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A Select Collection of Old English Plays: Originally Published by Robert Dodsley in the year 1744

General

A Select Collection of Old English Plays: Originally Published by Robert Dodsley in the year 1744

English drama

Thou cursed jill, by all the gods
    I take an oath and swear,
  That flesh of thine these hands of mine
    In pieces small could tear;
  But thou shalt die by dent of sword,
    There is no friend ne fee
  Shall find remorse at prince’s hand
    To save the life of thee.

                               QUEEN.

  O mighty king and husband mine,
    Vouchsafe to hear me speak,
  And licence give to spouse of thine
    Her patient mind to break:
  For tender love unto your grace
    My words I did so frame,
  For pure love doth heart of king
    Me violate and blame.
  And to your grace is this offence,
    That I should purchase death?
  Then cursed time that I was queen,
    To shorten this my breath!
  Your grace doth know by marriage true
    I am your wife and spouse,
  And one to save another’s health
    (At troth-plight) made our vows.
  Therefore, O king, let loving queen
    At thy hand find remorse,
  Let pity be a mean to quench
    That cruel raging force:
  And pardon plight from prince’s mouth,
    Yield grace unto your queen,
  That amity with faithful zeal
    May ever be us between.

                               KING.

  Ah caitiff vile, to pity thee
    My heart it is not bent?
  Ne yet to pardon your offence
    It is not mine intent.

                            FIRST LORD.

  Our mighty prince, with humble suit
    Of you this grace I crave,
  That this request it may take place,
    Your favour for to have.
  Let mercy yet abundantly
    The life of queen preserve,
  Sith she is most obedient wife
    Your grace’s will doth serve.
  As yet your grace but while with her
    Hath had cohabitation;
  And sure this is no desert why,
    To yield her indignation.
  Therefore (O king) her life prolong,
    To joy her days in bliss.

                            SECOND LORD.

  Your grace shall win immortal fame
    In granting unto this;
  She is a queen whose goodly hue
    Excels the royal rose:
  For beauty bright Dame Nature she
    A large gift did dispose;
  For comeliness who may compare?
    Of all she bears the bell;
  This should give cause to move your grace
    To love her very well;
  Her silver breasts in those your arms
    To sing the songs of love;
  Fine qualities most excellent
    To be in her you prove;
  A precious pearl of price to prince,
    A jewel passing all:
  Therefore (O king) to beg remorse
    On both my knees I fall;
  To grant her grace to have her life
    With heart I do desire.

                               KING.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

General

A Select Collection of Old English Plays: Originally Published by Robert Dodsley in the year 1744

English drama

Thou cursed jill, by all the gods
    I take an oath and swear,
  That flesh of thine these hands of mine
    In pieces small could tear;
  But thou shalt die by dent of sword,
    There is no friend ne fee
  Shall find remorse at prince’s hand
    To save the life of thee.

                               QUEEN.

  O mighty king and husband mine,
    Vouchsafe to hear me speak,
  And licence give to spouse of thine
    Her patient mind to break:
  For tender love unto your grace
    My words I did so frame,
  For pure love doth heart of king
    Me violate and blame.
  And to your grace is this offence,
    That I should purchase death?
  Then cursed time that I was queen,
    To shorten this my breath!
  Your grace doth know by marriage true
    I am your wife and spouse,
  And one to save another’s health
    (At troth-plight) made our vows.
  Therefore, O king, let loving queen
    At thy hand find remorse,
  Let pity be a mean to quench
    That cruel raging force:
  And pardon plight from prince’s mouth,
    Yield grace unto your queen,
  That amity with faithful zeal
    May ever be us between.

                               KING.

  Ah caitiff vile, to pity thee
    My heart it is not bent?
  Ne yet to pardon your offence
    It is not mine intent.

                            FIRST LORD.

  Our mighty prince, with humble suit
    Of you this grace I crave,
  That this request it may take place,
    Your favour for to have.
  Let mercy yet abundantly
    The life of queen preserve,
  Sith she is most obedient wife
    Your grace’s will doth serve.
  As yet your grace but while with her
    Hath had cohabitation;
  And sure this is no desert why,
    To yield her indignation.
  Therefore (O king) her life prolong,
    To joy her days in bliss.

                            SECOND LORD.

  Your grace shall win immortal fame
    In granting unto this;
  She is a queen whose goodly hue
    Excels the royal rose:
  For beauty bright Dame Nature she
    A large gift did dispose;
  For comeliness who may compare?
    Of all she bears the bell;
  This should give cause to move your grace
    To love her very well;
  Her silver breasts in those your arms
    To sing the songs of love;
  Fine qualities most excellent
    To be in her you prove;
  A precious pearl of price to prince,
    A jewel passing all:
  Therefore (O king) to beg remorse
    On both my knees I fall;
  To grant her grace to have her life
    With heart I do desire.

                               KING.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

A Select Collection of Old English Plays: Originally Published by Robert Dodsley in the year 1744

A Select Collection of Old English Plays: Originally Published by Robert Dodsley in the year 1744

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