Father, what wouldest thou have me do in this?
Thou seest thy son is sorry for his fault, And I am sure thou would not wish his death, Because a father's care commands the contrary.
Then, gentle father, let me plead for him, And be his pledge for shunning wilful ills.
FATHER.
Will Edgar now be found a partial judge, In pleading pardon for a graceless child?
Is it not true, That one coal of fire will burn many houses, And one small brack in finest cloth that is, Will both disgrace and blemish the whole piece?
So wilful children, spotted with one ill, Are apt to fall to twenty thousand more; And therefore, mighty sovereign, leave to speak, And pass just sentence on Philarchus' life.
PHILARCHUS.
My life? dear father, that sentence were too hard: Let me be banish'd from my country's bounds, And live as exil'd in some wilderness, Barr'd from society and sight of men; Or let me hazard fortunes on the seas, In setting me aboard some helmless ship, That either I may split upon some rock, Or else be swallowed in the purple main, Rather than die in presence of my king, Or bring that sorrow to your aged years.
If this suffice not, then let me be arm'd, And left alone among ten thousand foes; And if my weapon cannot set me free, Let them be means to take my life from me.
KING.
Father, what say you to Philarchus now?
Are you content to pardon his amiss?
Dunstan, I promise thee, it grieves me much, To hear what piteous moan Philarchus makes: Methinks I see sad sorrow in his face, And his humility argues him penitent.
But, father, for I will not be the judge, To doom Philarchus either life or death, Here, take my robes, and judge him as thou wilt.
FATHER.
Then, virtuous prince, seeing you will have it so, Although the place be far unfit for me, I am content your grace shall have your mind.
Thus, like an ass attired in costly robes, Or like a ring thrust in a foul sow's snout, So do these robes and sceptre fit mine age.
But for I am judge, Philarchus, stand thou forth, And know, as there is nothing so good, but it hath some inconvenience, So there is no man whatsoever without some fault: Yet this is no argument to maintain thy wilful disobedience.
As the rose hath his prickle, the finest velvet his brack, The fairest flower his bran, so the best wit his wanton will.
But, Philarchus, thou hast been more than wanton, Because thou hast disobeyed the laws both of God and nature: The tears that thou hast shed might warrant me, That thou art penitent for thy amiss, Besides, my son, a father's natural care Doth challenge pardon for thy first amiss.
KING.
Father, well said: I see thou pitiest him.
FATHER.
Nay, stay, my lord: This did I speak as father to Philarchus; But now, my lord, I must speak as a judge.
And now, Philarchus, mark what I set down.
Because thou hast been disobedient, And wronged thy aged father wilfully, And given a blow to him that nourished thee, And thereby hast incurr'd thy mother's curse, And in that curse to feel the wrath of God, And so be hated on the earth 'mongst men; And for I will be found no partial judge, Because I sit as God's vicegerent now, Here I do banish thee from England's bounds, And never to----
KING.
There stay: now, let me speak the rest.
Philarchus, thou hast heard thy father's doom, And what thy disobedience moved him to; Yet for thou wast once bedfellow to the king, And that I loved thee as my second self, thou shall Go live in France, in Flanders, Scotland, or elsewhere, And have [an] annual pension sent to thee.
There may'st thou live in good and honest sort, Until thou be recalled by the king.
PHILARCHUS.
Thanks, gracious king, for this great favour shown, And may I never live, if I forget Your grace's kind and unexpected love, In favouring him whom all the world forsook: For which my orisons shall still be spent, Heavens may protect your princely majesty.
And, loving father, here upon my knee, Sorry for my amiss, I take my leave Both of yourself, my king, and countrymen.
England, farewell, more dearer unto me, Than pen can write, or heart can think of thee.
[_Exit_.
KING.
Farewell, Philarchus; and, father, come to Court; And, for Philarchus' sake, thou shalt not want.
FATHER.
Thanks, virtuous king; I humbly take my leave.
[_Exit_.
KING.
Dunstan, I promise thee, I was like to weep, To hear what piteous moan Philarchus made.
DUNSTAN.
Here your grace hath showed yourself to be Edgar, so famed for love and virtuous government; And I pray God your grace may live to be Long England's king to reign with verity.
[_Exeunt_.
[_Enter_ HONESTY.]
HONESTY.
'Tis strange to see how men of honesty Are troubled many times with subtle knavery: For they have so many cloaks to colour their abuses, That Honesty may well suspect them, but dares not detect them; For if he should, they have by their knavery Got so many friends, that though never so bad, They will stand in defence with the best.
I was at the water-side, where I saw such deceit-- I dare not say knavery--in paying and receiving Custom for outlandish ware, that I wond'red to see, Yet durst not complain of: the reason was, They were countenanced with men of great wealth, Richer than I a great deal, but not honester.
Then I went into the markets, where I saw petty knavery In false-measuring corn, and in scales, That wanted no less than two ounces in the pound.
But all this was nothing, scant worth the talking of; But when I came to the Exchange, I espied in a corner of an aisle An arch-cosener; a coneycatcher, I mean, Which used such gross cosening, as you would wonder to hear.
But here he comes fine and brave: Honesty marks him down for a knave.
[_Enter_ CONEYCATCHER.]
CONEYCATCHER.
Why so, 'tis an ill wind blows no man to profit; And he is but a fool that, when all fails, cannot live upon his wit.
I have attired myself like a very civil citizen, To draw fourscore pound from a couple of fools.
A gentleman, having made over his land by deed of gift, Means to cosen a broker with a false conveyance.
All's one to me; I shall lose nothing by the bargain.
But here comes the broker: I will walk, as I regarded him not.
[_Enter_ BROKER.]
BROKER.
God save you, sir: I see you keep your hour.
But hear you, sir; hath the gentleman that conveyance You told me of ready? I hope, sir, I Shall need misdoubt no deceit in the matter, For I mean plainly, and so, I hope, do you.
CONEYCATCHER.
Sir, as concerning the conveyance, I assure you, 'Tis so good, and he hath such good interest in it, That, were I furnish'd with so much money presently, No man in the world should have it but myself.
And for own part, you need not suspect me, For I would not discredit myself for a thousand pound; For the gentleman is my very friend, And, being in some want, is enforc'd to pawn land For the supplying of a present necessity.
Tush, the interest is good, I warrant you.
HONESTY.
And that's much worth: some will say, A crafty knave needs no broker, But here is a crafty knave and a broker too: There wants not a knave, then, I imagine. [_Aside_.
BROKER.
But tell me, sir, when did he promise to be here?
What, will it be long, ere he come?
CONEYCATCHER.
Nay, it will not be long, ere he come, For the conveyance was made, ere I came from the scrivener's, And in good time here he comes. God save you, sir:
[_Enter_ GENTLEMAN.]