What canst thou lay unto thy nephew's charge? Lincoln. This, my dear liege: your Heaped on the head of this degenerous boy Desertless favours; you made choice of him, To be commander over powers in France. But he King. Good Lincoln, prithee, pause a while! Even in thine eyes I read what thou wouldst speak. I know how Lacy did neglect our love, Ran himself deeply, in the highest degree, Into vile treason Lincoln. King. Lincoln, he was; now have we pardoned him. Is he not a traitor? 'Twas not a base want of true valour's fire, That held him out of France, but love's desire. Lincoln. I will not bear his shame upon my back. King. Nor shalt thou, Lincoln; I for give you both. Lincoln. Then, good my liege, forbid the boy to wed I charge thee, not to call this woman wife. L. Mayor. I thank your grace. O my most gracious lord! King. Nay, Rose, never woo me; I tell you true, One whose mean birth will much disgrace Although as yet I am a bachelor, Yet I believe, I shall not marry you. Rose. Can you divide the body from Yet make the body live? Yea, so profound? I cannot, Rose, but you I must divide. This fair maid, bridegroom, cannot be your bride. Are you pleased, Lincoln? Oateley, are you pleased? Both. Yes, my lord. King. Then must my heart be eased; For, credit me, my conscience lives in pain, Till these whom I divorced, be joined again. Yea, but, my gracious lord, I do mislike the match far more than he; Her blood is too too base. King. Lincoln, no more. Dost thou not know that love respects no blood, Cares not for difference of birth or state? The maid is young, well born, fair, virtuous, A worthy bride for any gentleman. Besides, your nephew for her sake did stoop To bare necessity, and, as I hear, Forgetting honors and all courtly pleasures, To gain her love, became a shoemaker. As for the honor which he lost in France, Thus I redeem it: Lacy, kneel thee down! Arise, Sir Rowland Lacy! Tell me now, Tell me in earnest, Oateley, canst thou chide, Seeing thy Rose a lady and a bride? L. Mayor. I am content with what your grace hath done. Lincoln. And I, my liege, since there's King. Come on, then, all shake hands: Where there is much love, all discord ends. What says my mad lord mayor to all this love? 221 are all beggars, my liege; all for themselves, and I for them all on both my knees do entreat, that for the honor of poor Simon Eyre and the good of his brethren, these mad knaves, your grace would vouchsafe some privilege to my new Leaden hall, that it may be lawful for us to buy and sell leather there two days a week. King. Mad Sim, I grant your suit, you shall have patent To hold two market-days in Leadenhall, Mondays and Fridays, those shall be the times. Will this content you? All. Jesus bless your grace. Eyre. In the name of these my poor brethren shoemakers, I most humbly thank your grace. But before I rise, seeing you are in the giving vein and we in the begging, grant Sim Eyre one boon more. King. What is it, my lord mayor? Eyre. Vouchsafe to taste of a poor banquet that stands sweetly waiting for your sweet presence. For, an't please your highness, in time past, I bare the water-tankard, and my coat Sits not a whit the worse upon my back; And then, upon a morning, some mad boys, It was Shrove Tuesday, even as 'tis now, gave me my breakfast, and I swore then by the stopple of my tankard, if ever I came to be lord mayor of London, I would feast all the prentices. This day, my liege, I did it, and the slaves had an hundred tables five times covered; they are gone home and vanished; Yet add more honour to the gentle trade, Taste of Eyre's banquet, Simon's happy made. King. Eyre, I will taste of thy banquet, and will say, I have not met more pleasure on a day. Friends of the gentle craft, thanks to you all, King. I shall undo thee, Eyre, only Thanks, my kind lady mayoress, with feasts; Already have I been too troublesome; Eyre. O my dear king, Sim Eyre was taken unawares upon a day of shroving, which I promised long ago to the prentices of London. cheer. for our Come, lords, a while let's revel it at home! When all our sports and banquetings are done, Wars must right wrongs which French men have begun. (Exeunt) ELIZABETHAN AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRICS LYRIC poetry differs fundamentally from epic or narrative poetry in that it is concerned not with telling a story but with expressing the poet's personal feelings. or his thoughts emotionally presented. The lyric is generally short, well unified, and direct; it should also have the quality of emotional intensity, whether it is a spontaneous outburst of a singer who holds nothing back, or the restrained but none the less genuine expression of a reflective poet whose emotion is "recollected in tranquillity." The Age of Elizabeth was a time of enthusiasm and of dramatic achievement. The Revival of Learning and the Reformation had combined to give men new zest for life, and the drama and lyric poetry were natural outlets. Many of the early lyrics of the period are free, spontaneous utterances, full of the enthusiasm that requires expression in song. At the same time, much of the poetry was written by those associated with the court and its elaborate etiquette, who were strongly under the influence of conventions. The sonnet and the pastoral, for example, were written in imitation of foreign models and appropriated many highly conventionalized images. It is consequently difficult to be sure at times whether the poet is expressing his own feelings or writing according to the fashion. This uncertainty makes it impossible to assert positively that Shakespeare's sonnets have autobiographical value, but in any case they are beautiful in imagery, deep in thought, and rich in music. In general, enthusiasm for poetic expression characterizes the lyrics of the time, and there is no similar body of English poety that contains so much of the song quality. As the century advanced, the reflective and philosophical element became stronger, as is evidenced by the poetry of John Donne and the religious lyrists whom he influenced. There is subtle thinking and less of the bright joyousness of the earlier period. In Ben Jonson and his followers, Herrick, Carew, Lovelace, and Suckling we find the qualities of finish, symmetry, and polish that resulted from the desire to say a thing as well as it could be said, the manner of what is called Classicism. The best sonnets of Milton show clearly the effectiveness of this highly developed sense of form, combined with dignity of theme and glowing emotion. |