Extracts from Robert Armin, The Valiant Welshman
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The Author was chiefly famous as the first performer of many of Shakespeare’s later clown parts (Feste, Touchstone, etc). But in the later part of his career, he also wrote on his own behalf. The Valiant Welshman is delivered, mainly, in an elevated style, with many reminiscences of Shakespeare (there’s a long imitation of the gravedigger scene in Hamlet after the guilty Gloucester hangs himself, and Caradoc often recalls Coriolanus). The play deals largely with the heroism of Caradoc, the Valiant Welshman of the title, who intervenes on the side of right in the civil wars in a pre-historic Wales, fought between Octavian and the usurper Monmouth. Then the King of Britain (England) solicits Welsh help against the invading Romans. Caradoc leaves his wedding-day, and performs wonders against the Romans. In his absence, the good Octavian is poisoned, and his crown seized by the bastard Codigune. Caradoc returns victorious from England, and defeats the bastard usurper in single combat, but he spares his life (a mistake, as usual: the Bastard and his allies engage in further plots).
In the first witchcraft-related extract, the villainous Gloucester, ally of the Bastard, goes to consult a witch, with normal scene-setting rhetoric. She conjures up a serpent, which will ravage Wales and draw Caradoc to destruction (he will, of course, rush to engage it). Cliches you will spot include the normal ‘I know why you have come here’ boast by the sorceress, and recognition-despite-disguise. The serpent is an evil spirit installed in a monstrous body, and was clearly a spectacular stage-effect.
The Valiant Welshman, Act 3, Scene 3
Now, Gloster, in this still and silent wood,
Whose unfrequented pathes do lead thy steps
Vnto the dismall cave of hellish fiends;
With whom, a Witch, as ugly to confront,
As are the fearefull Furies she commaunds,
Liues in this solitary uncouth place;
Begin thy damned plots, banish that thred-bare thought
Of Vertue,
Which makes vs men so senselesse of our wrong,
It makes us beare the poyson of each tongue.
No, Gloster, no; he, whose meeke bloud's so coole
To beare all wrongs, is a religious foole:
Or he that cannot finely knit revenge,
Like to Arachne, in a curious web,
May wounds still fit a Nightcap for his head.
Since I am forst to flie with foule disgrace,
And since of gods or men no hope I finde,
Ile use both hell and Fiends to ease my minde.
Here dwels a famous Witch, who, with her sonne,
As blacke in arte, as arte it selfe is blacke,
Both memorable for their Magicke skill,
That can command sterne vengeance from beneath
The center of the earth, for to appeare
As quicke as thought. To her Ile tell the tale
Of my revenge, and with the golden Chimes
Of large rewards, inchaunt her hellish eares.
And see: their monstrous shapes themselves appeares.
Scene 4.
Enter the Witch and her sonne from the Cave.
Gloster.
Thou famous Mistresse of the unknown depths
Of hels infernall secrets, oh what reward
Shall a dejected, miserable man,
Chased from the confines of his native land,
By wrong oppression, and insulting pride,
Disgrace, contempt, and endlesse infamy,
Give, for redresse from thy commanding arte?
Witch.
Gloster, I know thee wel, although disguisd:
Thou comest to crave our helpe, for thy revenge.
'Gainst Caradoc, who now hath vanquished
The Bastard Codigune in single fight.
Know Gloster, that our skill
Commaunds the Moone drop from her silver sphere,
And all the starres to vayle their golden heads,
At the blacke horrour that our Charmes present,
Atlas throwes downe the twinckling Arch of heauen,
And leaues his burthen at our dreadfull spels.
This pendant element of solid earth,
Shakes with amazing Earthquakes, as if the frame
Of this vast continent would leave her poles,
Neptune swels high, and with impetuous rage
Dashes the haughty Argosy with winds,
Against the Christall battlements of heaven.
The troubled ayre appeares in flakes of fire,
That, till about the ayres circumference,
We make the upper Region
Thicke, full of fatall Comets, and the skie
Is filde with fiery signes of armed men.
Hell roares, when we are angry, and the Fiends,
As schole-boyes, tremble at our Charming rod.
Thus, when we are displeased, or male-content,
Both hell obeyes, and every Element.
Gloster.
Thou matchles wonder, worke but my revenge,
And by the triple Hecate, and the powers
Your Charmes adore, Ile load you vvith a waight
Of gold and treasure, till you cry, No more.
Invent, great soule of arte, some stratagem,
Whose fame may draw him to these dismal woods.
No danger can out-dare his thirsty soule
In honourable enterprises: he is a man,
Should hell oppose him, of such dauntlesse mettal,
That were but fame the end of his atchievement,
He would as boldly cope with it, as with things
Of common danger.
Witch.
Then Gloster, harke: Here in this dismall Grove,
By arte I will create a furious beast,
Mov'd by a subtill spirit, full of force
And hellish fury, whose devouring jawes
Shall havocke all the borderers of Wales,
And in short space unpeople all his Townes.
Now, if he be a man that seeks for fame,
And grounds his fortunes on the popular loue,
Or King like doe preferre a common good,
Before a private losse; this famous taske,
Whose fearefull rumour shall amaze the world,
Will egge him on: where being once but come,
He surely meetes with his destruction.
Sonne, to this purpose, straitway to thy booke,
Enter the Cave, and call a powerfull spirit by thy skill,
Commaund him instantly for to appeare,
And with thy Charmes, binde him vnto the shape
Of a devouring Serpent, whilest without
We doe awayte his comming.
Now whirle the angry heavens about the Pole,
And in their fuming choler dart forth fires,
Like burning Aetna, being thus inraged
At this imperious Necromantike arte.
Dis trembles at our Magicall commaund,
And all the flaming vawtes of hells Abisse,
Throw forth sulphureous flakes of scorching fire.
The jangling hell-hounds, with their hellish guizes,
Daunce damned rounds, in their infernall rage.
And to conclude, earth, water, ayre, and fire,
And hell grow sicke, to see mans arte aspire.
A generall enuy makes them malecontent,
To see deepe arte commaund each element.
See, Gloster, see, thinkes he, this monstrous shape
Will not abate the courage of his foe,
And quell the haughty pride of Caradoc?
Gloster.
Yes, mighty Artist, were he thrice inspirde
With more then humane courage, he may as soone
Conquer those matchlesse Giants, that were set
To keepe the Orchard of Hesperides,
Or match the labours of great Hercules.
Witch.
Goe shrowde thy horrid shape within this wood,
And seize on all thou meetst. Come, Gloster, in,
And here awhile abide within this Cave.
Thy eyes shall see what thy vext soule did crave.
In Act 4 scene 2, the Valiant Welshman catches up with the Serpent, and, after a intervention sent by heaven, dispatches it with little trouble. The witch’s son betrays his mother, who is burned, and is himself coerced into using his powers to assist the good.
Scene 2.
Cara.
Now, shepheard, are we yet within the ken
Of this fell monster?
Sheph.
Not yet, my Lord: and yet, me thinks, this place
should not be farre.
Cara.
Then here weele stay: it may be, being hungry,
The dreadfull monster now will seeke his prey,
And range towards vs. Come, let's walke about.
Old man.
Stay, ventrous Prince, and from an old mans hand,
Receyve the meanes, that sacred heavens decree,
To rid thy Land from this perplexity.
No force of sword can conquer hellish fiends,
By blacke inchantments made to take thy life:
Thou maist with greater ease cleave rocks asunder,
Or with thy hands breake Adamants in twayn,
Which nought but bloud of Goates can mollifie,
Then pierce the skales of this infernall Monster.
About thee take this precious soveraigne herbe,
That Mercury to wise Ulysses gave,
To keepe him from the rage of Circes charmes.
This precious herbe, maugre the force of hell,
From blackest sorcery keepes sound and well.
Farewell, great Prince.
Cara.
Thanks, gentle Father. And see, the Serpent comes.
Enter the Serpent. Caradoc shewes the herbe. The Serpent flies into the Temple. Caradoc runs after. It thunders.
Now Caradoc, pursue this hellish Fiend.
Cursed Imposter, damn'd Inginer of plots,
As blacke in cursed purposes, as night,
When by your hellish charmes, she mournes in blacke
And sable vestments; tell me, thou sonne of darkenesse,
Where that Inventor of mischievous ills
Gloster remaynes.
Bluso.
There in that cave: but he is fled from thence,
And being frantike with the horrid sight
Of fearefull apparitions, in despayre
Runnes vp and downe these solitary Groves,
Where shortly Furies, with their divelish haunts,
Will leade him to a sad and violent death.
Cara.
Wert thou the authour? tell vpon thy life.
Bluso,
No, Prince: for in this horrid Cave
There lives my aged mother, deepe in skill
Of Magicke Exorcismes, as the art it selfe
Exceeds the boundlesse depth of humane wit.
With her the Earle conspirde, to draw you hither
By this invention.
Cara.
Rise, come forth, thou ugly Hagge, from thy darke
Cell.
Cousin Morgan, throw her into the flames
Of the burning Temple.
Morgan.
I warrant her. By shesu, tis a hote whore.
Cara.
On this condition doe I give thee life,
That first, if such an hellish art as this
May serue to vertuous uses, then direct
The scope of all thy skill, to ayde poore men,
Distrest by any casualty or chance,
And specially our friends.
Bluso.
This Bluso vowes to keepe inviolable.
Cara.
Come, Cousin Morgan, Kings in this are known,
That for their subjects liues, neglect their owne.
In Act V, scene 1, the Magician is acting on behalf of the good. Caradoc’s friend Gald, a British Prince, has married Caradoc’s sister, but she has been abducted, and her villainous Roman captor has been (in effect) misreading the story of Lucrece. They intervene in his intended rape.
Gald.
Now, Bluso, thus farre have wee by thy Arte,
Even to their priuate lodgings, fearelesse past
Invisible to any mortall eye.
But, Bluso, tell me, are we yet arrived
At our expected Haven?
Bluso.
This is her Chamber: here will we stand unseene,
And yet see all that passe.
Tis almost dead of night: and now begins
Sleepe, with her heavy rod to charme the eyes
Of humane dulnesse. Here stand we yet awhile,
And in this silent time observe the love,
The Romane Generals sonne beares to your wife,
Who long hath borne the siege of his hote lust:
And now behold, like bloudy Tarquin comes,
Enter Marcus Gallicus, with a candle in his hand, and his sword drawne.
Being non-suted, to satisfie the heate
Of his insatiate and immoderate bloud,
That boyling runs through his adulterous veynes.
A little while give way unto his practise,
And when we see a time, prevent his purpose.
Mar.
Night, that doth basely keepe the dore of sinne,
And hide grosse murthers and adulteries,
With all the mortall sinnes the world commits,
From the cleare eye-sight of the morning Sunne:
Thou, that ne're changest colour for a sinne,
Worse then Apostasie, stand Centinel this houre,
And with thy Negroes face vayle my intent,
Put out thy golden candles with thy fogs,
And let originall darkenesse, that is fled
With Chaos to the Center, gard my steps.
How husht is all things! and the world appeares
Like to a Churchyard full of dead.
Deaths picture, Sleepe, looks, as if passing bels
Went for each vitall spirit, and appeares,
As if our soules had tooke their generall flight,
And cheated Nature of her motion.
Then on, vnto thy practise: none can descry
Thy blacke intent, but night and her blacke eye.
He goes to her bed vpon the Stage, and lookes vpon her.
Behold the locall residence of love,
Euen in the Rosie tincture of her cheeke.
I am all fire, and must needs be quencht,
Or the whole house of nature will be burnt.
Fayre Uoada, awake: tis I, awake.
Uoad.
Am I adreamd? Or, doe I wake indeed?
I am betrayd. Fond Lord, what make you here
At this unseasonable time of night?
Is't not inough that you importune
Each houre in the day? but in the night,
When every creature nods his sleepy head,
You seeke the shipwracke of my spotlesse honour?
For shame forbeare, and cleare a Romans name,
From the suspition of so foule a sinne.
Perhaps youle say, that you are flesh and bloud.
Oh my good Lord, were you but onely so:
It were no sinne, but naturall instinct:
And then that noble name that we call man,
Should undistinguisht passe, even like a beast.
But man was made divine, with such a face,
As might behold the beauty of the starres,
And all the glorious workemanship of heaven.
Beasts onely are the subjects of bare sense:
But man hath reason and intelligence.
Beasts soules die with them: but mans soule's divine:
And therefore needs must answere for eche crime.
Marcus.
Thy speeches are like oyle vnto a flame.
I must enjoy thee. If thou wilt yeeld to me,
Ile be thy friend for ever: but if denide,
By force I will attempt, what by fayre meanes
I cannot compasse. Besides, thou art my captive,
And standst a suter for thy liberty.
Voada.
I, for my body: but my soule is free.
Gald.
I can no longer heare these arguments.
Come, Bluso, helpe me to convey her hence.
They tumble Marcus ouer the bed, and take her away.
Mar.
What Fury hath depriued me of my ioy,
And crost my bloud, euen in the heat of lust?
What, is she gone? Oh all you sacred powers,
Remit this sinne, unacted, but by thought:
And by those heavenly patrones of chaste minds,
Vertue, like to my soule, shall wholy be
Diffused through euery member. Thus powers above
Doe, with unknowne means, scourge unlawfull love.