt
hope and fear Distract me into sundry passions: Therefore, good aunt,
this labour must be yours, To understand my father's will herein, For
well I know your wisdom knows the means, So shall you both allay my
stormy thoughts, And bring to quiet my unquiet mind.
LUCRECE.