English drama -- Early modern and Elizabethan, 1500-1600; Greene, Robert, 1558-1592
_Alphon._ Thanks, mighty prince; but yet I seek not this:
It is not words must recompense my pain,
But deeds. When first I took up arms for you,
Your promise was, whatever my sword did win
In fight, as his Alphonsus should it crave.
See, then, where lies thy foe Flaminius,
Whose crown my sword hath conquer'd in the field;
Therefore, Belinus, make no long delay,
But that discharge you promis'd for to pay.
_Beli._ Will nothing else satisfy thy conquering mind
Besides the crown? Well, since thou hast it won,
Thou shalt it have, though far against my will.
[ALPHONSUS _sits in the chair_; BELINUS _takes the crown off_
FLAMINIUS' _head, and puts it on that of_ ALPHONSUS.
Here doth Belinus crown thee with his hand
The King of Arragon.
[_Trumpets and drums sound within._
What, are you pleas'd?
_Alphon._ Not so, Belinus, till you promise me
All things belonging to the royal crown
Of Arragon, and make your lordings swear
For to defend me to their utmost power
Against all men that shall gainsay the same.
_Beli._ Mark, what belongèd erst unto the crown
Of Arragon, that challenge as thine own;
Belinus gives it frankly unto thee,
And swears by all the powers of glittering skies
To do my best for to maintain the same,
So that it be not prejudicial
Unto mine honour, or my country-soil.
_Albi._ And by the sacred seat of mighty Jove
Albinius swears that first he'll die the death,
Before he'll see Alphonsus suffer wrong.
_Fabi._ What erst Albinius vow'd we jointly vow.
_Alphon._ Thanks, mighty lords; but yet I greatly fear
That very few will keep the oaths they swear.
But, what, Belinus, why stand you so long,
And cease from offering homage unto me?
What, know you not that I thy sovereign am,
Crownèd by thee and all thy other lords,
And now confirmèd by your solemn oaths?
Feed not thyself with fond persuasions,
But presently come yield thy crown to me,
And do me homage, or by heavens I swear
I'll force thee to it maugre all thy train.
_Beli._ How now, base brat! what, are thy wits thine own,
That thou dar'st thus abraid[41] me in my land?
'Tis best for thee these speeches to recall,
Or else, by Jove, I'll make thee to repent
That ere thou sett'st thy foot in Naples' soil.
_Alphon._ "Base brat," say'st thou? as good a man as thou:
But say I came but of a base descent,
My deeds shall make my glory for to shine
As clear as Luna in a winter's night.
But for because thou bragg'st so of thy birth,
I'll see how it shall profit thee anon.
_Fabi._ Alphonsus, cease from these thy threatening words,
And lay aside this thy presumptuous mind,
Or else be sure thou shalt the same repent.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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