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DAMON AND PITHIAS.

BY

RICHARD EDWARDS.

Richard Edwards, a Somersetshire man, was born in the year 1523, admitted a scholar of Corpus Christi College on the 11th of May, 1540, and probationer fellow on the 11th of August, 1544. ́At the foundation of Christ-Church, by King Henry the Eighth, in the year 1547, he was chosen a student of the upper-table, and in the same year took the degree of Master of Arts. From the Univer sity, he removed to Lincoln's Inn; and in the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's reign, was appointed one of the gentlemen of her chapel, and master of the children there. He died, according to Sir John Hawkins, on the 31st of October, 1566.-He was the author of

(1.) Damon and Pithias, a Comedy. Acted before the Queen, by the children of her chapel, and published in 4to, 1571; 4to, 1582.

(2.) Palamon and Arcite, a Comedy, in two Parts. Acted in Christ-Church-Hall, 1566. This piece was represented on the 2d and 3d of September. The first evening, it was scarcely begun to be performed before it became a tragedy, for by the weight of the multitudes the scaffold fell down. Five men were greatly hurt and wounded, and three killed by the fall of a wall. On the second evening, the Queen is said to have been much entertained. After the play was ended, she called the Author to her, commended his work, promised what she would do for him, and talked to him in the most familiar way. One of the performers, supposed to be young Carew, pleased her so much, that she made him a present of eight guineas. See Wood's Athenæ Oxonienses, Vol. I. p. 151.; and Peshall's History of the University of Oxford, 227, 228. Chetwood says, both parts of this play were printed, with the Author's Songs and Poems, in 1585. Wood assures us, that there were several other dramatic pieces by him, which he did not live to finish; and that it was the opinion of many, he would have run mad had he continued to exercise his talents as a writer for the stage.

He was, also, the author of some poems printed in The Paradise of Dainty Devises, 4to, 1575; and a Poem called Edward's Soulknil, or The Soule's knell, written in his last illness.

He appears to have obtained a considerable reputation as a dramatick writer, which will appear from the following testimony in Puttenham's Art of Poetry: "I think, that for tragedy, the Lord Buckhurst, and Maister Edward Ferrys, for such doings as I have seen of theirs, do deserve the highest price; the Earl of Oxford, and Mr Edwards of her Majesty's Chapel, for Comedy and Interlude." An Epitaph on him is said to be printed among the Poems of George Tuberville.

* History of Musick, Vol. II. p. 541. 2 Peshall's History of the University of Oxford, 227.

THE PROLOGUE.

On everie syde, wheras I glaunce my rovyng eye, Silence in all eares bent I playnly doe espie : But if your egre lookes doo longe such toyes to see, As heretofore in commycal wise were wont abroade to bee;

Your lust is lost, and all the pleasures that you sought,

Is frustrate quite of toying playes. A soden change is wrought:

For loe, our author's muse, that masked in delight, Hath forst his penne against his kinde, no more such sportes to write.

Muse he that lust, (right worshipfull,) for chaunce hath made this change,

For that to some he seemed too much in yonge desires to range:

In whiche, right glad to please, seyng that he did offende,

Of all he humblie pardon craves; his pen that shall amende:

And yet, worshipfull audience, thus much I dare advouche,

In commedies, the greatest skyll is this, rightly to touche

All thynges to the quicke; and eke to frame eche person so,

That by his common talke, you may his nature rightly know:

A royster ought not preache, that were to strange to heare,

But as from vertue he doth swerve, so ought his

wordes appeare:

The olde man is sober, the yonge man rashe, the lover triumphyng in joyes, The matron grave, the harlot wilde, and full of wanton toyes.

Whiche all in one course, they no wise doo agree: So correspondent to their kinde their speeches ought to be.

Whiche speeches well pronounste, with action lyvely framed,

If this offende the lookers on, let Horace then be blamed,

Which hath our author taught at schole, from whom he doth not swarve,

In all such kinde of exercise decorum to observe. Thus much for his defence, he sayth, as poetes earst have donne,

Whiche heretofore in commedies, the selfe same race did ronne :

But now for to be briefe, the matter to expresse, Whiche here wee shall present, is this,-Damon and Pithias.

A rare ensample of friendship true, it is no legend lie,

But a thynge once donne indeede, as hystories doo discrie.

Whiche donne of yore in longe time past, yet present shall be here,

Even as it were in doinge now, so lively it shall appeare:

Lo here in Siracuse, the auncient towne, which once the Romaines wonne, Here Dionisius pallace, within whose courte this thing most strange was donne. Whiche matter mixt with myrth and care, a just name to applie,

As seemes most fit, wee have it termed, a tragi call commedie.

Wherein talkyng of courtly toyes, we doe protest. this flat,

Wee talke of Dionisius courte, wee meane no court but that.

And that we doo so meane, who wysely calleth to minde,

The time, the place, the author, 3 here most plainely shall it finde.

Lo, this I speake for our defence, least of others we should be shent: 5

But worthy audience, wee you pray, take thynges as they be ment;

Whose upright judgement we doo crave, with heedfull eare and eye,

To here the cause, and see the effect of this newe tragicall commedie.

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4 Speake-spake, Ed edit.

5 Be shent to shend, says Mr Steevens, is to reprove harshly, to treat with injurious language. Note to Hamlet, A. 3. S. 2.

Again, iu Ascham's Report and Discourse, Bennet's edition, p. 38.; "A wonderfull follie in a great man himselfe, and some piece of miserie in a whole commonwealth, where fooles chiefly and flatterers may speake freely what they will, and wise men and good men shal commonly be shent, if they speake what they should,”

DAMON AND PITHIAS.

Here entreth ARISTIPPUS.

Aris. Though strange, perhaps, it seemes to some, That I Aristippus a courtier am become; A philosopher of late, not of the meanist name, But now, to the courtly behaviour, my lyfe I frame. Muse he that lyst, to you of good skill, I say that I am a philosopher styll. Lovers of wisdom, are termed philosophers, 6 Then who is a philosopher so rightly as I? For in lovyng of wisdom, proofe doth this trie, That frustra sapit, qui non sapit sibi. I am wyse for myselfe, then tell me of troth, Is not that great wisdom, as the world goth? Some philosophers in the streete go ragged and

torne,

And feede on vyle rootes, whom boyes laugh to

scorne:

But I in fine silkes haunt Dionisius' pallace,
Wherin with dayntie fare myselfe I do solace.
I can talke of philosophie as well as the best,
But the straite kynde of lyfe I leave to the rest.
And I professe now the courtly philosophie,
To crouche, to speake fayre, myselfe I applie,
To feede the kinge's humour with pleasant devises,
For which, I am called regius canis.

But wot ye who named me first the kinge's dogge?
It was the roage Diogenes, that vile grunting hogge.
Let him rolle in his tubbe, to winne a vaine praise,
In the courte pleasantly I wyll spende all my dayes;
Wherin, what to doo, I am not to learne,
What wyll serve myne owne turne, I can quickly
discearne.

All my tyme at schoole I have not spent vaynly, I can helpe one, is not that a good poinct of philosophie?

Here entreth Carisophus.

Car. I beshrew your fine eares, since you came from schoole,

In the courte you have made, many a wiseman a foole?

And though you paint out your fayned philosophie, So God helpe me, it is but a plaine kinde of flattery,

Which you use so finely in so pleasant a sorte, That none but Aristippus now makes the kinge sporte.

Ere you came hyther, poore I was some body, The kinge delighted in mee, now I am but a noddy. Aris. In faith, Carisophus, you know yourselfe best,

But I will not call you noddy, but only in jest ;
And thus I assure you, though I came from schoole
To serve in this court, I came not yet to be the
kinge's foole;

Or to fill his eares with servile squirilitie,
That office is yours, you know it right perfectlie.
Of parasites and sicophantes you are a grave
bencher,

The king feedes you often from his owne trencher.
I
envye not your state, nor yet your great favour,
Then grudge not at all, if in my behaviour
I make the kinge mery, with pleasant urbanitie,
Whom I never abused to any man's injurie.

Car. Be cocke, sir, yet in the courte you doo3
best thrive,

For you get more in one day then I doo in five.

Aris. Why man, in the court, doo you not sce Rewardes geven for vertue, to every degree? To reward the unworthy that worlde is done, The court is changed, a good thread hath bin

sponne

Of dogges woll heeretofore, and why? because it was liked,

And not for that it was best trimmed and picked: But now men's eares are finer, such grosse toyes are not set by,

Therfore to a trimmer kynde of myrth myselfe I applye:

Wherein though I please, it commeth not of my desert,

But of the kinge's favour.

Car. It may be so; yet in your prosperitie,

6 Philosophers-philosophie, both Editions, The alteration by Mr Dodsley. 7 Grave-great, 2d edit.

8 Doo-omitted in 2d edit.

Dispise not an olde courtier, Carisophus is he; Which hath long time fed Dionisius' humor: Diligently to please, styll at hard; there was ne

ver rumour

Spread in this towne of any smale thinge, but 1
Brought it to the kinge in post by and by:
Yet now I crave your friendship, which if I may
attayne,

Most sure and unfained friendship I promyse you againe:

So we two linckt in friendshippe, brother and brother,

Full well in the court may helpe one another. Aris. By'r lady, Carisophus, though you know not philosophie,

Yet surely you are a better courtier then I : And yet I not so evyll a courtier, that wyll seeme to dispise

Such an olde courtier as you, so expert and so wyse. But whereas you crave myne, and offer your friendship so willingly,

With hart I geve you thankes for this your great curtesie:

Assuring of friendship both with tooth and nayle, Whiles life lasteth, never to fayle.

Car. A thousand thankes I geve you, oh friend Aristippus.

Aris. O friend, Carisophus.

Car. How joyfull am I, sith I have to friend Aristippus now!

Aris. None so glad of Carisophus friendship as I, I make God a vowe, I speake as I thinke, beleve me.

Car. Sith we are now so friendly joyned, it seemeth to mee,

That one of us help eche other in every degree: Prefer you my cause, when you are in presence, To further your matters to the kinge, let me alone in your absence.

Aris. Friend Carisophus, this shall be done as you would wish:

But I pray you tell mee thus much by the way, Whither now from this place wyll you take your journay?

Car. I wyll not dissemble, that were against friendship,

I goe into the citie some knaves to nip.

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now,

Of force I must laugh at this solempne vow.
Is Aristippus linkt in friendship with Carisophus?
Quid cum tanto asino, talis philosophus ?
They say, morum similitudo consultat amicitias.
Then, how can this friendship betwene us two
come to passe?

"We are as like in condicions, as Jacke Fletcher and his bowlt,

I brought up in learnyng, but he is a very dolt, As touching good letters; but otherwise such a craftie knave,

Yf you seeke a whole region, his lyke you can not bave:

A villaine for his lyfe, a varlet died in graine, You lose money by him, 12 if you sell him for one knave, for hee serves for twaine,:

A flatteryng parasite, a sicophant also, A common accuser of men; to the good an open foe.

Of halfe a worde, he can make a legend of lies,
Which he will advouch with such tragicall cryes,
As though all were true that comes out of his
mouth.

Were he indeede to be hanged by aud by,
He cannot tell one tale, but twyse he must lie.
He spareth no man's life to get the kinge's favour,
In which kind of servis he hath got such a savour,
That he wyll never leave. Methinke then, that I
Have done verie wisely to joyne in friendship
with him, lest perhaps I

Comming in his way might be nipt; for such knaves in presence,

We see oft times put honest men to silence: Yet I have play'd with his beard in knitting this knot,

I promist friendship, but you love few wordes: I spake, but I meant

13 it not.

Who markes this friendship betwene us two, Shal judge of the worldely friendship without any more a doo.

9 This-the, 2d edit.

10 Friend-omitted in 2d edit.

"We are as like in condicions, as Jacke Fletcher and his bowlt-A. Fletcher is a maker of arrows, from fleche, an arrow, Fr. The Fletchers company had several charters granted to them, though at present, I believe, they have only a nominal existence. Aristippus meanes to say, that he differs as much in disposition from Carisophus, as Jack the arrowsmith varies in quality from a bolt or arrow of his own making. S. if you sell him for one knave, for hee serves for twaine-so, in Leke to Leke, quoth the Devil to the

12

Collier, 1589:

"There thou mayst be called a knave in grane,
"And where knayes be scant thou mayest go for twayne."

12 Meant-meane,

2d edit.

It may be a ryght pattern therof; but true friendship indeede

Of nought but of vertue doth truly proseede.
But why do I now enter into philosophie,
Which do professe the fine kinde of curtesie?
I wyll hence to the court, with all haste I may,
I thinke the king be stirring, it is now bright day.
To wait at a piuche, still in sight I meane,
For wot ye what? a new broome sweepes cleane.14
As to hie honor, I mynde not to clime,
So I meane in the court to lose no time:
Wherein, happy man be his dole, 15 I trust that I
Shall not speede worst, and that very quickly.

[Exit. Here entreth Damon and PITHIAS like mariners. Dama. O Neptune, immortall be thy prayse, For that so safe from Greece we have past the seas, To this noble citie Siracusa, where we

The auncient raygne of the Romaines may see. Whose force Greece also heretofore hath knowne, Whose vertue the shrill trump of fame so farre hath blowne.

Pith. My Damon, of right, high prayse we ought to geve

To Neptune and all the gods, that we safely dyd❘

arryve.

The seas, I thinke, with contrary winds never raged so,

I am even yet so seasicke, that I faynt as I go;
Therefore let us get some lodging quickely.
But where is Stephano?

Here entreth STEPHANO.

Steph. Not farre hence; a pockes take these maryner knaves,

Not one would healpe mee to carry this stuffe, such dronken slaves

I thinke be accursed of the goddes owne mouthes. Dam. Stephano, leave thy ragyng, and let us enter Siracusa,

We wil provide lodgyng, and thou shalt be eased of thy burden by and by.

Steph. Good mayster, make haste, for I tell you playne,

This heavy burden puts poore Stephano to much

payne.

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My owne proofe this hath taught me, for, truly, sith I,

In the citie have used to walke very slyly; Not with one can I meete, that wyll in talke joyne with mee,

17

And to creepe into men's bosomes, some talke for to snatche, By whiche, into one trip or other, I might trimly them catche,

And so accuse them: now, not with one can I meete,

That wyl joyne in talke with me, I am shun'd like a devill in the streete.

My credit is crackte where I am knowne; but, I heare say,

Certaine straingers are arriv'd they were a good pray,

If, happely, I might meete with them: I fear not I, But in talke I should trippe them, and that very finely.

Whiche thinge, I assure you, I doo for myue owne gayne,

Or els I woulde not plodde thus up and downe, I tell you playne.

Well, I wyll for a whyle to the court, to see What Aristippus doth; I would be loth in faver he should over run me;

He is a

subtile chyld, he flattereth so finely, that I feare mee,

He wyll licke the fatte from my lippes, and so out-wery mee,

Therfore I wyll not be longe absent, but at hand, That all his fine driftes I may understande.

[Exit.

Here entreth WYLL and JACKE. Wyll. I wonder what my master Aristippus meanes now a-daies,

14 A new broome sweepes cleane-this was proverbial. See Ray's Collection of Proverbs, p. 140. 15 Happy man be his dole-a proverbial expression often found in ancient writers. Dole, Mr Steevens observes, (note to The Taming of the Shrew, A. 1. S. 1.) is any thing dealt out or distributed, though its original meaning was the provision given away at the doors of great men's houses. It is generally writ ten be his dole, though Rae, p. 116, gives it as in the 2d. 4to, by his dole. Shakspeare also uses the phrase. in The Merry Wives of Windsor.

Again, in Hudibras, P. 1. C. 3. 1, 637:

36 It-he, 1st edit,

"Let us that are unhurt and whole,
“Fall on, and happy man be's dole."

17 Bosomes-bosome, 2d edit.

YOL. I.

K'

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