Lords and Lovers, and Other Dramas
by Olive Tilford Dargan · English · Gutenberg #51282 · 481,242 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Lords and Lovers, and Other Dramas
Author: Olive Tilford Dargan
Release date: February 22, 2016 [eBook #51282]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LORDS AND LOVERS, AND OTHER DRAMAS ***
LORDS AND LOVERS AND OTHER DRAMAS
LORDS AND LOVERS
AND
OTHER DRAMAS
BY
OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1906
_Copyright, 1906, by Charles Scribner's Sons_
_All rights reserved_
_Published, October, 1906_
_The Trow Press, New York_
CONTENTS
LORDS AND LOVERS:
PART I 1
PART II 71
THE SHEPHERD 135
THE SIEGE 207
LORDS AND LOVERS
PART I
_CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY_
HENRY III, _King of England_
EARL OF ALBEMARLE
EARL OF PEMBROKE
RICHFORD, _son to Pembroke, afterwards Earl_
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER
CARDINAL GUALO
HUBERT DE BURGH, _afterwards Earl of Kent_
SIR ROLAND DE BORN
STEPHEN GODFREY, _a soldier_
GREGORY, _a captain_
BALDUR, GODRIC, _soldiers_
ORSON, _a servant_
GERSA, _an officer under De Burgh_
FRIAR SEBASTIAN
LORD GOLY
LORD DE VERE
MARGARET, _a Scottish princess_
ELEANOR, _Countess of Albemarle, wife of Albemarle_
GLAIA, _ward of De Burgh_
ELDRA, _servant to Glaia_
_Lords and ladies of the court, bishops, barons, priests, citizens,
soldiers, &c._
TIME: _13th Century_
SCENE: _England_
ACT I
SCENE 1. _Room in the earl of Pembroke's castle. Pembroke in bed.
Richford and Albemarle attending._
_Pem._ The king has come?
_Alb._ He waits upon your grace
As a good servant; with demeanor speaks
True sorrow you are brought so low.
_Pem._ [_Stoutly_] Ha! Low?
_Alb._ Sir, but in body. Pembroke's mounting mind
Can never be struck down.
_Pem._ He's sad, you say?
_Alb._ In tears, your grace. He weeps more like a son
Than sovereign.
_Pem._ A son! Where is the son
Would weep for Pembroke?
_Rich._ Here, my dearest father!
Here are the tears would water thy affliction
Till it be washed from thy endangered body.
Here is the heart would give its younger blood
To make thine leap with health. Without you, sir,
I am no more than is the gaudy bloom
Of some stout tree the axe has brought to ground.
O, wilt forgive the many pains I've cost thee?
_Pem._ First touch my hand and swear by highest God
That you will serve the king.
_Rich._ O, slight condition!
I take this noble hand that ne'er was raised
'Gainst country, throne or God, and by that God,
I vow to serve the king.
_Pem._ For the last time
I'll trust and pardon you. If you make black
Your soul with violation of this oath,
I, safe beyond the stars, shall know it not,
Nor die again to think on 't. Men, weep not
That ye lack sons, but weep when your wives bear them!
_Alb._ I'll vouch for him, your grace.
_Pem._ Thanks, Albemarle.
_Rich._ Will you, my kindest father, say a word
To bring me to the graces of the king?
_Pem._ Ay, son.
_Rich._ Now, sir?
_Pem._ Nay, I'm not dying yet,
And wish to keep my last words for his ears.
There's holy magic in the passing tongue
That stamps its truth unrasurable. So
Would I grave Henry's heart.
_Rich._ But, sir----
_Pem._ I'll wait
My hour. Who comes with him?
_Alb._ The legate, Gualo,
To-day arrived from Rome.
_Pem._ And I not told?
Already I am dead. These ears, that kings
Engaged, are now contracted to the worm
Permits no forfeiture. Well, well, his message?
_Alb._ The cardinal assures us that the pope
Will cast his power with Henry. Though he loves
This praying Louis, well he knows our right.
_Pem._ The pope our friend? I thank thee, Heaven!
England, take up thy heart! Thou yet mayst hope!
[_Enter bishop of Winchester_]
_Win._ God save great Pembroke!
_Pem._ He alone can do it.
Lord Albemarle, and my new-graced son,
Will 't please you walk within?
_Alb._ We are your servants.
[_Exeunt Richford and Albemarle, left_]
_Pem._ Now, Winchester?
_Win._ You sent for me, your grace.
I have made haste.
_Pem._ Ay, you'd trot fast enough
To see me die.
_Win._ Nay, sir, I hope you've called
Me to your service.
_Pem._ So I have, my lord.
A task unfinished I must leave to you.
Here is the key to yonder cabinet.
Pray you unlock it ... and take out the packet
Your eye's now on.
_Win._ This, sir?
_Pem._ Ay, that is it.
'Twas Henry Second, grandsire of this Henry,
Gave me that packet. Sir, you know the tale
Of princess Adelais who journeyed here
As the betrothed of Richard, Henry's son.
Alack, she never was his bride. Some say
That Henry loved her ... I know not ... but she
Returned to France, her reason wandering.
"If she recover," said the king to me,
"Give her this packet; should she die, break seal
And learn what you shall do." She did not die,
Nor can I say she lives, so sad her state.
Her age was bare fifteen when she left England,
Her face a lily and her eyes a flood;
She now must be midway her fifth decade,
A time, I've heard, when subtle changes work
Within the mind. A beauteous soul! O God,
Restore her now, or lift her e'en to thee!
... Take you the packet, and the king's command.
But first your oath. Deceit has sapped my faith
So oft I could believe the devil himself
Wears gown and mitre. Peter des Roches, will you
Be true?
_Win._ I swear by Heaven.
_Pem._ That is done,
As well as't can be done. Call in my son
And Albemarle.
_Win._ My lords!
[_Re-enter Richford and Albemarle_]
_Pem._ Now let us talk
Of England. O, this fleet, this fleet, rigged out
By warlike Constance in monk Louis' name!
I see it nearing now, leaping the waves,
On, on, and none to meet it! Cowards all.
What do ye here, ye three, loitering about
A sick man's bed? A man almost a corpse.
I would not have a servant waste himself
To give me drink while England needs his sword.
_Rich._ My father lord, we have our men abroad
Rousing the country for a stout defence.
To meet the French with our poor ships were madness;
But let them land we'll give them such a rap----
_Pem._ What? Land your enemy? O, fools and cowards!
... I've given my life for England. Now you'll cast
My heart-dear bargain into Louis' hand
As 'twere a snood slipped from an easy maid.
Fool man! to puff his days out jousting Fate,
Who waits but his bare death to start her mock
Of horrid pleasantries. Then does she make
Dice of the miser's bones, carousal cups
Of the ascetic's skull, a hangman's scoff
Of clerics' prayer-fed sons; and proudest sires,
Who sentried their blue blood, peer back through dust
To see all Babylon pour to their line.
And now she'll bid my war-ghost eyes behold
The land held with my life become a field
For foes at holiday!
_Win._ Compose yourself, your grace.
_Pem._ Gualo has come, but where is he will set
This power its task, and play it for this isle?
I can not say that wisdom dies with me,
But I could wish more proof of sager mind
Than e'er I've had from this small audience.
Lord Bishop, you are left custodian
Of Henry's ripening youth.
_Win._ Nor shall I fail
To be your worthy heir in this high duty,
For still I shall consult with your great spirit,
Praying your ghost be mover of my deeds.
_Pem._ I've spoken to the king. He'll give you love
For love. But who shall be lord chancellor?
There's little choice. And yet there's one, De Burgh,
If camp and field could spare him----
_Alb._ Sir, a man
No older than our sons?
_Pem._ By your good leave,
Age is no patent to respect and place
If virtue go not with it. Whitened hairs
Make honor radiant, but vice thereby
Is viler still. Ay, there are some----
_Rich._ Peace, father,
And save thy strength for us.
_Pem._ Ah, son, I've been
A careless holder all my life, and still
With my last hour play spendthrift. Well, here be
Three friends of England--Gualo makes a fourth--
And trusting you I ease my bones to death.
[_Enter attendant with a letter, which he gives to Pembroke_]
_Pem._ [_After reading_] De Burgh! O gallant soul!
Now am I young!
With forty ships he'll meet the fleet of France!
I live again, for courage is not dead!
[_Sinking_] Nay--help--ah, I am gone. I'll hasten on
And plead in Heaven for his victory.
[_Seems to die_]
_Alb._ Ah ... dead?
_Rich._ In truth.
_Win._ I'll go and tell the king. [_Aside, going_]
My joyful tears he will translate to grief,
And think I weep a friend's death, not a foe's
Whose only act of friendship was to die. [_Exit_]
_Alb._ How now, my lord? Does your good purpose hold?
_Rich._ It has the falling sickness, Albemarle,
And now lies low as earth.
_Alb._ Then set thy foot
Upon it that it rise no more.
_Rich._ 'Tis done.
_Alb._ What fools are they who think that dying men
Speak oracles to pivot action on,
When death's decay so blurs each fading sense
They know but darkly of the world about,
And of realities all plain to us
Build visions substanceless to gull our faith.
Grant that they do take note of things unseen,
'Tis with their faces to another world,
And what they speak is strange and ill advice
To us whose work is still 'mong men of earth.
_Rich._ You need not clear your way to me. I've not
A scruple in my soul would trip a gnat.
Speak out your heart.
_Alb._ You are great Pembroke now.
But Richford took an oath to serve the king.
_Rich._ And he--is Louis.
_Alb._ Till we find hour fit
To cast his yoke and take a sovereign
Of our election.
_Rich._ _Royal Albemarle!_
_Alb._ Here stand we then. De Burgh we count as dead.
Le Moine has orders to strike off his head
Soon as he's taken. Now we get the king
To Dover fort, on pretence to defend it.
There the besieging French will take him prisoner,
And ship him straight to Calais--or to Heaven.
_Pem._ [_Half rising_] Devils! dogs! beasts!
Now these devoted bones
Will never lie at peace in English earth.
My country! Must the foreign foot be set
Once more upon thy neck, and thine own sons
Pour sulphur to thy wounds? The king! the king!
What, vipers, do you hear? Call in the king!
_Alb._ We must not, sir.
_Pem._ Ho, here! The king!
[_Rises from bed, starts forward and falls back speechless. Enter
Henry, Gualo, Winchester, and attendants. Albemarle and Richford
stand together. Pembroke dies pointing to them and gazing at the
king._]
_Hen._ My lords, what does this mean?
_Alb._ This noble man
Wished much to say a word of grace for me
And his forgiven son. Alas, black death
Has stolen the balm that might have eased our way
Into your heart.
_Hen._ Fear not, my lords. I'll trust you,
Even as he wished. [_Kneels by bed_]
O, Pembroke, couldst thou leave me?
* * * * *
[_Curtain_]
SCENE 2. _Before Dover castle. Night. Hubert de Burgh walking
and listening._
_Hub._ But forty ships! But forty slit-sailed drabs
Of storm and watery danger to meet all France
Fresh-winged upon the sea! And yet no word
Nor stir of help. Methinks were I the king,
Or Pembroke with his power in my mouth,
Each English road should be ablaze to-night
With swift flint-striking hoofs. Now to our shore
Puffs up the wave may prove oblivion's maw,
And drink these Dover cliffs as they were sands,
Yet England sleeps, with one lone heart at watch.
[_Sound of horse approaching_] Nay, two, for Roland comes.
[_Enter Roland de Born, dismounted_]
_Rol._ You, Hubert?
_Hub._ Ay.
You bring no aid?
_Rol._ The king is powerless.
Pembroke is dead. The barons to covert slink,
Saying their loyalty binds them to fight
No farther than the shore. The bishops smirk
Beneath their mitres, roll their eyes and cry
"God and great Rome, deliver us!" which means
Deliver us to Louis, king of monks
And darling of the pope.
_Hub._ And Albemarle?
_Rol._ Stands by the king, and ready with his men
To meet the foe on land, but not a soul
Will send to sea.
_Hub._ Dissembler! Well he knows
A victory on the sea means England lost,
So many traitor hearts will league with France
And sell their country for one castle more.
_Rol._ What now? We've little time. 'Tis almost day.
The moon is down, and the raw, rising air
Sucks in approaching light. What must be done?
_Hub._ The Cinque Ports yield me forty ships.
With these
I'll meet Le Moine.
_Rol._ O, Hubert, Hubert!
_Hub._ Ay,
My men are all aboard and waiting me.
The garrison I leave to you. Hold it
For honor and the king, nor yield to save
So poor a thing as my unlucky head
Should I go foul at sea. You'll be the first
The victors will besiege.
_Rol._ My friend!
_Hub._ Tut, man,
The sea's a good safe bed. Come in. Some wine
Will take the night-chill from your blood. In, in!
[_Exeunt. Curtain_]
SCENE 3. _Within the castle. Stephen, Baldur, Godric, and other
soldiers talking and drinking._
_Ste._ [_Draining his glass_] As good liquor as ever wet an oath since
Noah was a vintner.
_Bal._ Vintner? An you put him in the trade the bishop will have you up
for it.
_Ste._ A groat for your bishop, and that off your grandam's eyes! I'm
no little king Henry pulled to mincemeat by his bishops and barons.
"I'll take off your mitre," roars he to his bishop. "An you take off my
mitre, I'll clap on a helmet, by the lord," says my bishop. "I'll have
your castle!" shouts he to his baron. "An you take my castle, I'll give
you London tower," says master baron. Ay, and he would, with the keeper
thrown in.
_Bal._ And you too, if you bite not a bit from your tongue.
_Ste._ By the mass, I'll drink the king's ale, and I'll take the king's
money, but I'll fight for none but Hubert de Burgh!
_God._ And he for the king--so you.
_Ste._ I care not how you make it. De Burgh is my master. I'll fight
for him and with him and after him, but I'll wear a red sword for no
bishop or baron or little king Harry in Christendom!
_Bal._ That may be so with more of us than you, but stop your mouth
with good ale and let words alone.
_Ste._ And I'll go with him to the French court and pull Louis off the
king's stool!
[_Sings_]
Hear, boys, hear! O, hear our captain call!
We'll away, boys, away!
For the love o' the sword and the love o' the money,
We'll on to the wars, my brave fellows all,
An they take our Jack they will leave our Johnny.
Away, boys, away!
[_Enter Hubert and Roland_]
_Hub._ What cheer, my men? A fair morning for brave hearts. Can you
keep this castle for me till I've had a bout at sea?
_A soldier._ That we can, sir!
_Ste._ I'll go with you, sir, by your leave. The castle will wait for
us, I give you my word, sir.
_Hub._ You have seen the bottom of your glass too often to-night,
Stephen.
_Ste._ God bless you, sir, there's where a soldier keeps his oath to
serve God and his country, and he can't look it over too often. Take me
wi' you, sir, and I'll prove you who lifts his glass the highest will
wave his sword the longest. [_Kneels_] I was your father's soldier,
sir, and hope to die yours.
_Hub._ Nay, I must leave trusty souls behind me. Let those who love me
least fight under my eye, but I'll trust nay good Stephen around the
world.
_Ste._ [_Rising_] Ay, sir! Rain arrows, hail bullets, we'll keep the
castle against all weather!
_Hub._ [_Presenting Roland_] Then here's your brave captain. Follow him
now, and farewell, good fellows--farewell, all!
[_Soldiers start out slowly, following Roland_]
_An old soldier._ [_Turning_] But you'll come again, sir?
_Another._ Ay, we'll see you back?
_Another._ An you come or come not, I kiss my sword to you, Hubert de
Burgh, the bravest knight in all England!
_Hub._ Why, my hearts, would you start the liquor in my eyes? I go
where there's brine enough. Twelve hours' sail with fortune will bring
me back--but if I come not, remember your king!
[_Exeunt soldiers_]
They know 'tis death--they know 'tis death.
And what
Is that? We are all guests in God's great house,
The Universe, and Death is but his page
To show us to the chamber where we sleep.
What though the bed be dust, to wake is sure;
Not birds but angels flutter at the eaves
And call us, singing.
[_Enter Gersa_]
Gersa, what success?
_Ger._ The bags are all aboard, sir.
_Hub._ And portioned to every vessel?
_Ger._ Ay, sir.
_Hub._ Well despatched?
_Ger._ The men heaved as though the sacks held all the pope's treasury
and they were to take their pay out of it.
_Hub._ Yet they found the contents not so heavy as gold, I hope.
_Ger._ Nor so light as feathers, sir.
_Hub._ But I pray they'll fly as well, and more to the purpose. Aboard
with you now. I'll not be long behind you.
[_Exit Gersa_]
If this, my careful stratagem, should fail,
God help the friendless boy on England's throne!
Now Pembroke's noble strength must e'en to coffin;
And Isabel across the sea cares not,
But happier in a gentler husband's love
Takes little thought of John of England's heir,
Who has his father's beauty, not his heart,--
Just so much of that proud and guilty blood
As makes him kingly nor corrupts his own.
... But, come, my soul! Prepare thee for a world
Of rarer breath, lest thou too rudely go
To th' high conclave of spirits. Father?
[_Enter friar Sebastian_]
_Fr. Seb._ Son,
Art ready for the sacrament?
_Hub._ I lack
A prayer of thine to make me so. Give me
Such blessing as you'd lay upon me were
Death couchant for my heart, and on my brow
Drop thou the holy unguent that doth fit
The body for the last touch of the soul.
_Fr. Seb._ My love is to thy mortal frailty bound,
And first I'll bless thee as an earthly father,
Praying that thou mayst smite thine enemies.
[_Re-enter Roland_]
_Rol_ Your pardon, Hubert. Lady Albemarle
Is here, and begs for instant sight of you.
_Hub._ My sister? I will see her.
[_Exit Roland_] Wait you, father.
The world must still intrude on Heaven's affairs.
[_Exit friar through large folding doors rear as lady Albemarle
enters left_]
_La. Alb._ Brother! Is Glaia here?
_Hub._ She is. But why
This eagerness?
_La. Alb._ My lord says that you go
To meet the French. Is 't true?
_Hub._ In one hour's time
I count myself at sea.
_La. Alb._ Then what--O, where
Shall I hide Glaia?
_Hub._ Hide? Is 't evermore hide
That spotless maid, born but to be a star
To human eyes?
_La. Alb._ Nay, born to be my shame,
And constant, killing fear!
_Hub._ She will be safe.
Roland de Born, who now will guard this castle,
Holds Glaia as the heart in his own body.
Ay, she is safe,--but if the danger nears,
She'll be conducted back to Greenot woods----
_La. Alb._ Roland de Born? What knows he?
_Hub._ Only this,
That Glaia, weary of skies, rests foot on earth.
_La. Alb._ He does not love her, Hubert? Say not that!
_Hub._ Thy daughter is so honored.
_La. Alb._ No!
_Hub._ She has
His noble love, and he my happy wish
That he may make her wife.
_La. Alb._ Then thou art false,
And I look on my grave.
_Hub._ What, Eleanor?
_La. Alb._ You know my place, and how I queen the court,
A virtuous mark that lords point out to wives,
Bidding them walk as Albemarle's good dame.
Now let me take my seat on the lowest step,
And none too humble to mock me going up.
_Hub._ What's this to do with Roland's love for Glaia?
_La. Alb._ O, let them scorn! Tis nothing! But my husband--
Brother, I never dreamed thy cruelty
Would give me to his vengeance.
_Hub._ Cruelty?
_La. Alb._ O, see me at his feet--bleeding and broken----
_Hub._ Not while I wear a sword! But how have I
Disturbed thee? What have said? I've threshed my words,
But find no devil in them.
_La. Alb._ O, this Roland,
If he wive Glaia must ferret out my shame--
Pry her life ope--who is she?--whence she came?--
Till all my secret blushes 'fore his eye.
_Hub._ Though he learn all, thy honor in his breast
Is safe as gem that at earth's centre burns.
_La. Alb._ Nay, I'll not live! You know not Albemarle!
He'll scourge me through the court in rags to match
My tattered virtue,--then the rack--fire--screws--
The Scotch boot--O, the world's not dear enough
To purchase so. I will not live!
_Hub._ I swear
That Roland cares so much for Glaia's birth
As to be glad she's born. And at my word
He will receive her questionless and dumb,
Nor ever doubt, or weigh his promised faith.
_La. Alb._ Why, is there such a man in all the world?
_Hub._ He sees her as one looks upon a rose,
And thinks not of the mould that bore it, or what
The tale that dews and winds could tell.
_La. Alb._ 'Tis strange.
_Hub._ As strange as truth.
_La. Alb._ I must--I do believe you.
_Hub._ And bless his suit?
_La. Alb._ Ay, let him wed her straight.
What waits he for? Let her be lost in him,
This rare, this unmatched wonder of a man,
And I will cast this shadow from my life,
Heave off the weight that seventeen years I've borne,
And walk the lighter, for I've known what 'tis
To step high 'neath a load. O, let them wed
As soon as may be, Hubert. Why not now?
_Hub._ He waits to win her heart.
_La. Alb._ Cares he for that?
You can command her, Hubert.
_Hub._ But will not.
She is a plant of Nature's tenderest love,
And must be won to bloom by softest airs,
Else shall we risk the gentle life and see
No buds unfold.
_La. Alb._ I understand her not,
Nor try. She is a part of strangest days,
That like to burning dreams bewilder as
They scar the recollection. She's more kin
To those strange creatures of the wood that peeped
About my shelter when she lay a babe
Than to my blood. Yet she is mine--my daughter.
_Hub._ Wilt you not see her?
_La. Alb._ No.
_Hub._ You will find her up.
_La. Alb._ Why should I see her? Give a stranger's kiss,
And hear her stiffly say "Your ladyship"?
If she would love me!
_Hub._ Do not weep.
_La. Alb._ You think
I do not suffer.
_Hub._ I've no wish to think so.
_La. Alb._ I'm nearly mad at times! But I must go.
_Hub._ [_Hesitating_] How is--the princess?
_La. Alb._ Margaret? O, well,
But every day more full of starts and whims.
Last night the king was with us----
_Hub._ Ah, the king?
_La. Alb._ She gave him stinted welcome. Then my lord
Came in with news of the advancing fleet,
And danger to the throne, concluding with
Your aim to put to sea, and at that point
She swooned quite prettily and pleased the king.
_Hub._ She swooned?
_La. Alb._ Most properly, the king being by
To know it was for him.
_Hub._ O--ay, for him!
_La. Alb._ Who else? I hope they'll soon be wed.
_Hub._ Be wed?
Henry is young.
_La. Alb._ But old enough being king.
And Albemarle is pressing for the marriage.
'Tis now ten years since Margaret came from Scotland
To be his charge. A pretty child--do you
Remember? But now grown from beauty, pale
And fanciful. You've seen the change?
_Hub._ To me
She never changes but to show herself
More beautiful.
_La. Alb._ You have not seen it? Pah!
Now I must go. Good brother, fare you well.
You've given me comfort. [_Kisses him_]
_Hub._ Farewell, Eleanor.
[_Exit lady Albemarle_]
Art gone, my sister, and no word of love
For one who looks on death? It is the fear
That keeps so constant with her makes her hard
And unlike woman--unlike Margaret.
... Last night the king was with her--and she swooned.
But not for him. By Heaven, 'twas not for him!
[_Sits by table, bowing his head upon it_]
O Margaret! Not one dear word? Not one?
[_Enter Margaret, veiled_]
_Mar._ Ah! [_Steps toward him, throwing off her veil_] Hubert?
_Hub._ [_Starting up_] Princess! Here? You here?
_Mar._ Couldst think I'd let thee go till I had said
"God save thee" to thy face?
_Hub._ You risk too much!
_Mar._ Risk, Hubert?
_Hub._ O, what have you done?
_Mar._ What done?
_Hub._ The king will think----
_Mar._ The king will think as I do,
That 'tis most natural to pay adieu
To friends.
_Hub._ But Albemarle----
_Mar._ Approves our friendship.
I do not understand.
_Hub._ Yet you came veiled.
_Mar._ 'Twas early--and the air was pricking chill.
I--thought--do you go soon?
_Hub._ That you should come!
_Mar._ Soon, Hubert?
_Hub._ Ay, at once.
_Mar._ At once. Why then,
Farewell.
_Hub._ Stay! Ah--I mean--why did you come?
_Mar._ My soul! I think I came that you might wish
Me back again. Was it so wrong of me?
Are we not friends? And if I came in hope
To ease adieu with unction of a tear
I know none else would shed----
_Hub._ O, Margaret!
Pray God that I deserve this! Now I go
So light I'll hardly need my ship's good wings
To bear me.
_Mar._ The earl doubts not your victory.
How many ships go with you?
_Hub._ All we have.
The ports hold not a single vessel from me.
_Mar._ And the enemy's? I hope they are enough
To make your victory noble.
_Hub._ I've no doubt
They count up bravely.
_Mar._ Not too many, sir!
_Hub._ The battle will not shame me.
_Mar._ But how many?
_Hub._ As yet we have no word but rumor's.
_Mar._ Ah!
Tell me you'll win.
_Hub._ Then help me by not doubting.
_Mar._ I must not doubt--for if--I did----
_Hub._ What then?
_Mar._ Nay, I'll not stay to tell you. I must go.
I keep you from the battle and your fame.
You have forgiven me my morning ride?
Faith, but you frowned!
_Hub._ I thought how many eyes
Were on the king's betrothed.
_Mar._ Choose better words,
My friend. I am not yet the king's betrothed,
And I--had you the time----
_Hub._ Nay, all my life
Is yours.
_Mar._ Hear then. I will not wed the king.
_Hub._ A princess can not choose.
_Mar._ Then I'll not be
A princess!
_Hub._ Margaret!
_Mar._ A princess? Nay,
I'll be no more a woman, if that means
To cage my soul in circle of a court
And fawn on turnkey humor for my life!
Scotland is lost to me. I'll not go there
To meet my dangerous brother's wrath. No, no!
But there are forests--I can fly to them,
And dig my food from Nature's generous earth,
Thrive on her berries, drink from her clear streams,
Sleep 'neath the royal coverlet of her leaves,
And make some honest friends 'mong her kind creatures
That we call dumb because, forsooth, they speak
By eye and touch and gibber not as we!
... So silent, sir? Come, will you not advise me?...
There was a day before the day of kings
When maidens looked where'er their hearts had sped
And found them mates who had no need of crowns
To make them royal, and such a day the world
May see again, but I, alack, must breathe
The present time, and crave the help of state
And craft and gold to get me married! O,
The judgment angel gathering up our clay
Will know this period by its broken hearts!
... Hast not a word? Now should I wed the king?
_Hub._ He is a gentle youth, and in your care
Would blossom brave in virtues.
_Mar._ Nay----
_Hub._ All hope
For this poor land lies in your grace.
_Mar._ Ah, Hubert,
Where is there woman strong enough to save
Fair Henry from his flatterers? Not here.
Wouldst cast me to the pool where he must drown?
_Hub._ Where canst thou hide thy beauty, Margaret?
This is wild talk of forests. Where couldst flee?
What land would shelter thee from England's love
And Scotland's rage? My own--my Margaret--
Where could we go?
_Mar._ O, Hubert, we?
_Hub._ I'm mad.
Peace to thee, maiden. I go to my ships.
_Mar._ Forgive me! I'll be gone.
[_Re-enter Gersa_]
_Hub._ What! Not aboard?
_Ger._ Your pardon, sir. We have confirmed reports
The French outnumber us by triple count.
Eighty large ships, the double of our own,
Besides two score of galleons and small vessels
That in themselves would match us. And 'tis sure
Le Moine, the pirate, leads the fleet.
_Hub._ Are all
Now ready?
_Ger._ Ay, we wait for you.
_Hub._ Grant me
A bare half hour--no--not so much. I shall
O'ertake you ere you reach your ship.
[_Exit Gersa. Hubert turns to Margaret and finds that she has
fainted_]
My lady!
Is this, too, for the king?
_Mar._ [_Reviving_] You shall not go!
_Hub._ I must--and now. Let me but press your hand----
_Mar._ No, no, my lips! Hubert, let us be true.
Death watches now and will report all lies
To Heaven. Now I must see you go from me,
Out of my eyes as stars go from the sky,
And never, never see you come again,
Let me once hear you say you love me, Hubert,
And all the years that I must weep for thee
I'll keep the words as a sweet golden bell
To sound whene'er my ears want music.
_Hub._ Thou art the king's.
_Mar._ Nay, I will lay my head
Upon the block, ere pillow it by his.
_Hub._ Then we'll be mad together, Margaret.
To go one step in this is to go farthest.
Ah, yesterday I saw a knight I loved
Sink in his blood; but when he called the name
Of his dear bride, and died as it made sweet
His lips, I thought of you and envied him.
And now, so soon, his fortune is my own.
[_Calls_] Come, father! [_To Margaret_] Art afraid?
_Mar._ Ah, yes, afraid
That I may lose thee!
_Hub._ Is it hell, or Heaven?
[_Re-enter friar Sebastian_]
Good father, when two souls have kissed so close
They in each other lose the form of self,
And neither body knows its own again,
Wouldst join them mortally, that being one
They can not go amiss?
_Fr. Seb._ If they be free,
My son, to take the vows.
_Hub._ Thou knowest us.
_Fr. Seb._ I've blessed ye both as children.
_Mar._ I am free
By my soul's right, and though a princess born,
Here choose my lord.
_Fr. Seb._ My daughter, thou art noble,
And must be written fair though envy keep
The beadroll of thy faults, but 'tis poor rank
Not thee stoops to this choice.
_Mar._ I know it, father.
Though it should cost my fortune, name and place,
I'd give them all to be his wife one hour.
_Fr. Seb._ Then, by my sacred vows, as I believe
Love is from Heaven, and 'tis God himself
Who fosters its sweet growth through all the blood
Till action, thought, yea, life, do hang upon it,
I'll bind ye in the dear eternal bonds,
And bless your union with the holy feast.
Come in with me. [_Exit, rear_]
_Hub._ [_Embracing her_] 'Tis Heaven, Margaret!
[_Curtain_]
ACT II
SCENE 1. _Within Dover castle. Same room as in act first. Enter
Glaia followed by Eldra._
_Eld._ O, my lady, up all night, and now 'tis barely day you must be
going!
_Gla._ My good Eldra, you would teach my shadow constancy, for you
follow me without let or leave from the sun.
_Eld._ I follow not you but my orders, mistress. Sir Roland says that I
must not leave you.
_Gla._ The gates are all locked. Does he think me a bird to fly over
the walls?
_Eld._ That he does! The bonniest bird that ever sang in Greenot woods.
Isn't Sir Roland a man, my lady?
_Gla._ By his cap and feather, I should not doubt it.
_Eld._ But a man you may look at, my lady!
_Gla._ Pray God I may, madam, for 'tis sad to be young and blind.
_Eld._ Ay, but when I look at Sir Roland I could sing again the song
that got me a husband.
_Gla._ What song? I think you got him with your fair face and honest
mind, and he took the song by way of grace with meat.
_Eld._ True, mistress, I was a fair, canny lass over the border.
_Gla._ And a fair, canny dame you are now, Eldra. But what was the
song?
_Eld._ It was back summat ten jaunts o' the sun from Lammas to Lammas.
I was standing on the rock hills over Logan frith wi' the green woods
behind me an' lookin' out to sea. The waves were runnin' high, and the
brine in my face gave me such a spirit that in a minute my bonnet was
off and I was singing at the top of my voice--
O braw, braw knight, come down the glen
And awa' to kirk wi' me!
And Heaven send us seven stout sons
To fight for our king on the sea!
It's a long ballad, but it's out o' my mind now, and who should come up
behind me but my man that was to be, and 'twas set then and there we
must go to the kirk come Sunday. Ay, it got me a husband, but never a
son, for only six months away he was drowned at sea--the very sea that
I'd sung so brave t-to----
_Gla._ Don't cry. He will come sailing back some day with a fortune in
his pocket. I don't believe he was drowned.
_Eld._ I care not what's in his pocket, ma'am, if he bring me love in
his heart.
_Gla._ That he will, I am sure. Where is Orson?
_Eld._ Bathing his knees in gooseoil, my lady. You kept him at prayers
all night for Sir Hubert.
_Gla._ Why, did we not share his watch?
_Eld._ Yes, mistress, but when you fell asleep we had not the heart to
wake you.
_Gla._ O, ho! I fell asleep, did I?
_Eld._ I should hope you did, my lady. For my part I winked but once,
and when I woke up you were----
_Gla._ Asleep?
_Eld._ No, but you were praying so chipper that I knew you were just at
it.
_Gla._ O, false woman! Do you think I could sleep when Hubert is on the
sea? Call Orson to me.
_Eld._ Orson! Orson!
[_Enter Orson, walking stiffly_]
_Gla._ Why, Orson, you carry as much dignity as a watchman that has
just let in a duke.
_Ors._ Mock not affliction got in your service, my lady.
_Gla._ My service? When did I tell you to sleep all night on your knees?
_Ors._ Sleep? Sleep, lady?
_Gla._ Ay, sleep. You are a knave. Bring me my lute.
_Ors._ [_Muttering_] Sleep! There's thanks for you!
[_Exit_]
_Eld._ Mistress, you must not play your lute here. The king's men are
not like Sir Hubert's, and your voice will quick tell 'em there's a
bird in the bower.
_Gla._ I am not afraid. What are men but creatures like ourselves?
_Eld._ Like ourselves? La, my lady!
_Gla._ There's no harm in them. You are a foolish dame.
[_Re-enter Orson_]
[_Taking lute_] Good Orson, I am sorry if your knees are stiff. You may
have the unguent that Sir Roland brought me from Palestine. Go, Eldra,
and get it for him.
_Eld._ [_Aside_] An I give him not gooseoil with a dash of cinnamon,
I'm no good servant to my mistress.
[_Exeunt Eldra and Orson_]
_Gla._ I do not like this castle with Hubert away. Sir Roland makes it
a prison. If I could get out I should try to find my way to Greenot
woods. The doves are nesting now, and the little brown fawns are
specked with snow.
[_Plays lute and sings_]
O, lady, let the roses blow
In thy pale cheeks for this--
That I may to that garden go
And pluck them with a kiss.
My roses are all plucked, she said,
No more shall ever grow,
For cold is he and low his head
Whose dear love made them blow.
Then lay she down where slept her lord
Upon the silver heather;
Then sighed the knight, nor said he word,
But left the twa together.
[_Enter the king, dressed in black. He gazes at Glaia_]
_Gla._ What is your name, boy?
_Hen._ Henry.
_Gla._ Henry? That is the king's name. Are you his soldier?
_Hen._ I fight for him.
_Gla._ Ah, me!
_Hen._ Is it not brave to fight?
_Gla._ But kings are wicked
To buy their kingdoms with their subjects' lives.
Two days ago they brought a noble knight
Into the castle, bloody and quite dead,
And when I cried, my Hubert whispered "Hush,
'Tis for the king." Hubert is now at sea--
Mayhap this moment dies--and for the king.
And 'twas last night I heard Sir Roland say
"We'll hold the castle till each man is down,"
All for the king. And now _you_ fight for him.
I hate the king!
_Hen._ O, do not say that.
_Gla._ Why?
_Hen._ Because he loves you.
_Gla._ He has never seen me.
You're merry, boy.
_Hen._ But good kings love their subjects
Before they know them.
_Gla._ O! Is Henry good?
_Hen._ He prays to be so.
_Gla._ Let him pray, lest he
Grow old in evil like his father, John.
Who is your father, Henry?
_Hen._ He is dead.
_Gla._ Ah! But you have a mother.
_Hen._ Far away,
And one who loves me little.
_Gla._ Now I'll sigh
No more for parents, since I know that they
May die, or prove unkind. I have no kin.
But Hubert loves me.
_Hen._ Lady----
_Gla._ I am Glaia.
That is all I know, but Hubert says
Some day he'll tell me more. I do not care.
I love to be a mystery to myself.
_Hen._ [_Aside_] She's nobly born, and kept from her estate;
But how should she be honest Hubert's charge?
_Gla._ What say you, Henry?
_Hen._ 'Tis so strange to find
An angel housing in this black-browed castle,
Converting war's grim seat to paradise.
Hast always lived here?
_Gla._ O, behind these walls?
No, I've a home deep in the happy forest.
I do not like this place--these huge black rocks
Piled up so high, with caves i' the ground, and holes
To shoot out arrows. I walk on tiptoe here,
Afraid I'll wake the ghosts that sleep i' the corners.
But in the forest I can shout and run,
And everything I wake will laugh and sing.
_Hen._ Where is this happy place?
_Gla._ I can not tell.
'Twas night when we came here, and Hubert says
That none must know the way. I wonder why.
Do you live in a castle?
_Hen._ When I'm not
At wars.
_Gla._ O me, I would not live in one
To please----
_Hen._ The king?
_Gla._ No, not to please the king.
_Hen._ If he were lonely, Glaia?
_Gla._ Lonely? O,
He is to wed the princess Margaret.
Are you not glad? He'll not be lonely then.
She's fair and good, they say.
_Hen._ But not as you.
Her princess feet like well the solid earth.
She is a flower that sips of sun and dew.
But feedeth most from root-cups firm in ground;
While you are made of music, love, and air,--
A being of the sky--a lover's star,
Although he be a king. The grace of heaven
About your beauty plays, and drops as soft
Upon my eyes as light from the lark's wing.
But I must leave you now. Sweet, take this gift.
[_Gives her his jewelled belt_]
And know my name and place are worthy yours,
Though you should be a princess, as I think.
See, here's a jewel in this belt. I dare
To part with it, though wise men say my life
Is safe but when I wear it. 'Tis the stone
Of Wales, and blessed by magic of the seers
That in that country dwell.
_Gla._ Then keep it. Ay,
You must.
_Hen._ No, no! I have a fear some harm
Will touch you, me away. Keep you the charm,
And I will take your lute. In lonely hours
I'll touch the chords and think thou'rt listening.
[_Exit_]
_Gla._ A lovely boy! O me, these dreadful wars!
Eldra's a goose to call the king's men rude.
I wish he had not gone. I'll play again
And see who'll come. Ah, now I have no lute.
No matter, I will sing.
[_Sings_]
O, sweet the day and fair the May,
But Love he laid him down to weep----
[_Enter Gregory_]
_Greg._ A pixy sure!
Sweet apparition, wilt fly if I approach?
Then here I'll stand, and from this point remote
As frosty Hebrid from the golden East,
Adore thy seeming substance! Ah, no answer?
Advance then, valiant Gregory, and explore.
Flesh? 'S light, 'tis flesh! A very woman, too.
A silent woman. Heavenly miracle!
With lips like twin strawberries 'neath one leaf.
The very manner of them begs a kiss.
I' faith, they shall not beg.
_Gla._ You would not kiss me!
_Greg._ You wrong me, duck. Why, I'm a man of mirth
A soldier, sweet. And would not kiss? Now, now!
You take me for a ghost--or starve-bone saint.
I am not padded--I fill out my coat
And owe but for the cloth. A man, my chick!
Shalt have a kiss.
_Gla._ O, help me, Eldra! Help!
[_Stephen runs in, seizes Gregory and shakes him about_]
_Ste._ [_Pricking him with his sword_] Shalt have a kiss,
he shall! A man, my chick!
I fill my coat, I do.'
_Greg._ Hold, sir! I am
An officer of the king!
_Ste._ Why then, shalt have
More kisses! 'S blood! I thought thee but a scrub.
A king's man, sir, shall have more ceremony.
[_Pricks him around the room. Enter Roland_]
_Rol._ Stephen! Brawling here? You know the orders.
_Ste._ Orders, I take it, sir, don't count in such a case extraordinary.
_Rol._ Your extraordinary cases have become quite usual, Stephen.
_Ste._ Be you the judge, sir. This gay blood here was troubling the
lady----
_Rol._ Glaia! Then he dies! [_Drawing his sword_]
_Ste._ Orders, orders, sir!
_Gla._ He did not touch me, Roland.
_Rol._ Touch thee? If he
No more than looked at thee death is enough.
But had he touched thee----
_Gla._ Art thou cruel, Roland?
I thought thee gentle. Wouldst thou make me hate thee?
_Rol._ You shall not hate me, Glaia. [_Sheathes his sword_]
Let him live.
But take him from my sight.
[_Exeunt Stephen and Gregory_]
_Gla._ O, Roland, now
I love thee!
_Rol._ Love me, Glaia?
_Gla._ Next to Hubert.
_Rol._ O, next to Hubert.
_Gla._ And the boy.
_Rol._ The boy?
_Gla._ Henry his name is. Such a pretty youth!
He gave me this,--and see, this jewel here
Is all so precious that it guards the life
Of whoso wears it. He must like me well
To give it me. Dost think he likes me, Roland?
_Rol._ [_Aside_] O God, the king! ... Give me the baldric, Glaia.
I will return it, for I know the youth.
In truth, I've seen him wear this very belt.
'Twas wrong to take it, Glaia. He belongs
So wholly to the king that you can have
No portion of his love, lest he betray
Himself and thee. Go, get you ready, child,
To leave this place. For you 'tis full of dangers.
_Gla._ Back to the woods? O happiness! But I--
Ah, must we go so soon?
_Rol._ It was your prayer.
_Gla._ But then--I had not--strange! Why is it, Roland,
'Tis not so merry going as I thought?
Is't not a little lonely in the woods?
And yet it never seemed so. Will you come
To see me, Roland?
_Rol._ Do you want me, Glaia?
_Gla._ O, yes, dear Roland! And you'll bring the boy?
I want to ask if he will be my brother.
_Rol._ You must not see him. Go and get you ready.
[_Exit Glaia_]
O, wretched me, to love so frail a thing!
Fragile and pure, thou art not for this world,
Where the same winds that bring thee breath must blow
Thy gentle life out.
[_Re-enter the king_]
Sovereign liege,
Count it not boldness if I dare to guess
Your presence here. You come, my lord, to find
This precious property. [_Gives him the belt_]
I know 'tis prized,
And hold me happy that it met my eye
Before another's.
_Hen._ Gentle Roland, thanks.
I need not ask if you found aught with this
More precious still.
_Rol._ Nothing that majesty
Might without blushing claim.
_Hen._ Thank you again.
[_Aside_] I've found the lover! ... Is there news from sea?
_Rol._ Uncertain news, that I was on my way
To give to you. Report cries victory
For Hubert, but 'tis chance improbable
That he should win, so take a breath, your highness,
Ere you believe.
_Hen._ The lords must know of this!
_Rol._ Your majesty, I have a suit to thee.
_Hen._ A victory!
_Rol._ If you do hold him dear
Who, by report, has won this doubtful battle,
That saves your kingdom and sets fast your crown,
I beg you hear me!
_Hen._ Speak, but be not slow,
Good Roland.
_Rol._ Sire, De Burgh has enemies
Who seek his downfall, for his honesty
Stands rock-like 'tween the throne and treachery.
'Twas they who wrought to send him feebly forth
'Gainst odds so great they left no chance of life
Save by God's love and favor. If he wins,
The victor's garland and his king's reward
Will further urge their hate to villainy.
_Hen._ Who are these foes?
_Rol._ The earl of Albemarle,
Pembroke and Winchester.
_Hen._ My very staff!
What proof hast thou?
_Rol._ I've nothing for your eye.
But in my heart there is a testament
That makes me bold to name them. I would risk
All but my soul to save you such a friend
And virtuous servant as De Burgh, You may
Condemn me----
_Hen._ First, I'll watch these lords.
But be they false, where, where shall I find friends?
_Rol._ 'Mong those who fight your battles, sire, nor fear
To die to save a king.
[_Exit_]
_Hen._ [_Seating himself in an alcove_]
I see a king
Must take some thought to keep his crown on 's head.
[_Re-enter Stephen and Eldra_]
_Eld._ Dear man, you can't deny it! 'Twas you saved my mistress. But
for my good man drowned at sea I'd love you, sweeting.
_Ste._ And if you love me it must be by way of kiss and part, for my
good wife is still in the world, I've reason to think, and some day I
shall run plumb into her bonny white arms. But a kiss, my lass, with a
penny to the priest, can do a soldier no harm, and you'll always find
me obliging in everything except matrimony.
_Eld._ Out! Away! You old father Longbeard! You Johnny Hump-back!
_Ste._ Hump! 'Tis the squint in your eye, my dearie! I'm as straight as
a poplar in the king's court.
_Eld._ Squint, sir? May be so, for I'm thinkin' o' my braw handsome
man, an' 'twould make a straight eye squint to see you standin' in his
place, it would.
_Ste._ An' I'm thinkin' o' my bonny little girl, as plump and tender as
a partridge at her first nest, and out upon you, my fine, fat waddler!
_Eld._ An my man were here you'd drop to your fours and go like a beast
for shame, you would. The prettiest figure 'tween here and Jerusalem!
He had an arm! He could sling a sword! And such a leg! Dick Lion-heart
never shaped a trimmer stocking. Hair like a raven fannin' the wind!
An eye like Sallydeen's! For all the world a black coal with a fire in
the middle. No watery peepers like present company's. An his eyes were
stars in heaven I could point 'em out!
_Ste._ O, my sweet wench that's a waitin' for me! When shall I see her
comin' with her head up like a highland doe, an' cheeks as red as my
grandam's nightcap? I think o' her now as she stood on the high rocks
over Logan's frith singin' the song that made the sugar-water start in
my heart. And straight I must gallop wi' her to the kirk-- Hey, what's
the matter, old lady?
_Eld._ Nothin'--nothin', sir,--just one o' my qualms.
_Ste._ Do you have 'em ordinary? A pity now. My lass, an she lived a
thousand years, would not he qualmsy.
_Eld._ [_Aside_] 'Tis Stephen, my own man! And he doesn't know me! O, I
am changed from his ain lassie! He despises me! Waddler! O!
_Ste._ Chirk up, old duck. When I find my lass----
[_Re-enter Orson_]
_Ors._ Mistress Eldra, what do you gabbling here and my lady calling
you?
[_Exit Eldra with Orson_]
_Ste._ Eldra? By Pharo's ghost! Let me see--ten years. It might
be--yes--her very complexion--the pert eye--the little foot--the canny
twitch to her lips--and her man drowned at sea. Well, I'm pickled. She
has built up such a Solomon's glory picture o' me that plain Stephen
Godfrey will never get another chance. _He_ had an arm! Ha! Did I? An
eye like Sallydeen! A leg like Lion-heart! Ha! [_Struts up and down_]
But now I'm father Longbeard. Well, I'll shave off this weeping willow
tree anyhow.
[_Re-enter Eldra_]
_Eld._ Good sir, are you here yet?
_Ste._ [_Aside_] Good sir! Methinks I grow in favor. Ay, sweet madam.
_Eld._ [_Aside_] He's lookin' softer now. Well a day, this is a world.
Here they brought me and the lady Glaia to make sure we would be safe,
and now they're taking us back for the same reason. Ay me, and a
lonely, dreary place it is we're goin' to, with never a civil gentleman
like yourself to sit out the night wi' a stoop o' ale an' cakes o' my
own raisin'.
_Ste._ My good madam, if you will give me the tip o' the road, I'll not
be a slow traveller when the business of war will let an honest soldier
course to his liking.
_Eld._ O, 'tis secret, sir. My lady is hid away for some reason of God
or the devil, and I'll not be so false as to let a stranger on the
track.
_Ste._ Am I a stranger, madam? Did not my good arm no more than an hour
ago procure me warrant for better treatment? Come! As you say, there'll
be lonely times, and a discreet companion who knows how to keep his
tongue behind his teeth will not come amiss on a rainy day.
_Eld._ [_Aside_] How can it be harm to tell my own man when the good
priest said we were one flesh? 'Twill only be tellin' my own ears.
Well, sir, if you'll swear by St. Peter's thumb and the crucifix
you'll never let anybody know----
_Ste._ By St. Peter's thumb and the crucifix--and your black eyes,
too--I swear!
_Eld._ Then take the straight road to--O, I'm afraid!
_Ste._ Courage, my pretty! There's not a cricket to hear you.
_Eld._ The straight road to Greenot woods, and two miles in the forest
where the brook crosses, ride up the stream half a mile to a tall red
ash standin' alone, and three miles by the path to the right brings you
to the place you'll find me. Now I've done it! No, don't thank me for
bein' a fool.
_Ste._ Nay, a woman, dearie.
_Eld._ I must run to my mistress.
[_Exit Eldra, Stephen following_]
_Hen._ [_Coming forward_] Go, Stephen with the Lion's leg. You'll haste
If I be not before you. Am I bound
To Margaret? By others' mouths, perhaps.
But certain not at all by oath of mine.
[_Enter friar Sebastian_]
What holy gloom comes here? Friar Sebastian,
One time the counsellor to Isabel.
Do you not know me, father?
_Fr. Seb._ [_Kneeling_] Gracious king!
_Hen._ Nay, rise and bless me.
_Fr. Seb._ Hear, my sovereign.
This meeting is not chance. I sought thee here
To tell what palsies me to think on.
_Hen._ Speak,
Then think of it no more.
_Fr. Seb._ 'Tis said De Burgh
Has gained the victory 'gainst all expectance.
I know that he was sure he went to death,
Else had he never put unto his lips
The rose that bloomed for one so high above him.
But dreaded death is yet full gracious, sire,
And sanctions rights too bold for life to claim.
_Hen._ Did Hubert wrong me, father?
_Fr. Seb._ Alas, my king!
_Hen._ Come, drop your burden even to my heart
That I may know its weight.
_Fr. Seb._ Sire, in the hour
That he spent last on land, I married him
To a most noble lady.
_Hen._ Married? Ha!
Nor asked consent of me? Not one
"By your good leave, my king"?
_Fr. Seb._ If in my words
So soon you find affront to majesty,
I dare not tell you more.
_Hen._ Nay, I'll forgive him.
Remembering his service 'twere too stern
To make contention of his marriage.
_Fr. Seb._ Though he should banish all the woes of England,
Make sorrow alien, and a tear unknown,
Yet has he wronged a king. Though happy mothers
Drop on their knees and let no hour pass by
Without its prayer for him, still has he wronged
A king!
_Hen._ Wilt never speak because you speak
So much?
_Fr. Seb._ Here let me lie, and pray your grace
For two long troubled hearts. When I have spoken
Then set thy foot upon my priestly head,
But spare them, spare them, sire!
_Hen._ Up! Rise, I say,
From this debasement. We shall take good care
To shield your holiness. Now speak!
_Fr. Seb._ One word
Will tell you--one.
_Hen._ [_Taking a seat_] And how much time will 't take
To say that word?
_Fr. Seb._ It is the name of her
Whom knightly Hubert made his wife.
_Hen._ Is it
A long name, father?
_Fr. Seb._ [_On his knees_] It is Margaret.
_Hen._ [_Rising_] Of Scotland?
_Fr. Seb._ [_Covering his head_] Ay, my liege.
_Hen._ [_Aside_] Deliverance!
Rise, father, rise, and learn that even a king
Is noble enough to suffer and forgive.
_Fr. Seb._ Have I my ears? Are these your words, my lord?
Or does some pitying angel alchemize
Them into sounds more fit to reach my weak
And trembling age?
_Hen._ You hear even as I speak.
'Tis true that Hubert pitched his love full high.
Good manners had not o'ershot the royal bow;
But take my word no harm shall come to him.
_Fr. Seb._ He'll need a friend, my liege, for dangers stride
In wake of this rash marriage.
_Hen._ Leave them
To me. I'll try my fledgling wit in this.
Where is the cardinal?
_Fr. Seb._ I' the western hall.
_Hen._ Here come the lords. But first I'll speak with Gualo.
[_Exeunt Henry and friar Sebastian, left. At right, enter
Albemarle, Winchester and Pembroke_]
_Pem._ [_To Albemarle_] He has not yet confirmed you chancellor?
_Alb._ No need, so short his reign.
_Win._ We should have news.
By this the battle's done. I wonder now
How far is Hubert's head on its long journey
To ocean's bottom?
_Alb._ May it please your grace,
We think 'tis best that you stay with the king.
If all desert him 'twill look foul in us,
And it will take an honest English face
To keep the people with us.
_Win._ True, my lord.
And I will stay with him, for I have gone
A little deeper in his heart than you,
And can best turn him to advance our plot.
_Pem._ While we ride forth to call men to defence--
In truth to give them hand and foot to Louis--
You wait here with the king----
_Win._ I understand.
And you not coming up, perforce be taken.
Then Henry may lay by his crown, or keep 't
To please his jailer's peeping mammets, or bribe
His turnkey for a slug of meat.
_Alb._ The jail
Where he must lie is small and needs no keeper;
For who go in so well contented are
They're never known to set foot forth again.
_Win._ Must go so far? Well, as you please, my lords.
[_Re-enter Henry, with Cardinal Gualo and attendants_]
_Alb._ God save your majesty!
_Hen._ My faithful friends,
Well met.
_Win._ Ah, still in black, my liege?
_Hen._ Why not,
My lord? When my poor father in the flesh
Was struck by death they dressed me in this hue;
And heavier cause have I to wear it now,
When he who gave my soul its dearest light--
My father in nobility above
The blood or happy chance of birth--is gone
To come no more.
_Win._ But, good, my liege, am I
So little worth that with a strange misfit
I wear his dignity?
_Hen._ The worthier
You are to wear 't you'll teach me to regret
His goodness lost, and be more pleased to see
How I prize virtue dead, guessing thereby
How dear is living virtue to my soul.
_Pem._ [_Aside to Albemarle_] Does he suspect?
_Alb._ 'Twould trouble us. There are
Some captains in the fort would make a way
For his escape.
_Hen._ You've had no news, my lords?
_Alb._ We yet wait word, but rest you easy, sire.
Our fleet is safe and proudly bearing home.
_Hen._ Your faith is strong.
_Alb._ I have no doubt, my lord.
_Hen._ Were it not well to take this time to plan De Burgh's reward?
_Alb._ Ay, 'twere, your majesty.
_Hen._ What say you, my lord cardinal? You first.
How should we grace his triumph? With what honor?
_Gualo._ None is too great. I'd place him next the throne.
What think your lordships?
_Alb._ As yourself, my lord.
[_Aside to Pembroke_] Best humor him.
_Gualo._ Then further I may speak.
The earl of Kent, who lately met his death,
Has left no heir to his vast lands and name.
I think that God did so provide this place
For honor of De Burgh. And more than this,
Let him be made the great lord chancellor,
And chief justiciary of this troubled realm.
_Alb._ [_Aside to Pembroke_] Agree. No matter. Gualo's eye is on us.
_Win._ You speak in happy time, lord cardinal,
And we embrace your meaning heartily.
_Hen._ This easy payment of so great a debt
Inclines me to forget the dangerous way
De Burgh comes by his honor. We must keep
That ever in our hearts, my worthy lords,
Lest we grow jealous of his climbing fortune.
_Alb._ I hope we've memories, sire, and honest ones.
_Hen._ Well, to forfend the bating of his praise
In my poor mind, I'll give a lasting proof
Of how I hold him, and here forfeit right
To Margaret's hand in favor of De Burgh.
_Alb._ My liege! The princess?
_Hen._ He is now an earl;
And if I not complain, should any here?
_Alb._ But, sire----
_Pem._ [_Aside to Albemarle_] Submit! 'Tis only for an hour.
_Alb._ Pardon me that I thought to save you, sire
From such dear sacrifice.
_Hen._ 'Tis fit we make it,
And ask your fair approval, Albemarle.
_Alb._ And here I give it, my too gracious king.
[_To an attendant_] Whist! Are the horses saddled?
_Att._ Ready, sir.
[_Enter Gregory_]
_Hen._ Well, captain, well?
_Greg._ The princess Margaret
And lady Albemarle are at the gates.
_Alb._ My countess gads for news of her brave brother.
_Hen._ A worthy quest. [_To Gregory_] See them refreshed and lodged,
But bid them keep their chamber for a time.
[_Exit Gregory_]
_Alb._ [_To Pembroke_] Where are our messengers?
Can they be lost?
_Pem._ We should have heard by now. There's something wrong.
[_Enter an attendant_]
_Att._ Your majesty, a messenger!
_Hen._ From sea?
[_Enter Gersa_]
_Ger._ The king! Where is the king?
_Alb._ Pray use your eyes.
_Ger._ [_Kneeling_] Your majesty.
_Hen._ Arise. Your message?
_Ger._ Sire,
Hubert de Burgh is at the port.
_Alb._ [_Aside_] How now?
_Ger._ With all his ships but five.
_Pem._ [_To Winchester_] But five? What's here?
_Win._ A witch i' the pot, your lordships.
_Ger._ For those five
There's fifty of the French gone to the bottom.
The rest are scattered wide, with crippled sails
Begging the winds for mercy.
_Hen._ Hark, my lords!
Divinity is here. [_To Gersa_] How was this done?
What know you of the battle?
_Ger._ When we met
The opposing fleet, we crept by swift and silent,
As to escape the fight. So near we coursed
We heard the jeers cast on us as we passed.
Well by, we turned, and with the wind at back,
Bore down full sail and grappled.
_Hen._ Here were men!
_Ger._ Then, sire, we cut the lime-sacks on our decks----
_Hen._ Lime-sacks?
_Ger._ Which gave out smarting clouds that rose----
_Hen._ Now here were fools!
_Ger._ Sire, you forget the wind.
The sweeping breeze took up the stinging lime,
Clearing our decks, but wrapping round our foes,
Blinding all eyes.
_Hen._ St. George!
_Ger._ 'Twas easy then
To hook our vessels to the great French ships,
Cut down their rigging and make way at will
O'er the wallowing crew.
_Pem._ Must we believe this tale?
_Hen._ Goes it against your wish?
_Pem._ Nay, but 'tis strange.
_Ger._ [_To Henry_] One hundred knights, eight hundred officers,
Now wait their doom from you. Le Moine was found
Hid in his ship, and offered mighty sums
For his vile life, but Fitzroy closed the parley
By striking off his head.
_Alb._ What? Le Moine dead?
_Hen._ Why so amazed, my lord of Albemarle?
Did you not prophesy a victory?
_Alb._ True, true, my liege, but this surpasses all
My hope of it. Call it a miracle,
Not victory.
_Gualo._ Call it whate'er you will,
The Lord of Hosts was with this noble knight.
_Hen._ Not knight, but the right noble earl of Kent,
And for his life our grand justiciary.
[_To Gersa_] Thou art the mavis to a happy dawn.
Come, sing again.
[_Talks aside with him_]
_Win._ [_To Albemarle and Pembroke_] Your lordships, do you ride?
_Alb._ What tone is this?
_Win._ A tone you'll tune to, sir.
Didst think me such a fool to stay and fall
With Henry into Louis' hands? Nay, I've
No wish to enter that small cell of earth
Which needs no turnkey, as you say.
_Alb._ What, sir?
_Win._ No, by the Lord! At the first castle where
You planned to stop I had my servants laid
To take you prisoners. It stirs my blood
That you should think I came to the bishopric
By a fool's wit. Now Rome is at my back,
And Henry king! But I'll make peace with you,
For I foresee a power in De Burgh
That warns me not to scorn even traitor strength.
_Alb._ Ay, we've no fear you'll let this sudden turn
Cut off our fortunes.
_Hen._ Come, my lords. Come, all!
We'll to the gates to greet the earl of Kent!
[_Exeunt. Curtain_]
ACT III
SCENE 1. _Same as in act second. The king, Pembroke, Albemarle,
Winchester, and other lords entering._
_Hen._ The barons are assembling. On to London,
And call the council. I will join you there.
The revenues long promised shall be paid.
At last I am a king! Will post, my lords?
Night shuffles toward the morn.
_Pem._ You'll not forget
Your barons' suit, my liege.
_Hen._ Bring the petition.
I'll look at it, and then--will what I will.
[_Exit_]
_Alb._ What new-gown cock is this?
_Pem._ Will what I will!
And post you, sirs!
_Win._ The child that hung at knees
Now stands on the great shoulders of De Burgh,
And ports himself a giant o'er our heads.
_Pem._ Ha, so! This wedge of love 'twixt you and Henry
Quite thrusts you out.
_Win._ True, sir, but I've in mind
A plot will reach as high as Kent's new head,
Which, with your sworn and loyal aid, I'll push
To fullest stature.
_Pem._ You have my oath, my lord.
_Win._ And bond more sure--your spurring need to prick
Kent's swelling strength. But you, lord Albemarle--
The mighty Kent is brother to your wife,
Which now may count somewhat to lift your fortunes.
_Alb._ And when didst see my fortunes lie so low
As need the hoisting hand of friend or kin?
Nay, our ambitions swear us enemies!
I stand as free, my lord, as any here.
_Win._ Then hear my plan. You know I carry all
With the archbishop.
_Pem._ True. If Winchester would
Trust Canterbury to find way.
_Win._ Through him
We'll call this council in the name of Rome,
To kill the canker in the bud of peace
So lately ventured in the track of war,
And sound abroad that on this holy day
All weapons, armor, and gross sign of blood
Shall be laid by. I will persuade the king
His dignity is touched to be so quick
To fill his purse before he says his prayers,
And that 'tis wise to throw this goodly bait
To hook the common love. Now to this meeting
Let every prelate bear most righteous arms,
And every baron look well to his sword;
Then when the unsuspecting king appears,
Close companied no doubt by his new earl,
That mushroom minion we will dare accuse
And crop his power as we prize our safety.
_Pem._ But will not Kent oppose this swordless worship?
_Win._ Nay, he's afflicted with true piety,
And in the addling flush of high success
Is mellow with the good love of the world.
All men are honest now! Trust me, he'll bait
At what his judgment yesterday had scorned.
_Alb._ But what have we t' advance with show of right
Against him?
_Win._ Gualo brings the axe--although
He knows it not--that shall behead De Burgh.
Trust me, my lords, and soon you shall know more.
_Alb._ Work as you will, for while he is in power
We are but puppets and I dance not well.
_Win._ I'll ride with Gualo, and begin our move.
Then on to Canterbury. Fare you well,
Till morning bring our bold designs together.
[_Exit_]
_Alb._ How, Pembroke? Seest the gull in this?
_Pem._ It needs
No second sight, my lord. The barons' arms
Outnumber all the feeble prelacy.
_Alb._ Thinks we'll stop with Kent when Henry stands
Defenceless 'fore us? Come! We too must ride.
_Pem._ Proud Poitevin! He plots to lose his head,
And give this land a king indeed!
_Alb._ My Pembroke!
[_Exeunt. An attendant opens the large doors, rear, lady Albemarle
and the princess Margaret enter_]
_La. Alb._ What! no one here? We have not seen a soul
But the poor fool who brought us food and wine.
I'll not endure it! Are we prisoners?
Mewed up these hours, when all about there's stir
As Fate changed hands and rumbled destiny.
Such clattering, shifting, revel, and "To horse!"
And we mope here like toothless dames that long
Have lost the world!
_Att._ Your ladyship, the king
Will see you here.
_La. Alb._ That's better. He shall beg
My pardon.
[_Seats herself_]
_Mar._ How canst think of things so slight
When even now your brother may be lost?
_La. Alb._ I lose no kingdom with him. That's your theme,
And, lord, you don't neglect it.
_Mar._ [_Walking away from her_] O, for word!
Surely some word has come!
_La. Alb._ Would I were home!
'Twas you, my lady, put this journey on me
With prating of my duty to my brother.
But I know why you came.
_Mar._ O me, you know?
_La. Alb._ That does not mark me wise. A fool might guess.
_Mar._ O, I am lost! Dear lady, be my friend!
_La. Alb._ Why such a fluttering like a lass in folly?
The king was here, and 'twas mere wit in you
To follow after, making me your foil.
_Mar._ The king?
_La. Alb._ Ay, ay, the king! I understand
Your cry about my brother.
_Mar._ O!
_La. Alb._ Why such an "O!"
As though you'd swallow all the air i' the room
And kill me with vacuity.
_Mar._ Ah, madam!
_La. Alb._ You'll not have long to wait. He'll be here soon.
_Mar._ O, then you think he's safe?
_La. Alb._ I think he's safe?
Why should he not be safe?
_Mar._ Could I believe it!
_La. Alb._ His truest lords are with him. Albemarle
Himself is guard sufficient.
_Mar._ Albemarle?
He is not with your brother!
_La. Alb._ Brother? Pah!
How you draw off and on, as 'twere a shame
To love a king!
_Mar._ The king? Ah--I----
_La. Alb._ You ask
If he is safe, and I say safe enough,
Then drops the curtain of your modesty,
And you cry of my brother. Faith, you'll have
Me set about with this till I believe
My brother is the king of England!
_Mar._ O,
I'm wretched, wretched!
_La. Alb._ Patience! He'll be here.
True, 'tis most beggarly of him to lag,
But do not doubt he'll come.
_Mar._ He will not come.
O, never, never, never!
_La. Alb._ Foolish lass!
He can not stay away from you--his wife.
I might as well be out with 't soon as late.
_Mar._ O, lady--countess--if you e'er had need
Of gentle friends----
_La. Alb._ I know not what to do
With this strange piece of daintiness. Up, mistress!
How will you blush when Henry calls you wife,
If I, in play, can throw you on your knees?
_Mar._ Henry? God pity me! I am so racked!
_La. Alb._ Thou art a fool! Up, girl, there's some one comes.
If 't be the king! Quick now, and smooth your face.
If he should wonder at this trace of tears,
I'll tell him why you wept.
_Mar._ You could not be
So cruel!
_La. Alb._ Cruel? How? 'Twill please him well
To hear you wept for him.
_Mar._ For him?
[_Enter attendant_]
_Att._ The king.
_La. Alb._ Now, now, be still. He comes.
[_Enter Henry_]
_Hen._ My duty to
My fair and honored guests. And my first suit
Is for your pardon that I come so late;
My next is still for pardon I must haste
Unto my third, and pray the lady Margaret
For word with her alone.
_La. Alb._ I will withdraw,
My lord.
_Hen._ [_To attendants_] Attend the countess.
_Mar._ O! dear Heaven!
_Hen._ Are you at prayers, sweet lady?
_Mar._ Say I am,
Can women pray too much, who need so oft
The soft protection of the holy skies?
_Hen._ Have I been slack in care? Ah, Margaret,
Let youth excuse neglect the past may know.
In future----
_Mar._ O, thou hast been all I wish!
_Hen._ All? All, Margaret? You've been in England
Ten years or more, and understand, I think,
Why you, a child, were sent unto our court.
_Mar._ My lord, when peace was made with Scotland's king,
I was included in the arbitrament,
But am uncertain of the precise terms,
Though I dare think there was no mention made
Of marriage.
_Hen._ There was a dowry paid
To English coffers.
_Mar._ Dowry? Ah, was 't not
A dainty serving of too humble pie?
Mere specious covering for indemnity
Proud Scotland would not pay by such a name?
_Hen._ May be, but 'twas held wise to join the kingdoms
By current of our blood.
_Mar._ True at that time
'Twas best for England to make closer ties
Wi' the north, but now is Scotland on her knees,
And you have naught to fear if you should choose
To set aside my claim.
_Hen._ The people's eyes
Are on you as their queen.
_Mar._ They will approve
As readily if you make other choice.
_Hen._ Then 't seems we both are free to follow love
In any court we please.
_Mar._ In truth, my lord!
_Hen._ And you reject me?
_Mar._ I am not so bold----
_Hen._ But, lady, in the world's mouth you will be
My cast off love, for who is there so wise
As to believe you would refuse a king?
_Mar._ I care not, sir! What is the world to me?
O, let it think as 'twill, if only----
_Hen._ Ah,
If only you are saved from me? But, madam,
I can not flip the world away as you.
It is my field of tourney where I joust
For fame and tender reputation.
I must not let men point to you and say
"See Henry's fool!" You shall be wed at once
Unto the lord most powerful in England
Who yet is free.
_Mar._ O, sir----
_Hen._ The earl of Kent.
_Mar._ Your majesty, be merciful!
_Hen._ I am.
_Mar._ My knees were bending to you thankfully,
But you have changed their purpose to a prayer
For veriest pity. The earl of Kent, my lord?
An old, fierce man, who scorns the name of love?
_Hen._ To you he will be kind. I'll stake my crown,
Once wed to him you'll thank me for this day,
And swear you'd choose him yours from all the world.
He's in the castle now. I'll send him here,
For I'm in haste to bring the marriage on.
Wait here, sweet Margaret.
[_Opens doors rear, and she passes slowly through_]
_Mar._ Kill me, my lord!
_Hen._ Now, by these tears, you'll live to bless me yet,
For from my heart I swear you're better wed
Than if you chose the king.
[_Closes doors and calls attendant_]
Ho, there!
[_Enter attendant_] I'll see
The earl of Kent. Bid him come in.
[_Exit attendant_] 'Tis cruel,
But right they should be punished who forgot
A king to please themselves.
[_Enter Hubert_]
_Hub._ Your majesty!
_Hen._ How now, my chancellor? Methinks this day
Should mark the high note of thy singing heart.
But thou art gloomy, as weighing still thy chance
Against the flocking French. Canst not be merry
If Henry bids thee, Hubert?
_Hub._ Ah, my lord,
I little thought to have escaped the foe.
_Hen._ Is that to grieve on, man? By Heaven, I'll think
It would have pleased you better to have sunk
My fleet and not the enemy's. Come, come!
What think you of the fortune we've assigned you?
Art satisfied?
_Hub._ O, 'tis not to be borne!
_Hen._ I' faith, thou 'rt plain.
_Hub._ O, dear my liege, I mean----
_Hen._ Well, sir, I have another blessing for thee
May prove more welcome. How wouldst like a wife
Of royal blood? I will not tell her name,
But take my word that were my heart not bound
I'd look her way for fetters. She is fair,
Ay, perfect as the lily plucked to grace
A Lord's day altar, yet is proud enough
To hold your new-dropped dignities above
The mire and brambles of the common way;
And all this, sir, shall be your wedded wife.
_Hub._ My lord----
_Hen._ Nay, do not thank me. Ah, at last
I've touched the key of gratitude. Indeed,
My Hubert, you are pale with this new joy.
I almost, fear to tell you she is there--
Within that room--and waiting your approach.
_Hub._ My royal lord--I beg----
_Hen._ No, not a word
Of thanks.
_Hub._ Not thanks! There's something else to say!
_Hen._ What, sir? Wouldst still play hang-lip at thy fortune?
_Hub._ Hear me, your majesty!
_Hen._ Nay, I will speak.
Sir, I have done what monarchs seldom do,
Proclaimed my general worthy of his hire,
And paid it, too, and these sour looks from you
Are as the poisonous leaves in a fair garland
Marking it for decay. I've yielded much
Unto your noble merit, but no more
Will yield to your proud humor!
_Hub._ Hear, my lord----
_Hen._ No words! There is the door. Go in and find
The lady that must be your wife, or down
Come all your brave new honors to the ground!
[_Opens door and forces him through. Margaret is lying on the
floor, her face hidden_]
_Hub._ O, Heaven! 'Tis Margaret!
_Mar._ O! [_Leaps up, gazes at Hubert and runs to his arms_] Hubert,
Hubert!
[_The king closes the doors upon them_]
_Hen._ The midnight's past. I must away to Glaia,
And by the sunrise at her window sing.
My lords are set toward London. None shall know,
Save Cupid's self, how far I ride to-night.
[_Curtain_]
ACT IV
SCENE 1. _Near the cottage in Greenot woods. Henry, with lute,
singing._
Ope, throw ope thy bower door,
And come thou forth, my sweet!
'Tis morn, the watch of love is o'er,
And mating hearts should meet.
The stars have fled and left their grace
In every blossom's lifted face,
And gentle shadows fleck the light
With tender memories of the night.
Sweet, there's a door to every shrine;
Wilt thou, as morning, open thine?
Hark! now the lark has met the clouds,
And rains his sheer melodious flood;
The green earth casts her mystic shrouds
To meet the flaming god!
Alas, for me there is no dawn
If Glaia come not with the sun.
[_Enter Glaia_. _The king kneels as she approaches_]
_Gla._ 'Tis you!
_Hen._ [_Leaping up_] Pardoned! Queen of this bowerland,
Your glad eyes tell me that I have not sinned.
_Gla._ How cam'st thou here? Now who plays Hubert false?
Nay, I'm too glad thou 'rt come to question so.
'Tis easy to forgive the treachery
That opes our gates to angels.
_Hen._ O, I'm loved?
_Gla._ Yes, Henry. All the morn I've thought of you,
And I rose early, for I love to say
Good-by to my dear stars; they seem so wan
And loath to go away, as though they know
The fickle world is thinking of the sun,
And all their gentle service of the night
Is quite forgot.
_Hen._ And what didst think of me?
_Gla._ That could you come and see this beauteous wood,
Fair with Spring's love and morning's kiss of grace,
You'd be content to live awhile with me,
Leave war's red step to follow living May
Passing to pour her veins' immortal flood
To each decaying root; and rest by springs
Where waters run to sounds less rude than song,
And hiding sibyls stir sweet prophecies.
_Hen._ The only springs I seek are in your eyes
That nourish all the desert of myself.
Drop here, O, Glaia, thy transforming dews,
And start fair summer in this waste of me!
_Gla._ Poor Henry! What dost know of me to love?
_Hen._ See yon light cloud half-kirtled with faint rose?
What do I know of it but that 'tis fair?
And yet I dream 'twas born of flower dews
And goes to some sweet country of the sky.
So cloud-like dost thou move before my love,
From beauty coming that I may not see,
To beauty going that I can but dream.
O, love me, Glaia! Give to me this hand,
This miracle of warm, unmelting snow,
This lily bit of thee that in my clasp
Lies like a dove in all too rude a cote--
Wee heaven-cloud to drop on monarch brows
And smooth the ridgy traces of a crown!
Rich me with this, and I'll not fear to dare
The darkest shadow of defeat that broods
O'er sceptres and unfriended kings.
_Gla._ Why talk
Of crowns and kings? This is our home, dear Henry.
For if you love me you will stay with me.
_Hen._ Ah, blest to be here, and from morning's top
Review the sunny graces of the world,
Plucking the smilingest to dearer love,
Until the heart becomes the root and spring
Of hopes as natural and as simply sweet
As these bright children of the wedded sun
And dewy earth!
_Gla._ I knew you'd stay, my brother!
You'll live with me!
_Hen._ But there's a world not this,
O'er-roofed and fretted by ambition's arch,
Whose sun is power and whose rains are blood,
Whose iris bow is the small golden hoop
That rims the forehead of a king,--a world
Where trampling armies and sedition's march
Cut off the flowers of descanting love
Ere they may sing their perfect word to man,
And the rank weeds of envies, jealousies,
Push up each night from day's hot-beaten paths----
_Gla._ O, do not tell me, do not think of it!
_Hen._ I must. There is my world, and there my life
Must grow to gracious end, if so it can.
If thou wouldst come, my living periapt,
With virtue's gentle legend overwrit,
I should not fail, nor would this flower cheek,
Pure lily cloister of a praying rose,
E'er know the stain of one despoiling tear
Shed for me graceless. Will you come, my Glaia?
_Gla._ Into that world? No, thou shall stay with me.
Here you shall be a king, not serve one. Ah,
The whispering winds do never counsel false,
And senatorial trees droop not their state
To tribe and treachery. Nature's self shall be
Your minister, the seasons your envoys
And high ambassadors, bearing from His court
The mortal olive of immortal love.
_Hen._ To man my life belongs. Hope not, dear Glaia,
To bind me here; and if you love me true,
You will not ask me where I go or stay,
But that your feet may stay or go with mine.
Let not a nay unsweet those tender lips
That all their life have ripened for this kiss.
[_Kisses her_]
O ruby purities! I would not give
Their chaste extravagance for fruits Iran
Stored with the honey of a thousand suns
Through the slow measure of as many years!
_Gla._ Do brothers talk like that?
_Hen._ I think not, sweet.
_Gla._ But you will be my brother?
_Hen._ We shall see.
_Gla._ And you will stay with me? No? Ah, I fear
All that you love in me is born of these
Wild innocences that I live among,
And far from here, all such sweet value lost,
I'll be as others are in your mad world,
Or wither mortally, even as the sprig
A moment gone so pertly trimmed this bough.
Let us stay here, my Henry. We shall be
Dear playmates ever, never growing old,--
Or if we do 'twill be at such a pace
Time will grow weary chiding, leaving us
To come at will.
_Hen._ No, Glaia. Even now
I must be gone. I came for this--to say
I'd come again, and bid you watch for me.
A tear? O, love! One moment, then away!
[_Exeunt. Curtain_]
SCENE 2. _A street in London. Citizens, friars, priests, pass in
devout manner, some bearing crucifixes._
_First Cit._ A day, a day, O, such a day!
_Second Cit._ 'Twill make a new page in our chronicles, the like ne'er
read before.
_Third Cit._ Nay, when Saxon Edward came back from conquered Wales----
_Fourth Cit._ Ay, 'twas such a day of holy joy!
_Second Cit._ But not so general.
_First Cit._ And guards with arms kept order in the streets.
_Third Cit._ But now there's no authority abroad save that comes from
our hearts. Surely the air is charged with drug of peace, and all men
breathe it.
_First Cit._ Where meets the council? In the Tower chamber?
_Third Cit._ Nay, at Westminster palace.
_Second Cit._ That's three miles.
We must push on if we would see them enter.
[_They move off_]
_First Friar._ How meanly does it speak for this proud world
That when the devil lays his weapons by
And peace and love for one day reign o'er all,
That it should wonder at itself, and cry
"A miracle!"
_Second Friar._ In holy Edward's time,
The nuns of Beda joined the council in
Concerted praise, for 'twas their prayerful fast
Kept Heaven with the king and gave us Wales;
And 'twas decreed that ever on such days
The nuns from this most blest and ancient abbey
Should with the great assembly kneel in praise.
_First Friar._ And so they do this day. The legate, Gualo,
Sent invitation from the king.
_Second Friar._ The king?
This shows most well in him.
_First Friar._ If we haste on,
We'll see the sisters passing toward the palace.
_Second friar._ Let's forward then. God save so good
a king!
[_Exeunt. Curtain_]
SCENE 3. _The great hall in Westminster. Barons and prelates
assembled. Rich surcoats open, revealing arms. Enter Henry and the
earl of Kent._
_Hen._ My lords, is this the faith you keep with kings?
Then Heaven save me from it! Was 't not your will
This day all arms should hang upon the wall?
Yet you come here as though the trump had called
To sudden battle.
_Canterbury._ Hear, your majesty,
The cause for which we laid upon our souls
This seeming perjury, and you'll forgive
As Heaven, calling it no stain.
_Hen._ Sir, let
The movers of this saintly shift speak first.
You, Winchester? You, Albemarle? Canst preach
The lie away?
_Alb._ My honored liege, these swords,
Surer than bended knees, bespeak your safety.
Knowing that treachery oft defames the ranks
Of those who shine as the highpriests of God,
I and my brother barons came thus armed,
Thinking it better so to break our oaths
Than that false hands should break your kingly staff.
_Hen._ For my protection then you do offend?
_Alb._ For that alone, my liege, we wear this armor.
_Hen._ And you, lord bishop, guardian of our person
By prayer and Heavenly counsel,--who even in war
Should wear no sword but that of righteousness,--
Confess you with these warlike blades thy Lord
Unable to defend his own?
_Win._ My liege,
'Tis in His name, to work His equal justice,
We bear these weapons, sacred by our cause.
[_Enter Gualo_]
_Gua._ Your majesty, the nuns of Beda's abbey
Would enter now.
_Cant._ The nuns? What do they here?
_Hen._ You know, your grace, since blessed Edward's time
'T has been their privilege on days of prayer
To join their voices with the court and state.
_Cant._ A privilege, but never yet in practice.
_Hen._ The more is England's shame that has not seen
For so long past a day of general prayer
And utter peace. Not in our time, nor John's,
Nor Richard's 'fore him, nay, nor greater Henry's,
Might Beda's sisters claim this privilege.
Lord Cardinal, bid them in. [_Exit Gualo_]
_Alb._ Nay, nay, my liege,
This is no place for women.
_Hen._ Are they not
Forever foremost in both prayer and peace?
By Heaven's King, they've more right here than we!
[_Enter nuns, led by the abbess, who kneels before the king_]
_Hen._ Rise, holy abbess.
_Abb._ Sovereign of England,
May Heaven's Sovereign protect thy youth!
And as thy hand is on thy sceptre laid
Feel there the Hand invisible from whence
Thy power comes, and know thy way as His.
[_Henry bows his head. The abbess and nuns pass to a station apart
and kneel_]
_Hen._ Say on, lord bishop. Let us hear how priests
May break an oath and Heaven smile upon it.
_Win._ These papers, dearest liege, are warrant for us.
There is one here so steeped in guilt, the pope
Commands his sentence by our Spiritual Court;
And knowing crime so deep makes fierce defence,
We came thus armed.
_Hen._ Who of my subjects is so basely given
The pope must urge the sword of justice 'gainst him?
_Win._ He is so high in your esteem, my liege----
_Hen._ Now were he next ourself, our very love,
Excepting one, the noble earl of Kent,
Whom only calumny dare censure, we
Should yield him to thee.
_Win._ So? Then we did well
To wear these arms, for 'tis no less than Kent
Whom we accuse.
_Hen._ Kent? Ha! We'll hear your tale
That we may laugh at it.
_Win._ You'll sooner weep,
I fear. The princess Adelais, of France,
Is free of the infliction that impaired
Her noble mind, and through the pope makes suit
For the recovery of a son--her child
And the great Henry's. Gualo brings this letter,
Beneath the pope's own seal, to England's primate,
His grace of Canterbury. It is signed
By Geoffrey de Burgh, the father of your Kent,
And written five years back to Adelais,
In care of 's Holiness, with the request
That it be given her should she recover.
The purport is--her child has lived to be
A grace to manhood, but that he himself
Approaches death, and from his worthy son,
Hubert de Burgh, she may in proper time
Learn all a mother's heart would know.
_Hen._ Well plotted!
_Win._ And here's another paper that great Pembroke,
Dying, laid in my hands. It bears the seal
Of Henry Second, and tells how his son
And Adelais' is given to the charge
Of Geoffrey de Burgh, lord keeper of the Tower
And Dover Castle.
_Hen._ Keep your paper, sir!
Dost think that I'll believe these parchment tales
Of one whose stainless past the world may read?
_Win._ That precious past, sire, is the bed whereon
This deed's embossed. All he has done that's noble
Now serves to make this foul. Look at him now!
He has no word, but stands as one made stiff
By sin's confrontment.
_Hen._ Rather like the god
Was caught 'twixt the burning and the frozen worlds,
For so my too-warm love and your deep hate
Engulf him.
_Win._ Hear the end, my liege.
_Hen._ Go on,
If there's an end.
_Win._ This says that Henry's son,
Arrived at thirty years, shall take his place
'Mong English nobles as the Duke of Bedford,
And hold in fief five castles, herein named
Rockingham, Harle, Beham and Fotheringay,
With strongest Bedford as his ducal seat;
But if the child should die, his great estate
Shall to the church, and in the church's name
I call De Burgh to show the heir, or prove
That he is dead and by no hidden means.
_Kent._ The devil, sir, must pay you bounteous hire,
You sweat so in his service. Naught I know
Of ghostly Bedford, or ever heard of him,
Or that my father held a ward in charge.
_Hen._ We know you innocent.
_Win._ Then let him prove
His claim to these five castles. Two he holds,
And three were given in dowry with his sister
When she became the wife of Albemarle.
These must he yield, or show that Bedford lives,
Else will the church by force possess its own.
_Alb._ Mad Winchester! You plot too heavy here.
You know there are no stronger forts in England
Than these three castles that the countess brought me.
And you'd command their strength in wars against
The power of the barons! Yield these forts?
Not while I've breath to fight for what's my own!
Geoffrey de Burgh received them from great Henry
For secret, valiant service, such as knights
Have rarely given kings. Talk you of force?
My sword shall answer you. I will not yield,
And here declare a war! What say you, barons?
_Pem._ Your cause is ours, and here we draw our swords!
_Alb._ You hear, lord bishop. Moreover we must take
The person of the king, nor longer risk
His majesty with traitors. Come, my liege.
_Cant._ What! Take the king?
_Alb._ Ay, take the king!
_Win._ While grace
In Heaven lives, we'll keep him from your clutch!
_Alb._ While we are barons and can lift a sword,
We will defy you and protect the king!
_Hen._ I am a monarch, and will go or stay
As I do please. Lord barons, not with you.
_Pem._ Ah, must we force you, sir?
_Win._ Not from our hands!
_Alb._ An you do stir, my lord of Winchester,
We'll wash these floors with blood!
_Cant._ The king is ours!
_Alb._ Swords write our title! Strike, my friends!
_Hen._ God, no!
_Win._ Stay, Albemarle! We do not well to waste
The life of England. If we yield the king,
Will you give up the castles?
_Pem._ [_To Albemarle_] Say you will.
The king once ours we'll keep the castles, too.
_Alb._ [_To Winchester_] Then rest it there. Give us the king, and take
The castles. [_Aside_] If you can. Ay, there'll be wars
Will make each stone of England mine. The rocks
And cliffs I'll mark with name of Albemarle!
_Win._ [_To Henry_] Think not I risk your dear and royal life.
I'll call out troops till trees do seem to walk
And cry for God and Henry! [_To barons_] To your care
We yield the king.
_Pem._ Then, Henry, come with us.
_Hen._ Plain Henry, now thy crown is gilt
_Pem._ We'll put
No pressure on your liberty save that
We must t' enforce our charter rights.
_Win._ De Burgh
Must to the Tower, there to await our judgment.
Lords Goly and De Vere, conduct him thither.
_Goly._ Come, sir. You will not move?
_Kent._ O, Margaret,
Your love divined too well! Now for the sword
You bade me bring, and he who first should lay
A hand upon me----
_De Vere._ Come!
_Pem._ [_To the king_] And you with us.
_Kent._ Hark, lamb, the wolves are at thee!
_Goly._ Must we move you?
_Abb._ [_Coming down_] Off with your hands, in warrior
Michael's name!
Touch not De Burgh! And you--lord barons--you
Who blow the gentle fires of this new peace
With wind of your hot tempers--free the king,
And wait as fathers on his tender years!
_Alb._ I said, my lords, we should have prating here.
_Abb._ The midnight vision and long hours of prayer
Give us strange powers, and we see thoughts burn
In your intent would strike their fire against
The stars of war and light disaster o'er
A shuddering world. But you----
_Alb._ Back to your beads!
_Abb._ We'll count our heads in your fast dropping blood!
Wouldst try our swords and see if they be keen?
And if you scorn mine in a woman's hand,
Here is the hand shall bear it to your woe.
[_Takes sword from under her cloak and gives it to Kent. All the
nuns rise, drop their cloaks and show themselves to be armed men.
The abbess throws off her hood and stands revealed as Margaret_]
_Hen._ My guards!
_Kent._ My soldiers!
_Mar._ Kent will not to Tower
While Margaret of Scotland is his wife.
_Cant._ Princess, the day is yours, and I, for one,
Thank Heaven 'tis so.
_Win._ And I.
_Mar._ Contentious lords,
Forget one hour that ye are baron-peers,
And churchmen clambering to the pinnacle
Topped with a cardinal's cap. Think ye are men
Of England, whose dear duty is to her,
And swear ye brothers as ye are her sons.
Down on your knees! Ask pardon of your king!
_Win._ [_Kneeling_] O, sovereign liege, in all I said and did
My conscience led me and my God did counsel.
If 'tis a sin to seek the punishment
Of one whom we believe has wronged your blood,
Then have we sinned indeed.
_Hen._ Wilt swear to drop
This charge 'gainst noble Kent, whose honest soul
Will cloak such guilt when north winds blow their frost
From bosom of the sun?
_Win._ I swear, my lord,
That your own lips shall be the first to make
Renewal of this charge.
_Hen._ Rise, Winchester.
You are forgiven, but not yet may take
Your old place in our heart.
[_Albemarle and Pembroke kneel_]
_Alb._ Were thoughts of men
Writ on the heart's red walls, this sword, my liege,
Should open mine that you might read me clear
Of all intent save truest care for thee.
_Pem._ And I, my king, sought but the good of England
In all too harshly crying for the rights
Of your long loyal barons.
_Hen._ Rise, my lords.
We hold you not attainted, but awhile
Must look with careful coldness on your love,
Till by your lives we test this swift repentance.
_Alb._ O sovereign merciful, we ask no more
Than thus to prove us true.
_Hen._ Now let this day
Be given as we intended, to His praise
Whose eye doth search the closet of the dark
As freely as the dayplains of the sun,
And reads the minds of men where kings must trust.
[_Curtain_]
LORDS AND LOVERS
PART II
_CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY_
HENRY III, _King of England_
EARL OF KENT
EARL OF ALBEMARLE
EARL OF PEMBROKE
ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY
BISHOP OF WINCHESTER
LORD WYNNE
COUNT DE ROUILLET, _attending Adelais_
STEPHEN GODFREY, _a soldier_
ORSON, _a servant to Glaia_
ADELAIS, _a princess of France_
MARGARET, _wife of Kent_
ELEANOR, _wife of Albemarle_
GLAIA, _ward of Kent_
ELDRA, _servant to Glaia_
_Lords and ladies of the court_, _barons_, _prelates_, _guards_,
_attendants_, _&c._
TIME: _13th Century_
SCENE: _England_
ACT I
SCENE 1. _Autumn in Greenot woods near Glaia's cottage. Table,
seats, mugs and ale. Enter Eldra with a plate of cakes._
_Eld._ [_Putting plate on table_] It's the very day and hour he'll be
coming, and he's not the man to count leaves by the roadside. He likes
my cookin', as I've had proof, and he looks so cunnin' at me lately
I could swear he was fallin' in love all over again. And I'm picking
up my looks, I must say. Ay, there's nothin' like a soft tongue for
keepin' a woman young. I feel 'most like a lassie, though he did say
some words at first that made my heart sore, not knowing me after ten
years away. And he's that handsome yet,--since he's shaved off the
beard that got so between us I didn't know my own good man that married
me in Dummerlie kirk on as sweet a Sunday morn as you ever see, and
the priest in a new frock from Wappington, as the housekeeper told me
herself--La, I forgot my lady!
[_Runs out. Stephen steps from behind a shrub_]
_Ste._ So, mistress, you've known me all the time, have you? And me
playin' the fool courtin' my own wife that was ready to jump into my
arms at the drop o' a hat! But I'll play you a game, my lady!
[_Re-enter Eldra_]
_Eld._ O, Mr. Stephen!
_Ste._ Ho, Madam Prune-face! A sweet mornin', now ain't it, but a bit
briskish as suits the season.
_Eld._ Prune-face! By my lady's glass, I've not a wrinkle yet as big as
the hair on a bat's wing! Plague take the eyes o' him that says it as
shouldn't!
_Ste._ Well, well, I meant no harm, but mickle it takes to pinch a
bruise. I brought a message to your lady from Sir Roland----
_Eld._ Sir Roland? He's a lord now----
_Ste._ Ay, 'tween the king and Hubert they've made him a lord.
_Eld._ _Hubert!_ You mean his grace, the earl of Kent?
_Ste._ He's still my friend, Meggy. The earldom is nothing between
Hubert and old friends. And I'm a-climbing too. I've had an
advancement, which I don't mind telling you about, but I'll have a bit
o' your brew first and a dozen or so o' them cakes, seein' you took the
trouble. I could never disappoint a woman as had put herself out for
me. [_Sits at table_]
_Eld._ [_Pouring ale_] It has been a long stretch since you were this
way, sir.
_Ste._ Eh? Has it? Well, I don't wonder you think so in this sort o'
a place. Not much goin' or comin' round here! But time don't hang wi'
Stephen. There's ridin' and fightin' an' the lassies to comfort----
_Eld._ I thought you were honest. You've bragged enough!
_Ste._ As honest as a soldier, my dear,--and that ought to content any
woman. [_Eldra sits at table_] Yes, sit if you like. I'm not overproud,
though your place is behind a man o' my rank when he's at table. I know
I've eaten wi' you and drunk wi' you, but I've had an advancement,
Meggy, I've had an advancement. [_Takes sip of ale and puts it down_]
Costmary! Well, let 'em as likes it drink it.
_Eld._ 'Tis nice and balsamy. I thought you'd like it, and saved it o'
purpose.
_Ste._ Dose me wi' tansy and be done!
[_Eldra turns her head to wipe away a tear and Stephen gulps the
ale_]
_Ste._ [_Bites a cake and puts it down_] Poh!
_Eld._ Don't you like it?
_Ste._ If I don't mind a lie for manners' sake, I do, but if I've more
respect for truth than manners, I don't. Ain't your hand a little out?
_Eld._ I thought they were extra nice, sir. I'm sure they rose like
feathers.
_Ste._ And may blow away for me! But come, don't hang your head, Meggy.
You're too old for that.
_Eld._ My name is Eldra, sir.
_Ste._ I know, I know, but I told you that was the name o' my dear lass
that's dead and gone----
_Eld._ Dead and gone?
_Ste._ That's what I said. If she ain't dead, she's where I can't get
her, which is all the same to a soldier, so I've about made up my mind
to give over lookin' for her. Lord, don't cry, little chicken! You are
a soft one. Cryin' to think I've lost such a jewel o' a lass, but I'll
tell you something to make you think better of it. There is somebody
up in old Scotland that I think I'll fetch down for the comfort o'
Stephen--as bonny a woman as a man need want, wi' enough siller laid up
from her old daddy to make a soldier a gentleman. Lizzie o' Logan----
_Eld._ Oh-h!
_Ste._ The qualms again? Now devil take a woman as gets queasy just
when a man wants to be friendly and talk things over.
_Eld._ [_Aside_] Liz o' Logan! My cousin as was always jealous and
wanted my Stephen!
_Ste._ Hey, Meggy! [_She runs out, left_] Ha, ha, ha! Poor little
woman! I'm a villain. I'm twenty villains. [_Eldra steals back unseen
and hears him_] To treat my bonny sweet wife so! The cunningest darling
that ever said yes to a soldier! I'll make it all right when she comes
back, and won't there be a smackin' o' lips! [_Eldra makes signs of joy
and revenge and disappears_] Where has she gone? Run off to cry her
sweet eyes out, I'll warrant! I'll go find her.
[_Exit, left. Eldra and Orson come on, rear_]
_Ors._ O, is it true? My faithful heart is blest at last? My rival
indeed vanquished? And I--I am your adored one?
_Eld._ Yes, but don't be a bigger fool than you can help.
_Ors._ Fool, ma'am?
_Eld._ There, there, I mean don't forget that you are a man of
dignity----
_Ors._ Ah! Don't trouble yourself.
_Eld._ And cosset me before folks, like a bumpkin with his first lass.
_Ors._ I'll be patient--before company. Though I should just like to
show that man of blood what my rights are now. But you mean it, Eldra?
This is not another jade's trick?
_Eld._ 'Tis true--always barring that my man don't come back to claim
me.
_Ors._ The fishes keep him! [_Re-enter Stephen_] Ah!
_Eld._ [_Whispers sweetly to Orson, then discovers Stephen_] O, here
he is! Now, Orson, I know you'll be friends wi' Mr. Stephen. Just to
please me now. You see, sir, Orson's been courtin' me many a year,
and I had just about give in like a weak woman, when you came and got
me all upset somehow, lookin' so much like my man who was drowned at
sea, an' his own name too. I did lose my head so at times I could
'a' sworn you were my very man, but what you said about Liz o' Logan
brought me to my right mind again, and Orson is willing to make up, and
I'm sure we can all be friends, only me and Orson won't be presumin',
an' shame take me to think I ever looked so high as a king's man wi'
an advancement--though Orson is a man of dignity now--and--sit down,
Orson! [_Sits at table and pours ale for herself and Orson_] We take
a snip together about this time every mornin'. Orson's got no quarrel
with the ale cost, and he does love my raisin' o' bread and cake.
_Ors._ And who doesn't let him starve in a ditch! We don't ask you to
sit, Mister Stephen. We know our place, and hope you know yours.
_Eld._ Ay, a king's man must keep his head high.
_Ors._ High, my love?
_Eld._ I mean with an advancement.
_Ors._ 'Tis well. You know me, Eldra.
_Eld._ I hope I do, Orson.
_Ors._ And you must own, my dear, that you came to your right mind in
very good time.
_Eld._ I'm reasonably thankful, Orson. I know what it is to be a
soldier's wife.
_Ors._ They lie not between linen, I warrant you.
_Eld._ Linen? An they get muslin without begging it, they may thank
fortune!
_Ors._ With never a silk smock for the fair.
_Eld._ Silk smock? An a new one comes before the old one drops off they
may say their prayers for it!
_Ors._ But we'll be snug enough, my dear.
_Eld._ That we will!
_Ors._ And winter coming on. Ah!
_Eld._ True enough.
_Ors._ A good fire.
_Eld._ Yes, my love.
_Ors._ A little mulled sack, if the night be wet.
_Eld._ Indeed, my dear! And a hot posset for your cold, curdled with
sweet wine.
_Ors._ Humph! A little tart, I beg you, to give it spice.
_Eld._ Well, our tastes won't quarrel. I know a wife's place.
_Ors._ By my life, you do! O, 'tis a merry day! Would I were not a man
of dignity now! [_Pats her_]
_Eld._ Orson!
_Ors._ I mean--O, come! 'Tis a merry day! Give us a song, mister
soldier!
_Ste._ I'll give you the devil!
_Ors._ How, sir? You seem disturbed. Perhaps your reflections are not
so happy as mine. It may be your mistress has not such an adoring
and adorable eye--can not feast you with her cheeks--[_kisses
Eldra_]--regale you with her lips--[_kisses her_]
_Ste._ Scoundrel! Kiss my wife? [_Takes him by collar and throws him
aside_]
_Eld._ My Stephen!
_Ste._ My Eldra!
_Eld._ [_Running to his arms_] I knew it was you!
_Ste._ I knew it was you!
_Eld._ Why didn't you tell me?
_Ste._ Why didn't you tell me?
_Ors._ As a man of dignity now, I should like to ask why you didn't
tell _me_!
_Ste._ [_Dancing up and down stage with Eldra_] Ay, Orson, 'tis a merry
day! Come, come! Here's a good ale for all. To you, Orson! [_Drinks_]
And let the song go 'round!
[_All sing_]
Ho, Autumn time, O, Autumn time,
When every wind is jolly,
And pip and pear drop in their prime
For tooth of fun and folly!
When Hobnail's store is ripe for raids,
And grapes go to the pressing,
And apple checks are like a maid's
When Jack would be a-kissing!
Ho, hips and haws for vagabonds,
With russets for who'll dare,
And hazels by the meadow ponds,
Brown-sweet for barefoot's fare!
The pettychaps beflit the larch,
The rocks from barn-top scold,
And summer rogues are on the march
For quarters 'gainst the cold.
Ho, Autumn time, O, Autumn time!
When every wind is jolly,
And pip and pear drop in their prime
For tooth of fun and folly!
_Eld._ Hist! My lady is coming with her knight.
_Ste._ What knight? Nobody should be coming here but the earl of Kent
and my lord of Wynne. Come, lass, what knight?
_Eld._ O, now it's out, you must be as mum as a dumb man's grave. My
lady has a lover, and a sweet young knight he is, too, who rides out
every week just for a peep at her. List! You can hear them now, just
over the hedge.
_Ste._ And the master doesn't know! By Heaven, the man's a villain, and
I'm a traitor to my lord of Kent if I don't wring his neck!
_Eld._ Stephen! Stephen!
_Ors._ Hold, sir!
_Ste._ Off with you! I'd drag him out an 'twere the king himself!
[_Leaps through the hedge and pulls the king through_] God's mercy! I
am dead! It is the king!
[_All kneel to the king. Glaia comes through the hedge_]
_Gla._ The king?
_Hen._ 'Tis true. I am that wretched man,
Your sovereign. [_Kneels_]
_Ste._ [_Aside_] Kneel to a woman! Nay,
Not Stephen! [_Rises_]
_Hen._ Speak, sweet, and say that I'm forgiven!
_Gla._ My Henry I'll forgive, but not the king.
_Hen._ No pity for the king? O, take him, too,
Fair Glaia, crown and all! [_Rises_] Look not away,
Nor down, nor up, nor anywhere but here.
Say thou'lt forgive, we'll instantly to court,
For there's a spirit sits within this hour,
Like silent wisdom in a lovely face,
That gives me confidence. We'll to the court!
I know thou art a maid of noble blood.
For thou'rt indexed with rank's unerring sign,
And dearly limned by Nature for a queen.
Weep not, my sweet, thy lover is a king,
And by my soul, and these dear wildered eyes,
And by the life in these blue wandering veins,
[_kissing her hand_]
These azure rivers in a lily field--
I'll lift thee high as is the English throne!
[_Exeunt the king and Glaia_]
_Ste._ Now there'll be a broil at court to please all the witches on
the island.
_Eld._ And 'twas you dropped the devil's meat into the pot. O, woe,
woe, woe! That I should live to see my lady wed the king!
_Ste._ Well, worse could 'a' happened. The king might have had me hung,
and it's bad luck to be a widow twice to the same man. I'm for the
court to keep both eyes open for what sport befalls.
_Eld._ Sport? O, the poor lord of Wynne! What will he do now? May be
'tis sent on him for worshippin' my lady like the Holy Virgin. Sport?
O, that you should be my husband and a villain! Up with you, Orson!
There's work for such poor servants as we be.
_Ors._ Servant, ma'am? Dost not think that this high connection of my
lady's will make me lord chamberlain to----
_Eld._ Ay, thou'lt get thy right place, I hope, though it be lord
footman to a donkey! Come along with you both!
[_Exeunt. Re-enter the king and Glaia_]
_Gla._ I can't believe it yet, your majesty.
_Hen._ Nay, Henry, love. The name you gave me first.
By that alone I'll live upon your lips.
_Gla._ I should be gay,--alack, I am half sad.
A sort of music here is gone. Mayhap
I loved my brother better than the king.
_Hen._ Thy brother? Call me that no more. My bride!
The sleeping angel I would kiss awake,
For waking thou art human and can love.
Ah, Glaia, none doth know how I have dreamed,
For kings must give up all just to be kings--
How oft at night I've left the palace world
To find me lodging in the sweeter air
Where spirits hold their gentle pageantries,
And meet the winds that blow from destiny
Pregnant with fortune for my famished soul,--
While they who stood about the royal bed,
Whose stealthful eyes held me in silken jail,
Knew not my body lay untenanted
And they but guarded clay. And everywhere
'Twas thee I sought, my Glaia. When you came,
I looked, and knew that I need dream no more.
_Gla._ And thou art no more sad? I make thee happy?
_Hen._ When I am with thee 'tis continual Spring,
For in my heart is such sweet jugglery
Each winter-ragged month doth put on May.
_Gla._ It makes me fear to be so much to thee.
O, Henry, leave me,--leave me here a child
That never shall be woman,--ne'er shall seek
The bitter knowledge of the human world.
[_A fawn comes to her from the wood. She fondles it_]
See, brother! I would ope no book less pure
Than these large eyes. Ah, me, was ever soul
So full of earth as mine? I can love nothing
But woods and streams, and these unspeaking things
That reasonless may build no dream of God.
My Henry, why this fear that if I go
From this dear world I'll come to it no more?
_Hen._ Cast off the doubt--and here I trample it.
We shall come often to this home of peace.
But, Glaia, let us go. The hours run fast,
And eve must find me at the court.
_Gla._ The court?
There does my rival in my lover speak.
There speaks my enemy, for in the court
I shall find that will make these fears all plain.
_Hen._ Fear nothing now! I see thou knowest how
To please me best, making me woo thee o'er
And o'er again, for naught could be more sweet!
[_Exeunt. Curtain_]
SCENE 2. _Room in Westminster palace. The earl of Kent and
countess of Albemarle talking._
_Kent._ Why do you doubt? You've ever trusted me.
_La. Alb._ Ay, while you were all man.
_Kent._ So am I now.
_La. Alb._ Nay, you are one half woman, being married.
A wife's the key may ope her husband's heart
To all the world. She is the pick and pry
To every lock of trust, and weasels through
His secrets spite all seals. Swear, Hubert, swear
That Margaret shall not know!
_Kent._ Have I not sworn?
How many times will you demand my oath?
_La. Alb._ A thousand thousand will not bring me peace!
_Kent._ Ah, Eleanor, why desolate your days
With this wild fear? 'Tis Heaven you've sinned against,
Not man. Look thou above for condemnation.
The world is harsh to virtue, not to sin.
See how the daughter of the earl of Valence,
John's one-time mistress, proudly holds her head,
Nor lacks for fawning followers? And mark
How Rosamond's two sons have fixed their line
Fast 'mong our English peers. If you would dare
To bring sweet Glaia forth, I do not doubt
The court would welcome her as princess born.
_La. Alb._ But Albemarle! He never would forgive!
Christine of Valence was not wife to him,
Else would her mimic court be dungeon close,
And racks, not lovers, kiss her dainty fingers.
You've never seen his rage! O, swear again
You'll set securest watch on act and tongue,
Nor let----
_Kent._ Here is your lord with Winchester.
_La. Alb._ O!
_Kent._ Come, I'll satisfy you, Eleanor.
[_Exeunt, right. Winchester and Albemarle enter rear_]
_Win._ The name of Kent erases church and state
And king. Fortune grows doting, and would make
A darling of this man.
_Alb._ She'll change her love,
Doubt not.
_Win._ 'Tis time. New favors upon him light
As birds on fruity branches. Castles and estates
Are but as feathers every wind brings in.
Dost not begin to fear him?
_Alb._ You are pleasant.
I fear? When I could lend him half my power,
And yet o'erbear him? In the north there are
One thousand leaders holding swords of me!
_Win._ I'm answered then?
_Alb._ Ay, sir. Though not from love
To Kent, nor hate to you, do I deny you.
But I'll not stand the champion of a wanton,
Though royal daughter of a royal sire.
The knightly Albemarles have never stooped
To lift adultery from its miry bed
And set its colors on their virtuous helm.
_Win._ Now, by your leave, the half of England comes
Into the world by left hand of the priest,
Yet fight and pray as well as you or I,
Nor bates a jot their honor in men's eyes.
_Alb._ You have my answer. When I'm ready for 't,
I'll tumble Kent to earth in my own fashion,
And not by means that sets French Adelais
On virtue's pinnacle, a star of gilt
To falsely glitter in the eye of dames
And set them wandering with their vanities
Till they forget the way to their true lords.
_Win._ [_Musing_] I'm writing a court history, your grace.
'Twas John, I think, who set your countess' father
On fortune's road.
_Alb._ Nay, 'twas the king before him,
Henry the Second.
_Win._ [_Going_] Well, my wary lord,
I have no bruise to nurse, and meet the blow
Befalls from any point.
_Alb._ What do you say?
_Win._ I say, my lord, I'll strike as pleases me,
And you keep cover as you will. [_Exit_]
_Alb._ A bruise?
Keep cover? Gods! And I stood still! The dog!
I'll after him and take him by the throat!
[_Re-enter lady Albemarle, right_]
_La. Alb._ What said our ancient enemy?
_Alb._ Enough!
He angered me!
_La. Alb._ But what the cause, my lord?
_Alb._ He'll quash the claim the church makes to my castles
If I will aid in bringing Kent to trial
On charge of Adelais, who sojourns here
To push her old appeal. I will not do 't!
_La. Alb._ Thanks that you shield my brother, by whose rise
You droop.
_Alb._ I shield your brother? When his name
Is Kent? Nay, you mistake me. I refused
Because this princess was no more nor less
Than Henry Second's mistress, and the son,
Whose death is laid to Kent, was the vile fruit
Of wantonness. A princess! I'd forgive
A milkmaid false, but error in the great
Is so bestarred by its exalted place
That those beneath mistake what is so lustered
For the true sun.
_La. Alb._ Hast seen the king, my lord?
_Alb._ I say 'tis guilt of such a heinous sort,
So foully odorous and so far bestrewn,
The sea o'errunning Britain could not wash
The island free of it!
_La. Alb._ 'Tis very wrong.
_Alb_ What! Set this princess over all your heads
As she were halo-browed, that you might pray
Her saintly patronage for your loose hopes?
_La. Alb._ Indeed, it is not well.
_Alb._ Well? By my life,
Our English dames are running mad enough,
And must be duchesses because--look ye--
They're wantons to a king! Out on your kind!
[_Aside, slowly_] "'Twas John, I think, who set your countess' father
On fortune's road." You've been a handsome woman--
Could foot right well on Venus' heels. My soul,
There's beauty in you yet to draw an eye
O'er the picket of defence!
_La. Alb._ My lord, I pray you----
_Alb._ 'Tis well that our young Richard has my eye,
And trick of walk, and way of sudden speech,
Else I'd suspect a cuckoo in the nest,
For all your dainty strictures and high head!
_La. Alb._ For Christ's sake, Albemarle----
_Alb._ Ay, had he not
My very shoulder hitch and swelling neck
This night I'd drag him to the eastern tower
And hurl him to the Thames!
_La. Alb._ My God!
_Alb._ For you
I'd pay out my estate in hire of men
To spend their lives devising drawn-out pains
That death might feed and grow upon itself!
_La. Alb._ Ah, sir, no need. I'm dead now with your words.
_Alb._ The king is entering. Look up, my dame.
I rage to think you could be false, and not
Because you are. Come, where's your blood, my lady?
Those frosted cheeks are not the royal color.
Smile and I'll pardon you. I know you true.
[_Aside_] But when we're home again we'll talk somewhat
Of those same favors granted to your father.
[_Enter Pembroke, Winchester, and others. Pembroke and Winchester
talk apart_]
_Pem._ But where is Gualo? He is friend to Kent.
_Win._ Shipped back to Rome.
_Pem._ Well done!
_Win._ That is made sure.
And now I'll push the claim of Adelais
With all the power pillared by the church.
_Pem._ Henry will never yield. He wraps the earl
So close in love 'twill shake the throne to part them.
There's no path to the king not barriered
By Kent's unceasing watch.
_Win._ I'll drop a canker
Will eat a way for us. Ah, here they come.
_Pem._ Arm-locked as king and king; and eye to eye,
Like lovers changing souls.
[_Enter Henry_, _Kent_, _Lord Wynne_. _Lords and ladies, among
whom is Margaret, enter behind them_]
_Hen._ [_To Kent_] I fear to tell you, Hubert, even you.
_Kent._ I do not fear to hear it, whate'er you do
So well becomes a throne.
_Hen._ You promise then
Your fullest pardon?
_Kent._ Your open deeds, my lord,
Bear such a noble front I should not fear
To clap a lusty "ay" to all you've done
In secret.
_Hen._ Thank you, Kent. And Roland, too,--
Our good lord Wynne--must echo you with pardon,
For I have touched him when he felt me not,
And shortly he must look upon his wound.
_Wynne._ I do not fear to see it. You've taught me, sir,
The wounds you give me carry their own heal.
_Hen._ But this is deep.
_Wynne._ The richer then the balm.
_Hen._ Then out, poor Henry, with thy heart's misdeed.
[_Turns to the court_]
Listen, my lords,--my gracious court,--to you
I make appeal. Is any here who holds
Me in such wintry and removed regard
He would not grant my heart its choice in love?
[_Surprise and silence_]
_Win._ Your wisdom, sire, that sets the cap of age
Upon the curls of youth, gives us excuse
To bid you choose at will your royal mate.
If I speak not for all, we'll hear dissent.
[_Silence_]
This silence warrants you to woo and speed.
_Hen._ That I have done, and now can show to you
This jewel of my choice that late I found
Deep hidden from the world. So fixed my love,
I can not wait to wander through the ways
A king comes to betrothal, and shall win
Your quick assent, even now, by bringing her
To your commending eyes.
[_Exit Henry_]
_A lord._ What does he mean?
Is this some princely revel?
_Another lord._ It may be,
And our part is to smile.
_Win._ [_To Pembroke_] Mark you earl Kent?
He changes face.
_Pem._ And his pale friend, lord Wynne,
Turns corpse on 's feet.
_Win._ Ha! Is it possible
They were not privy to this kingly move?
[_Re-enter Henry, leading Glaia_]
_Hen._ Here, dear my lords! Look on my choice and say
That here might come Rome's vestals to repair
Their tapers dim. Is she not royal, friends?
See how her eyes look bravely into yours,
Though on her cheek a sweet timidity
Doth couch in coral. Now commend me, all!
And Hubert, earl of Kent, say whence is she,
And what her parentage? For all I know
Is that I found her bowered in Greenot woods.
_Kent._ My God!
_Hen._ O, Hubert, muffle up the storm
Rides on your brow, and smile upon my love!
_Kent._ Believe me, sire, she can not be your wife.
_Hen._ Not be my wife? Unsay the words, dear Hubert.
You mean, perhaps, she's humbler born than I--
The daughter of a duke--an earl--a lord--
Ay, say a knight that bravely bore his shield,
And all the gap 'twixt her degree and mine
Her native graces will bridge o'er and make
Her way unto my throne.
_Kent._ [_Kneeling_] O, king beloved,
You must believe me! She can not be yours!
_Hen._ Then, Heaven, turn foul, thou dost not shine for me!
Rise, Hubert, rise, for I must love you still,
Though you have robbed me of the sun and stars.
_Kent._ [_Rises_] My noblest sovereign!
_Hen._ Now let me hear
Why this ne'er mated dove can not be mine,
And I'll attend thee patient as the dead
Do list their requiem.
_Kent._ Sire, I am pledged.
Such sacred oaths are warders at my lips
That angels would turn pale in Heaven to hear
Their violation.
_Hen._ Oaths? We must not hear?
_Kent._ Not from my lips. It may be from another's
In better time.
_Hen._ In better time? By Heaven,
You shall uncover here her history,
And I myself shall say if she may be
My own or no!
_Kent._ Thy mercy on a man
In one hour old!
_Hen._ You are the torturer!
O, Hubert, Hubert, I am on my knees!
_Kent._ Sire, give me leave to go, and take this maid,
So long my care that I must keep her still.
Come, Glaia--child--'tis Hubert takes thy hand.
My sovereign lord, I go with sorrow hence.
I would my tongue were torn from its curst root
Than speak you woe,--but do not hope, my liege,
Your husband hand can ever touch this maid.
The thought to ague shakes my soul!
[_Exit Kent with Glaia. Margaret would follow, but is detained by
lady Albemarle, who is half swooning. Winchester kneels and kisses
the king's robe_]
_Win._ My king,
Thou'rt still beloved.
_Hen._ Ah, what canst say to one
So pinioned by distress that he must lose
His dearest friend or dearest love?
_Win._ My lord, if friendship may have leave to speak
As fits its holy bond and name----
_Hen._ O, speak!
Say anything!
_Win._ Too long you have been wronged.
Did not Kent win by stealth the Scottish princess,
Your promised bride? Consorting his base blood
With royalty?--which was his secret aim,
And all his burning love for Margaret
But feigned and politic to gain your pity.
Again he's at your heart! And hopes once more
To bear himself to high success. If not,
With face assumed and sorrowing he'll melt
You to forgiveness.
_Mar._ Listen not, my liege!
_Hen._ [_To Winchester_] Is this your comfort?
_Mar._ Sire, he slanders love
As true as God's to men, who says my lord
Is false!
_Win._ Her pride would say as much, my liege.
As for this maid,--whom majesty might choose,
And all the kingdom feel itself adorned,--
She's either heir to vast and rich estates,
Or Kent dotes on her with such jealous love
He will not yield her even to his king.
And both these reasons, sire, I urge as one
T' explain his stout refusal to make known
What honesty would haste to shout aloud.
_Wynne._ Who says that Kent, in friendship or in love,
E'er sought his gain, doth foully lie!
_Win._ This man
Is Kent's own creature.
_Hen._ Ah, that's not his sin.
He loves my Glaia, and would make her his.
_Wynne._ Yes, sire, I love her,--you are right so far,--
But, sovereign lord, I would expect as soon
To pottle with an angel at an inn
As make her mine. Though Hubert spurred my suit----
_Hen._ He favored you!
_Wynne._ He set no bars between us.
_Hen._ Ah, you could wed her--let the king go beg!
_Alb._ Away, you perked-up villain! Out of this!
_Wynne._ When you come with me, sir, that I may slit
The tongue that fouls my name!
_Alb._ My hot-mouthed sir,
I'll leave his majesty to teach you better manners.
_Hen._ And here I do, with a ne'er-ending lesson.
Roland de Born, so lately lord of Wynne,
Thou'rt banished from our realms, not to return,
Though thou shouldst live to see more years than yet
Man ever numbered his.
_Wynne._ Is this your will?
_Hen._ In truth, 'tis nothing else!
_Wynne._ Then, sire, farewell.
Some men are fashioned men by circumstance--
Shaped by what wind blows on them. In their veins
The heavens croak or sing. Does the sky frown,
They're muddy and befouled,--it smiles, and straight
Fair weather's in their blood, sporting its flag
In their new countenance. Not I, my lords!
Nay, on the winds my soul shall leave its shape,
And where I venture I am what I am,
A knight of England, loyal to his king. [_Exit_]
_Alb._ Death to his arrogance!
_Pem._ This judgment, sire,
Is much too modest.
_Win._ Hear us now, my liege,
For you have heard too little these months past.
_Hen._ My lords, I am too faint and troubled now
To understand if you be friends or foes,
Or if the earl of Kent be false to me;
But come, and what you choose to speak, I'll hear.
... Glaia, art gone from me? Ah, who would live?
The winds of doom are sold by Lapland witches,
Who mix the compass points and blow us foul
When we have paid our fortune to go fair.
[_Exeunt Henry and lords. Lady Albemarle and Margaret are left
alone_]
_Mar._ Why do you keep me so?
_La. Alb._ Where would you go?
_Mar._ Where else but to my lord?
_La. Alb._ You shall not go.
O, stay with me! One moment, Margaret!
_Mar._ Another? Nay, you're better. I must go.
O, Eleanor, didst hear that Winchester?
Foul murderer of honor--Hubert's honor!
Can these be tongues of men?... And Roland banished!
_La. Alb._ Canst think of him?
_Mar._ He's Hubert's friend. Who now
Will stand by him?
_La. Alb._ You, Margaret, and I.
_Mar._ Yes--let me go!
_La. Alb._ What will you say to him?
_Mar._ Beg him not let his bitter thoughts usurp
Quite all his heart, but leave a little room
That e'er so small will make me ample heaven.
_La. Alb._ You will not ask of Glaia?
_Mar._ Ask? Dost think
That I must ask?
_La. Alb._ He will not tell thee!
_Mar._ Not?
I am his heart. His veins run not with health
Except as I know how they course, and beat
Concordantly. Doubt not he'll tell me all.
_La. Alb._ He shall not tell thee!
_Mar._ Madam, you are strange.
_La. Alb._ Ay, Margaret, and strangest to myself.
O, he is true! Dear God, I know he's true!
_Mar._ Make it no question then. For by the sun,
And heaven's starry clock that now goes by,
You shall not say he's false to Margaret!
_La. Alb._ To you? Ha! false to you? Dost think my thoughts
Must ever web round you?
_Mar._ [_Going_] You are his sister.
_La. Alb._ What, are you gone? Forgive me, Margaret.
_Mar._ Ah, you forget that I am suffering too.
_La. Alb._ You suffer? You?
_Mar._ You have a husband, madam.
_La. Alb._ I have. Let me remember him. Ha, ha!
You suffer, icicle? What do you know of pain
But as the lookers on about a pit
See one at bottom dying? As curious eyes
Regard the writhing heretic at stake?
Or say, as angels flying heavenward turn
To give one grudged tear unto the damned?
That is your pain, you pure, proud Margaret!
... O, madness, seize me!
_Mar._ By my fears you have
No need to pray for 't.
_La. Alb._ Conscience, where dost sleep?
Let me tread by nor rouse thee.
_Mar._ Eleanor?
_La. Alb._ Whence are those floods of fire? O, Hubert, save me!
_Mar._ Dear Eleanor, be calm. I did not think
You loved your brother so.
_La. Alb._ What's that you say?
Ah, yes, 'tis Margaret. Go to him now.
Ask of this maid--then blazon all--all--all!
_Mar._ Come with me, Eleanor.
_La. Alb._ Drive home the knife
Now threats his heart!
_Mar._ Come with me, come!
_La. Alb._ 'Tis fit
His wife should do it!
_Mar._ Come, dear Eleanor.
[_Exeunt, right._ _Henry_, _Winchester_, _Albemarle_, _Pembroke_,
_enter rear_]
_Win._ We're glad you are convinced, my lord.
_Hen._ Glad, sir?
Glad that one half my heart is mottled, foul,
Diseased, and must be cut away, though I
Die with the cleaving? Ay, I am convinced.
_Win._ And give consent that Kent be made to answer
The charge of Adelais?
_Hen._ Be 't as you please.
_Pem._ 'Twere best to haste in this, ere all the shires
Misled in love by Kent, hear of his danger.
_Win._ I have the warrant here. It lacks your seal,
My liege.
_Hen._ [_Quickly sealing it_] Now it does not. Here splits
my heart,
And half falls with thee, Hubert.
[_Winchester comforts him. Albemarle and Pembroke talk apart_]
_Pem._ In fewest words,
What purpose you?
_Alb._ To ride at once to north,
And through my agents stir up a rebellion
Against the king, whom we must make appear
Kent's sole remover, for he now 's become
The idol of the witless multitude,
With whose hot sanction we may move 'gainst Henry
And roll his head as fast as Kent's to hell.
_Pem._ But you must see the trial.
_Alb._ So I aim.
But if I'm blocked therein, I look to you
To keep me stationed in my feudal rights,
And what you venture for me I'll make good
With forty thousand men, or horse or foot.
_Hen._ Where is lord Wynne? Inquire if he has gone?
_Alb._ He'll trouble you no more, for if my servants
Be to me loyal they've set him toward the sea.
_Hen._ You're pert in my own matters. I bethought me
I would recall his sentence. He is noble,
And I have done him wrong. Why press about me?
Ye are devils all! Call me the earl of Kent.
_Win._ He is not here, my lord.
_Hen._ Give me the warrant.
Quick, sir! I'll have it back! I'll take more time!
_Win._ 'Tis gone, my liege.
_Hen._ Gone? Is the devil your post?
_Pem._ We pray your pardon, sire.
_Hen._ Could you not give
One little hour to old friends taking leave,
Though one is a poor king? Away from me!
_Win._ Dear majesty, beloved above all kings,
Let not your frown unpay again the service
Your smile even now rewarded. 'Tis too much,
Howe'er we have endured, to ask our silence
While Kent doth rob thee of a fairer queen
Than ever made a court seem gaudy poor
By her rich self. Must we stand humbly back,
That he may please his bosom with her beauty,
And bury in his lust what forth should shine
Thine and a happy England's constant sun?
_Pem._ No doubt, my liege, we shall remove each bar
That shuts you from your love, and please ourselves
The most in pleasing you.
_Hen._ O, make her mine,
And all you wish, if kings have power o'er fate.
Will come to pass. I trust you--yet--and yet--
Who can be true when Huberts are found false?
[_Curtain_]
ACT II
SCENE 1. _A room in the earl of Kent's palace. An inner room rear,
cut off by curtains. Kent alone._
_Kent._ Now, Eleanor, wilt prove thee saint, or devil?
Wilt mend this breach, or must I perish in it?
Too well I know that soul's dark history
To think it may breed light. The moment globes
The years' full character; a whole life's face
Peeps out in smallest deeds. Yet wonders are.
And Eleanor may prove false to herself
To once keep faith with Heaven.
[_Listens_] Glaia? Ay!
[_Goes to curtains rear, parts them softly,
looks within and returns_]
She did not call. I'll watch all night. 'Twill be
No added task since there's no sleep for me.
My Margaret is safe. They dare not touch
A princess of the blood. But I am down.
'Tis said and sung there is no greater pain
Than wrenches Fortune's nurslings when she flies.
Not so. False lady of the wheel, take all!
But O, to see my king yield to the wolves
Now fang-close to his heart--there is my death!
[_Sits on a couch, his head bowed. Margaret enters, advances
softly and embraces him. He looks up, returning her caress_]
Now let the world go on, I'll rest me here.
Why should I keep my hand proud on the helm,
War with the unsated surge, nor know the pause
That is the spirit's silent growing time?
Ah, Margaret, how little will content thee?
No more nor less than love and poorest me?
_Mar._ No more, my lord. Nor will aught less make full
My greedy cup. Thou wert the king's, but now
Thou art all mine. All mine, my love? Or is
That little "all" my greatest flatterer?
_Kent._ You know my heart. Where have you been so long?
_Mar._ With Eleanor. I brought her home with me.
_Kent._ She's here?
_Mar._ Yes, Hubert. Ah, she loves you well.
_Kent._ She loves me?
_Mar._ Better than you thought.
_Kent._ [_In sudden hope_] Then ... Speak!
What has she told you?
_Mar._ Nothing. What, my lord,
Should she have told me?
_Kent._ [_Dully_] Nothing.
_Mar._ I have heard
So much of this--this nothing.
_Kent._ Margaret,
Thou hast my soul. Wilt keep it true for me?
_Mar._ I keep it? No, I doubt myself.
_Kent._ Thyself?
Then trust my trust in thee, which meets thy love
As swallows meet the waking winds of Spring
And know where life is.
_Mar._ Doubt or trust, I love thee!
O Hubert, let us go this night to lands
That know how to be kind and smile on lovers.
_Kent._ Dost hope by flying England to fly pain,
That everywhere encircles man as fire
To shape his soul in fashion of his God?
_Mar._ For love and life I beg! Why do I say
For love and life, since there's no life for me
Without thy love? O, you will go with me!
Leave thy ungrateful king to wed at will----
_Kent._ Leave Glaia to the king? The thought is flame!
_Mar._
[_Standing before him, suddenly tense_]
Who is this maiden that you guard as she
Were the one drop of blood that in your heart
Makes living centre? Who?
_Kent._ [_After a pause_] You heard my answer.
_Mar._ Ay, to the king, but not to me--thyself--
Nay more, for when thou takest away thyself,
Though in the smallest part, so much I die,--
And by this secret that divorces us
Am wholly slain. But tell it to me, Hubert,
And 'twill become another blessed bond,
To second union closer than the first
Re-sanctioning our souls.
[_He is silent. Her rage overcomes her_]
Unseal thy lips,
Or by the fires that flit now through my brain,
By the ancestral wrongs within my blood
That start suspicion where there is no foe,
I shall begin to doubt thee! Who is she
To thee who art my husband?
_Kent._ Margaret,
Go to the maiden lying yon and look
Once more upon her vestal face, then ask
If she know aught of guilt.
[_Margaret looks silently toward the curtains_]
_Mar._ [_In subdued tone_] She's there?
_Kent._ Poor child!
I thought you'd be her gentle, elder sister,
And help me still her woeful flutterings.
[_Turns away_]
Where's now the proud, sure strength that made discount
Of Heaven's arm? O, reed-propped vanities,
Swelling usurpful till ye seem our life,
Ye must come down that we may find ourselves
And God.
_Mar._ O, take me back! I did not know
This spirit dwelt in me. One of my race,
A woman, long ago, stabbed through a heart
That played her false, yet she was gentle too,
And died for what her hand had done. May be
The unquiet dead come back to live in us.
O, it was she stirred this strange passion in me.
Twas not myself. Speak to me, Hubert! Say
'Twas not myself.
_Kent._ [_Embracing her_] Sole angel of my love!
_Mar._ You'll take me back? Let Time begin his count
One minute past, and leave the last one out.
O, say a word will sponge it from the day,
Or all my future must turn back its face
And live with gazing on that minute's point.
_Kent._ It was not you, my heart. But say it were,
Should I pull down my heaven because a bird
Makes flying blot against it? 'Tis the doubts
That darkly flitting show love's constant sky
Forever radiant.
_Mar._ O me! O me!
And this is shame!
_Kent._ Nay, sweet! Weep, if you must,
But let thy tears be rain upon the soul
Making a fair new season.
_Mar._ Let me die!
_Kent._ So overwrought? Thou who hast been my strength?
_Mar._ If I were dead then you----
_Kent._ Should be as thou!
'Tis not thy death but Glaia's that would be
The sad solution of these woes.
_Mar._ Not her,
So fair ... and dear to us.
Kent. [_Kissing her_] My gentle love!
... 'Twere best she died, who now must drink the cup
That makes death sweet in coming. I myself
Almost could guide the knife unto her heart
And cut off ruder visitors.
_Mar._ O, veil
The thought. Its nakedness has chilled my soul.
_Kent._ Ay, she is God's, not mine. Leave her to him.
And now, my life, you, too, must go to rest.
_Mar._ You'll not to bed?
_Kent._ The king may send for me.
He will not sleep, for in his face was woe
Will quiet not to slumber.
_Mar._ O, my love,
How can I leave thee now? If thou wert held
By softest sleep on pillows of content
I could no less than weep to go from thee,
And yet these tears are all I have when thou
Art left to sad, despairing watch. I'll stay,
For I've no words to part with, none to tell
How breaks my heart in going.
_Kent._ Nay, I must work,
And you will call my wits to otherwheres;
Then in the morn these eyes, undewed with sleep,
Will show me not the light that must be mine.
_Mar._ Dost toy with words to me? Not in my eyes,
But in my heart burns thy unfailing torch,
And if you find it dim it is thy secret
Casts shade between us, not a lack in me.
_Kent._ If I should speak then oaths were straws in fire.
_Mar._ O, no, I would not have thee speak. That's past.
'Tis our misfortune that we are divided
In this most pitchy hour that in itself
Were nothing if our hearts could meet and melt
In unreserved touch. In every life
There comes a watch the soul must keep alone.
The hour has struck for thine. And mine I feel
Is not so far away. Now, now I go,
My lord. Because I help you best in going.
Our hearts would rush together, and the pain
Grows in them baffled. Dearer than life, good night.
I leave my prayers like candles set about you,
And as they fail think of me on my knees
Renewing them from Heaven. [_Exit, right_]
_Kent._ Margaret!
[_Pauses, slowly takes up the light and goes off, left, leaving
the room in darkness. Curtain_]
SCENE 2. _The same room in darkness. Margaret enters, right,
carrying a taper._
_Mar._ I'll look upon her. When sleep slips the rein
The soul plays in the face unguarded. Then
The conscious warder holding up the mask
Before the secret self bares all defence
Unheedful of approach. I'll look, and pray
To find the lineaments so pure by day
Still guileless fair. O, that 'twere yesterday--Sweet
yesterday--when I knew not nor guessed
The sad division 'tween my soul and Hubert's!
O, knowledge, rude defiler of our dreams,
How oft we'd give thy hard, substantial store
To build again with bright illusion's eye
Our happy towers on the inconstant clouds:
[_Sees a light through curtains_]
She's up! No ... who is there?
[_Veils her taper. Kent comes from the inner room. He carries a
candle_]
_Kent._ She does not move.
O, Eleanor, how could thy heart give blood
To one so pure that he who loves her best
Would send her back to Heaven?
_Mar._ [_Unheard by Kent_] Eleanor!
Her child! Her child!
_Kent._ Fair Glaia, may'st thou rest,
Not ever wake till angels call thee up.
[_Looking back_] Ay, ay, she sleeps.
[_Exit, left_]
_Mar._ How gracious art thou, God,
To bless me so! O, wicked Eleanor!
This was the fire that maddened thee to-night.
Not fear for Hubert. How couldst make his life
The priceless cloak of thy own worthless shame?
But I can save him! I will make thee speak,
Unsistered woman!
[_Draws back the curtains, leaving them open, showing
the inner room and bed on which Glaia lies_]
Glaia, now I'll look,
Nor all thy grace shall hide the lines that mark
Thy cruel mother. Can this be the face
That breeds such misery? Fair heaven-case
Of innocence!... My Hubert's niece, so mine.
How lily-cold in sleep! And still ... so still.
A kiss will not awake thee--one as light
As my own heart. So cold? O, cold as death!
[_Draws back the coverlet_]
Blood! Blood! A dagger here! O Heaven,
That this smooth coverlet should hide so much!
[_Stands a moment in silent horror_]
And Hubert thought she slept. "Rest well," he said,
"Nor ever wake till angels call thee up."
Nor wilt thou wake till then, poor Glaia. O,
How can I call him here to look on this!
[_Takes up the dagger_]
Strange that the slayer left his dagger here.
He in whose heart the thought of murder lives
Has more of cunning in him.
[_Drops dagger suddenly_]
Hubert's! O!
[_Staggers away from bed and holds herself up by the curtains.
Buries her face for an instant, then looks up blanched and
determined_]
I must act quickly. O, at once--at once!
One pause may be the grave of resolution.
[_Starts toward bed, but stops_]
"She does not move," he said ... and "ay, she sleeps,"
As though she slept eternally.
[_Goes to bed, and takes up the dagger_]
His dagger.
Oft has it pleased me to regard this hilt.
Pearls winding like a milky way about
A turquoise heaven. Even then my fate
Lurked in the blade. Why do I talk, and beg
A vile delay? Pain is sole merchant here,
And with each moment amplifies his profit.
... I will not pray, for prayer is softening,
And I must be too stern to pity self.
I was a princess. I'll not think of that,
For now I am a wife. And for my lord
Must die. They'll find me here, and say the deed
Was mine. My jealous hand avenged my wrong.
... O gentle Heaven, he is not worthy this!
Nay, nor no man, and yet for every man
There lives a woman who would die for him.
[_Lifts the dagger_]
I can not strike. [_Drops her arm_] I must ... ere I go mad
And leave the event to chance.
[_Lifts dagger, grows faint and falls with a cry to the floor.
Kent enters, left_]
_Kent._ Twas Margaret's voice. My love?
[_Advances and sees Margaret on the floor_]
O, life of mine!
[_Looks toward bed_]
Glaia! Uncovered--bleeding--dead! Put out
My eyes! Out ... out. What cruelty yet lives
In Heaven to show me this? O, Eleanor,
Come, come and see how thy one sin has grown
To widest hell! Thy Glaia dead ... even cold ...
And Margaret ... not dead ... but would she were!
[_Bends over her_]
Yea, I could love thee then. My Margaret,
Couldst do this thing? Thy hand was ever tender,
And oft thou coveredst even guilt with mercy.
... She could not do it.... Ay, she could ... she could.
For her ancestral steps are marked with blood,
And but to-night her eye flashed with a look
That like an evil star did point to this.
[_Knocking without, and opening of gates_]
My summons from the king. Ho, Rufus?
[_Draws coverlet
over Glaia's form_] Glaia,
Thou wert the bud of earth; infinity
Shall wear thy blossom and be proud.
[_Enter attendant_]
_Att._ My lord?
_Kent._ Your mistress faints. Call up her women. Haste!
[_Exit attendant. Kent takes Margaret in his arms and_ _bears her
off, right. Re-enters, goes to curtains and draws them, concealing
Glaia's bed_]
O, Henry, _now_ thy heart is struck.
[_Enter an attendant_]
Who comes?
_Att._ Your grace, I do not know. Strange men who give
No name, but say that they must see you.
_Kent._ Must?
Admit them.
_Att._ Here, your grace?
_Kent._ Ay, here.
[_Exit attendant. Kent picks up dagger from the
floor_] 'Tis mine.
I'll wear my own. [_Hangs dagger at his belt_]
Now is the earl of Kent
A murderer. How feels it with you, sir?
[_Enter officers and attendants_]
_Officer._ My lord of Kent, you are our prisoner.
_Kent._ By whose command?
_Off._ The king's.
_Kent._ O, April heart,
Dost think 'twill ne'er be winter? What the crime?
_Off._ You're charged, on pain of death, to show the son
Of Adelais, of France.
_Kent._ That sin is old
And faded now. I know another blots
O'er that. I'll burn your ears with 't as we go.
[_Exeunt. Curtain_]
ACT III
SCENE 1. _A small altar room, adjoining the king's apartment.
Henry bowed and kneeling. Enter Winchester and attendant._
_Att._ Since morning he has knelt, and sees no one.
You are the first admitted.
_Win._ Dear my lord----
_Hen._ [_Rising and turning to Winchester_]
Will you, too, tell me she is dead?
_Win._ Alas----
_Hen._ O, not that word--the pretty mask of woe.
That never hid a tear. If she is dead,
Weep and be dumb, or find some word that rends
The heart in uttering it.
_Win._ My lord----
_Hen._ My lord!
You're too polite a mourner, by my faith!
O, Glaia, Glaia, Glaia, art thou dead?
Canst thou then sleep, O, God?
_Win._ That he does sleep
This deed is proof.
_Hen._ What deed? 'Tis false! She lives.
'Twas blessed yester morn I held her here,
And heard her laugh and say my kisses were
Like Maythorn blossoms dropping on her hair.
And can her voice be still? Nay, fiends themselves
Love music, and would spare to put so much
To silence. O, in her tongue the nightingale
Was dead, having no sweeter cause to live.
She could not die. A thousand thousand angels
Would rush to save her and with silvery wings
Beat back the assaulting devil.
_Win._ Would I could say
She lives! You drain my heart with every tear
You drop upon this woe. Loved majesty,
Look up and weep no more.
_Hen._ Stop not my tears.
They shall pour sea-like till my body lies
An isle o'erwhelmed. My eyes could lend the skies
Another flood yet lack not moisture.... Glaia!
It was my kiss that slew thee. But for me
Thou hadst been living still. So Winter springs
To clasp his blushing Autumn love, then spends
His weary season burying her dead leaves.
_Win._ Rouse you, my lord. The creature is alive
That slew her.
_Hen._ He is found?--and lives--and you
Stand here to tell me?
_Win._ Hear my story, sire.
When we arrested Kent----
_Hen._ Arrested Kent?
You could not wait? Well, we shall see, my lord,
My Glaia loved him and he shall not die.
_Win._ The moment he was taken he confessed
That he had slain the maid----
_Hen._ What is 't you say?
Now, by my life, I thought you said that Kent--
I'll not repeat it--'twas so strange a thing--
I'm numb since this dark news, and what I hear
By insurrection of my wits becomes
What I hear not.
_Win._ Recall yourself, my lord.
Your wits are loyal, and inform you rightly.
I said 'twas Kent----
_Hen._ Ha! Now the devil speaks
In his own person. You've thrust the cloven foot
Too far from 'neath the bishop's gown.
_Win._ My lord----
_Hen._ Now I read back and take the hellish measure
Of all your lies!
_Win._ Your majesty----
_Hen._ Sir, I have loved this man, and when I felt
Too weak for England's throne, I laid my head
Upon his breast and there grew strong as he.
And you dare say----
_Win._ I do not say, my liege,
The crime is his, but he confessed it so.
Here are the words in which he damns himself.
[_Gives the king a paper_]
_Hen._ Drop from the world, O sun! Make all the air
Dark as my heart, that from this hour shall know
No re-ascending star! Leave me, my lord.
All's as you please. Do what you will. The world
No more shall draw me forth to look upon it.
Yet I am young, and had but learned to smile.
[_Enter attendant_]
_Att._ The earl of Pembroke begs to see my lord
Of Winchester.
_Hen._ Admit him here. I'll pray.
[_Turns to altar. Enter Pembroke_]
_Win._ What news, your grace?
_Pem._ 'Tis strange enough, my lord.
Kent's wife, the princess Margaret, now swears
'Twas she who took the maiden's life, and speaks
With so much care and proof of circumstance
I scarce can doubt her.
_Win._ Margaret!
_Pem._ No other.
She says 'twas she alone, and not her husband.
_Win._ This fortune wears our colors. Give it welcome.
I feared she'd rouse all England,--Scotland, too,--
In Kent's defence. You know her blood of old.
But now her hands are bound.
_Pem._ Then you've no doubt
'Twas she?
_Win._ I wish to have none, that's enough
To shape my looks by.
[_Henry rises and comes toward them_]
Ah, my liege, we hear
That Margaret is author of the crime
We now bewail, not Kent.
_Hen._ That it was either
I can not whip my senses to believe.
_Win._ She has confessed.
_Hen._ Why, so did Kent. This shows
A gap in proof.
_Win._ Kent thought to shield his wife.
_Hen._ Then he must love her well, and yet your tongue
Struck hard another way. Nay, it is she
Who thinks to save her lord. Poor Margaret,
Thou hadst done better to have wed the king.
_Win._ My lord, we can not doubt Kent loved this maid.
'Twas as apparent as the light to eyes;
And he would pause ere put her from his arms
To bed with worms; but this same love would be
Poor Margaret's bitter cause to wish her dead;
And Jealousy, we know, is page to Murder,
Holding the candle for the hellish stroke.
_Hen._ But why should Kent confess?
_Win._ With all his sins,
He has the grace of chivalry, and thought
By his confession to save Margaret,
Not caring for his fate since he was doomed
For other crime.
_Hen._ I'll hear no more, my lord.
A woman ... and that woman--Margaret.
_Win._ My liege----
_Hen._ No more. Here is my seal. 'Tis yours.
And now I beg you go. Nothing is dear
But grief, sole link 'tween me and love. Leave me,
I pray. [_Turns to altar_]
_Win._ [_Aside, gloating_] Weep, fool, my star is in my hand!
_Pem._ God send you comfort, sire.
[_Exeunt Winchester and Pembroke_]
_Hen._ [_To attendant_] Let none approach me.
[_Exit attendant._]
_Henry sings_]
I laid a rose upon my heart,
Ay me!
Soon 'gan its beauty to depart,
Ay, ay me!
I nursed it with desire,
Still did its beauty go.
For O, my heart was fire,
Cruel fire!
Ay me, I did not know,
I did not know.
[_Enter a friar through panel door behind altar_]
Art thou a shadow come to say
All men are shadows and naught living is?
_Friar._ I come to give God's help and ask for thine,
My son and king.
_Hen._ 'Tis death, sir, thus to steal
Into my presence.
_Friar._ So I prove my love
For thee, your highness, venturing life to reach
Thine ear's seclusion.
_Hen._ What wouldst tell me, father?
I've heard your voice before and found it honest.
By that, mayhap, we'll prove old friends. Come in.
[_Exeunt_]
SCENE 2. _A prison corridor. Kent alone._
_Kent._ Is this the end of Kent? The block and axe
His porters to throw ope the sealed gate?
I thought a good wife's prayers had ushered me,
And weeping peers had held my garments back
Until the soul disdained to hide therein.
... What value's in this world that men will buy 't
With so much groaning? This strange human chaos
Where vice is often merit, merit vice,
Or if they be themselves so change deserts
That wisdom is clapped to gallows, folly to thrones.
And innocence lifts up thin, fettered hands
While guilt walks angel free. Where palsy shakes
The pen from the seer's hand, and crowing health
Bids fools to write; where Fame forgets to blush
At Flattery's board, and Honor, pendulous
'Twixt bribe and faith, dwindles inert and like
A withered finger shames the hand of state.
... Where Margarets can stripe their souls' pure white
With guileless blood. She, she that was a dove
To falcon turn and rend a fledgling's breast!
It casts a doubt on Heaven, makes of faith
A leper scourged from man's hale faculties,
And love a monster of diseased minds!
Come, dearest Death, and mis-shaped world away!
[_Margaret is admitted, left, by a turnkey_]
_Turnkey._ You're honest? All your jewels, ma'am?
_Mar._ Ay, all!
They have been praised, but had no worth till now
When each one buys a minute with my lord.
[_Exeunt turnkey, locking door_]
[_Margaret comes down corridor toward Kent,
her hands behind her_]
_Kent._ [_Looking up_] What devil drove you here?
_Mar._ Did Hubert speak?
_Kent._ What do you want? Why hold away your hands?
Fear not that I'll embrace thee!
_Mar._ What art thou?
_Kent._ Nothing to thee, whatever else I am.
Away! For Death and I have just locked hands.
One moment more and I had cozened him
Of all his pain. But you, dear, damned foe,
Take up his weapons and re-gash my wounds.
_Mar._ Is this my lord?
_Kent._ Go. I command you. Go!
Eternity drops on me, and lightfoot Time
Hies like a ghost to nothing. What dost here?
_Mar._ I die.
_Kent._ You die? No fear of that. You are
Too great a lover of this life that vaunts
A bloated bubble 'twixt immortal shores.
_Mar._ If once 'twere true--if once I loved this world--
Thy bitter words have sucked desire to live
From all my senses. As a god I held thee,
Now mocking gods bid me look on whilst thou
Deport'st thyself 'neath mortal. Sir, what plague
Hast met? What conjuration of the skies
Disfigures thee?
_Kent._ The same that made thyself
A woman. Back unto your world!
_Mar._ O, true
I loved this life, and held a heart not dead
To music, beauty, sweet and warm delights,
An interest in the season-robing earth,
An entertained eye for fortune's chance,
And too pretentiously I sighed to leave
The unfollowed steps of fair and flying Truth,
And last, poor woman, shrank to change thine arms
For the cold circlet of Elysian clouds;
But you, pervert and monstrous, work my peace,
Unto my eyes deforming all the world
And making the unknown more dear than dream.
_Kent._ I monstrous? O, thou shame! To've died for you
Were scarcely more than's done each day for love;
But I for you have heaped my name with crime,
Crime that will damn my reputation's snow
While lasts the world and men recount old tales!
_Mar._ 'Twas for my sake you did it! Ah, I know.
You loved me well. Would you had known me better,
Or loved me less! O, how couldst think my life
Would flower with happiness when sacrifice
Of one as dear to Heaven as myself
Lay burning at its root? Nay, I must wither
Unto this world, but as I fall thy name
Grows fairer, for I have confessed 'twas I.
For love of me you sinned. The punishment
Is mine.
_Kent._ Confessed? You have confessed? No, no!
_Mar._ I shall be soon forgot, but your great name
Will live, and since it must, or dark or bright,
I would remove as much of foulness from it
As blood of mine will cleanse.
_Kent._ You have confessed!
O, God of truth, let man trust to thy mercy,
Not hope to cheat thy justice! You confessed?
Already I was doomed, but you--you might
Have lived. Ay, and you shall!
[_Comes near her and sees that her hands are fettered_]
In fetters? You?
By holy Heaven, though giants forged these on
I'd strip them off! [_Breaks her fetters_]
_Mar._ O, let me wear them, sir!
My bond of blessedness--for I am blest
In dying for your sin!
_Kent._ That word again?
My sin?
_Mar._ Forgive me, Hubert. 'Twas no sin.
Indeed, 'twas none. For you were not yourself.
'Twas madness. Heaven must forgive it thee.
_Kent._ God help thee, Margaret! Wouldst say I did it?
_Mar._ Not you, but heavy, secret woe that bred
A demon in your blood to strike poor Glaia,--
And too-dear love of me which vainly hoped
To give me peace where never peace could be.
O, look not so! At God's own throne 'twill be
Forgiven thee, for surely thou wert tried
As Heaven tries its own.
_Kent._ Art mad at last?
Thy crime confessed to all the world, and yet
Denied to me, the only heart that knows?
[_She gazes at him, bewildered_]
Poor soul, her madness has been slow enough.
Come, bruised darling, with thy blood-stained hands!
Thou 'rt mine, my only love!
[_Embracing her. She moves from him_]
_Mar._ 'Tis you that speak
Wild words. My blood-stained hands? They're free of blood
As the pure angel's who writes golden down
The saintliest deeds of men!
_Kent._ Whate'er thy words,
Thine eyes are true, and there's no madness in them.
But, Margaret, I found thee by her side----
_Mar._ 'Twas there I swooned----
_Kent._ The dagger in thy hand----
_Mar._ Yes, in my hand, but, Hubert--hear me, Hubert!
I saw you come from Glaia's curtained bed,
Slow and despairing, murmuring "She sleeps,"
As though you said she slept to wake no more.
I entered, saw her pale, drew back the coverlet--
There ran the stream that drained her beauty's rose--
There lay your dagger--yours. And then I thought
By dying there to save your life and name,
But fainted, O, too soon----
_Kent._ My heart, my heart!
O, had I done such deed would I have left
My dagger to confess it? Glaia called--
Not so--I dreamed she called--and going there,
Found her in deepest sleep--or thought I found
Her so--and touched her not lest she should stir
And know her woes again.
_Mar._ It was not you?
_Kent._ That question makes your tongue a dagger's point,
And yet my doubt of you was deeper wrong,
Measuring all the difference between
Man's grosser soul and woman's altar-lit.
O, Margaret, some serpent heart planned well
To do this deed and leave the guilt with me.
_Mar._ Who--who, my Hubert? Nay, it matters not,
Since 'twas not you--not you! In two small words
My heaven is built again!
_Kent._ We ne'er shall know.
I've foes enough, and one of them perhaps
So sought to cast me deeper by this crime,
And we shall wear his foul and scarlet mark
Even unto our graves,--for we must die.
_Mar._ Enough that we die sinless.
_Kent._ O, my love,
Who would have died for me!
_Mar._ And you, dear lord,
Who took such shame upon you for my sake!
_Kent._ Death was already on me, and 'twas naught
To make addition to my guilt. But you,
Your heart not pausing, leapt from safety's shore
Into the flood. O, might I live for thee!
A blessed bondman to thy merest wish,
From hour to hour to watch thy graces bloom
As various as Flora when she loves,
And in each furrow of thy brow that writ
Thee mortal set a new April mocking Time!
Then when no more I could dispute his doom,
Enter with thee a star-lit, sweet old age,
The fane of rest, and sanctuary where
All sorrows take their ease.
_Mar._ Think thou of Heaven.
_Kent._ But O, how dear this life! The immortal world
Is shrunk to shadow of a single thought,
And this contemned earth is sudden grown
Past circumscription of the mind's fond eye.
No-no--we must not die!
_Mar._ Wouldst tremble now?
When thou hast love beside thee? Nay, my lord,
Be yet the man of men, whose virtue drew
My wild resisting heart into its sun.
_Kent._ O, must we leave it all?--the gracious earth
Where we have loved, and heard the robins sing,
And built our nest that song might never cease?
Ah, I am weak, my sweet, and shine but in
The doting tear that dims a true wife's eye.
_Mar._ 'Tis not my love that paints thee radiant,
But thy own light illumes my eyes to love,
O, lord of mine, the kings of earth in vain
May hope to be thy shadowy parallel,
And where we go, in any court of air
Or cloud or heaven, still must thou be the one
Excelling star.
_Kent._ [_Clasping her_] Heart of the sun, beat here!
O, thy immortal fire will make Death warm
Ere he can make thee cold.
[_The turnkey opens door at end of corridor_]
_Mar._ My life, my soul!
_Kent._ O, God! Celestial marshaller of chance
To some far end of good, let me believe
Thy hand is here, and even on our heads.
[_The turnkey comes down_]
Ah, kiss me, kiss me, Heaven's Margaret.
Could I my life concentrate in one beat
I'd dwarf it so and give it in this kiss.
[_Curtain_]
SCENE 3. _A room in the earl of Albemarle's palace. A friar, and
the king in friar's dress, but uncowled, waiting._
_Hen._ This is a fitting room for Death's cold jest;
So proudly hung, and filled with comfort's chattels,
As though its owner hoped long respite from
A clayey bed. Where is the tenant, father?
_Friar._ She'll enter presently,--ah, even now.
[_Henry puts on cowl. Enter lady Albemarle, bearing a small box
which she holds to her bosom_]
_La. Alb._ Father, hast brought the holy man? The saint
Whose prayer may save the soul already damned.
_Fr._ Good daughter----
_La. Alb._ Ha! Good devil! That were better!
He's here? Well, send him back. I've changed my mind.
I will not see him,--no, nor you!
_Fr._ Farewell.
_La. Alb._ Nay, do not go! Wouldst leave a soul in hell
For humor of the tongue?
[_Friar returns to her_] My soul? Pah, sir!
You think a priest can save it? I want not
Your prayers, but your good service to set right
A wrong. Don't mumble over me! I speak
Because I'm dying. Had I hope to live,
Then right might shift for itself. And you call this
Repentance! Pah! Who can keep mum when death
Turns the last screw? You know the earl of Kent?
My brother?
_Fr._ Yes, my daughter.
_La. Alb._ I know that
Will make his peace with Henry--foolish king!
I must go back to tell you--years and years.
[_Turns away as if musing_]
_Fr._ Speak, lady, in God's name.
_La. Alb._ I'll tell you all.
But I'll not kneel. I've lived too much on knees.
... See? Albemarle! He has as many bodies
As he has wishes to keep spy on me.
... He's gone, and did not speak. He never speaks,
But there's a sort of beast sits in his heart
That growls and I do hear it.
_Fr._ Peace, good lady.
_La. Alb._ Ah, good again. Foul, foul and villainous!
Come here, thou holy man. To you I'll speak.
Dost think that ever I was beautiful,
And these long locks once bound a king to me?
_Hen._ A king?
_La. Alb._ Ay, royal John. A king indeed!
Angel to me though devil to the world.
None loved him but his Eleanor,--none, none!
The rest were mistresses unto his throne.
I gave my heart, he took me up to his.
Ah, father, do you think that is my sin?
That is my joy, my glory, my one pride.
I'll ne'er repent it until I repent
That e'er I smiled or felt myself alive.
Repent? Nay, father, not till I believe
That marble women are more dear to God
Than we whose hearts are warm with the same love
That beat in His when worlds leapt from His joy.
Come back, O golden summer, when there dwelt
Two happy beings in a magic wood,
Treading not earth but soft enchantment's air,
Until the beast came! There, do you not see him?
Away, black Albemarle! O, mercy, Heaven!
... Then there was Glaia, bud of our true love----
_Hen._ Glaia!
_La. Alb._ O, happy I, when he my king
Bent over me and said, "Sweet, she is ours!"
_Hen._ My sister!
_La. Alb._ What dost say? Thy sister? Ha!
Base monk, I tell thee that her blood was royal
As Henry's own! Ay, nobler! Who shall say
My spirit leapt not o'er pale Isabel's?
[_Retreats to couch by which is a small table. Puts box on table
and lays her head upon it, weeping_]
_Hen._ Then Glaia was my sister. Did you hear?
_Fr._ I heard what I well knew before
By my heart's guess, but had no proof of it.
_La. Alb._ [_Starting up_] Hear, father! You've heard
nothing yet. Last night
I killed her. Do you hear? I killed her.
_Hen._ O!
_La. Alb._ You hear? Ay, for you gasp and mutter prayers.
I thought to go and watch her while she slept,
And walked a devil with me who held close
A dagger--Hubert's--that's my brother, monk.
Still, still, ye swirling fiends that in my brain
Keep your hot dance! Be still!... She lay asleep,
Pain in her heart and beauty on her brow;
Her curls--her father's curls--around her face.
One fell upon my wrist--and see, a burn,
As though its gold were fire. She turned to me,
And murmured as her father did in sleep;
Then, in my hand the knife arose, and fell,
And as my brain rocked sick I heard him say,
My lover, bending o'er me, "She is ours." [_Pauses_]
_Hen._ And then?
_La. Alb._ What next I know not, but I think
Some cunning led me to conceal the deed
And make escape. I left the dagger there.
'Twas Hubert's. You had best be quick, or harm
Will come to him. The world is such a fool!
But wait--O, wait till I am dead! I am
A coward born, and life has bred me such.
Hark! Albemarle is coming! Lock the door!
[_Runs to the table and takes up the box_]
Look--in this box--my lover's letters--see!
I have the key. I'll give it to the devil,
And Albemarle may look for it in hell.
O, I am dying! Hide them for me, priest.
My letters from my king. I'll burn them all.
Nay, nay, sweet, pretty words, lie down with me.
Together we'll grow cold. Ye'd fire enough,
God wot! [_Lies on couch_]
Glaia is dead. Be quiet now.
Hast heard I was her mother? There's a secret--
No--no--I must not speak it--but 'twill out
By doomsgate, so they say. You are a priest;
Canst tell how far 'tis from the grave to hell?
You think they'll let me lie a little first
And see how 'tis to sleep? 'Tis a long walk,
I'll lie quite still, and give no trouble--none.
[_Dies_]
_Hen._ Help! Something to revive her.
_Fr._ It were vain.
Earth has not such restorative.
_Hen._ Not dead?
_Fr._ The heavenly amaranth alone can dew
Her brow with life.
_Hen._ O, Hubert! What am I?
Let me crawl to thy feet, cast off my crown
As I cast off this cowl, and lie in dust
Before thee! O, too late! [_To friar_]
'Tis as you guessed.
And each confessed in sacrificial love
Hoping to save the other. Tell me now
Who plays the angel here?
_Fr._ My liege, one who
Would not be here but that he fears no death.
[_Removes his cowl_]
_Hen._ Roland!
_Wynne._ My king!
_Hen._ Not king, but friend,
And equal in this woe. Rise! 'Tis no time
To kneel. What must we do? Now Margaret
Is safe--but Hubert? Even now they doom him.
Barons and church are leagued to prove him guilty,
Nor have I power against their proof to pardon
And keep my throne.
_Wynne._ Take courage. Thou art king.
_Hen._ To th' tower then. If majesty is yet
A word of might, we'll dare them all.
_Wynne._ Now speaks
Yourself.
_Hen._ I'll be the king!
_Wynne._ You fill my heart
With singing prophecies.
_Hen._ But first we'll give
An order for the noble burial
Of this poor woman. Glaia's mother, Roland.
She called me brother, and would have it so.
Ah, little sister, did the angels tell you?
You lived so much with them.... 'Twas I who killed her.
My very hand, and not this poor mad woman's.
I slew them both. Oh, oh, oh!
_Wynne._ Dear my lord,
Leave grief unto the grave, that it best decks;
The living call us now.
_Hen._ You talk so, sir,
Who did not love her.
_Wynne._ O, my lord!
_Hen._ You did.
Forgive me, friend, that I forgot your heart.
_Wynne._ If constancy past sacrifice of hope
Is love, I loved her, sire. If to be true
To every wish that rises from her grave
Is love, I love her still. But you, my liege,
Cloud your fidelity, wasting in tears
The moments now devoted by the stars
To rescue one she loved.
_Hen._ Shame me no more.
We'll give an order here, then to the tower!
[_Exeunt_]
ACT IV
SCENE 1. _The council chamber in the Tower of London. Barons and
prelates assembled. Archbishop of Canterbury presiding. Princess
Adelais present, attended by several French nobles and her women.
She advances before the archbishop._
_Ade._ Ye peers of England, and ye men of God,
Humbly I make my suit. Not as a princess
With vassal pomp and power to awe the eye
And judgment take fore-captive, though a score
Of buried kings have dowered me with veins
Of high regality; nor sue I with
The holy potency of Heaven's pontiff,
Though his own mouth would speak if I were silent,
As speak the skies when tempests chasten earth.
But here, my lords, a lonely woman kneels;
A weary mother weeping her lost son.
You know how all my better years were spent
In that dark wild where wander minds dethroned.
When the dear world came back to me, my cry
Was for my babe--no more a babe, but up
To manhood shot as in a single hour.
And as the hunger takes some starving wretch,
Desire upon me seized to know his love,
And on his breast to die. My lords, mayhap
I am as old as is the oldest here,
But O, so poor in time. I've but that youth,
Brief youth that held its morning roses up
And fled, and this bare, aged now that drops
But aching moments till I've found my son.
_Cant._ Rise, royal Adelais! Believe that we
Have hearts of men, and know the love of mothers.
But to give back your son belongs to Him
Whose voice doth open graves and call the dead.
_Ade._ My heart cries that he lives! O, he was here
Five years ago--five little years. Why, 'twas
But yesterday! This letter tells you, sirs.
"Brave and right royal. Great Henry's worthy son."
This letter from the man who guarded him,
Geoffrey de Burgh, an honest, good old man,
And faithful to his king. He could not have
A son so cruel as to kill my son,
Or rob the world of what did so adorn it
And yet none know.
_Cant._ In grief I say 'tis so;
And England lies in shame that her chief lord,
Raised to administer her vaunted justice,
Should prove so base, so foul, that----
_Ade._ O, my lord,
He must be nobler than you think, else would your king
Lift him so high?--make him his friend,
And with an earldom top his risen fortune?
May be he overcapped too many whom
His guilt would please more than his innocence.
_Cant._ We've given him fair and open trial. Urged him
In name of God and England to declare
His knowledge of the precious living charge
His father left to him. But he is brazen
In flat denial.
_Ade._ O, your eminence,
May I not see him? Let me plead for truth
With a poor mother's tears.
_Cant._ You will but hear
The unblushing lie which we have sought to spare you.
_Ade._ O, let me see him!
_Cant._ Kent, step forth and tell
This suffering princess what you will.
_Kent._ [_Coming out from guards_] Dear madam,
Your tears are suitors to my pity----
_Ade._ Henry!
_Kent._ Each drop a supplicant that I would ease
Were such sweet power mine. But, by my soul,
And by the mother's love I never knew
Though dreamed on, I am innocent of blood,
Nor did I ever see or know your son.
_Ade._ Ah, I have found him, lords! O, you old men,
If any here be old, do you not hear
The mighty Henry speak in this young voice?
My grandsire, Louis, bends that brow on me,
That eye has flashed such light from 'neath a crown.
[_To Kent_] Be not amazed; thou art my only born.
Thy mother's heart could not so falsely beat
As to deny thee! England, be glad with me!
_Count de Rouillet._ O, pity, Heaven! She is mad again.
_Win._ Take her away.
_Ade._ Away? When I have found him?
By those blest stars that drew my feet to his,
I'll not go hence till he may go with me!
_Kent._ Dear lady, go. I'll come to thee in time.
_Ade._ I am thy mother. Wilt not call me so?
I've cleared my vision with a sea of tears
And can not be deceived.
_Cant._ Wouldst call a villain son? A man condemned?
Whose headsman waits even now?
_Ade._ What has he done?
God does not lie, and 'twas his hand that writ
This countenance to mark a noble mind,
And not to be a villain's fair decoy.
Ah, murder him, but the same axe will strike
My life away, for never shall he go
From out my arms!
_One of her women._ Come, dearest lady.
_Win._ Ay,
She must depart. [_To Rouillet_] Pray, lead her off, my lord.
She interrupts the court.
_Ade._ You'd force me, sir?
Ah, true, I am in England. O, my lords,
I beg you let me stay! I'll not disturb you,
But sit as quiet as the stone I am.
[_Takes a seat. Her women attend her_]
You see, my lords, I'm calm. I have no son.
_Win._ [_To Canterbury_] This time is poorly spared.
Pray you, proceed.
_Cant._ Hear then your sentence, Hubert, earl of Kent,
And Margaret, his wife, stand forth with him.
Unto the block you both shall go forthwith----
_A guard at door._ The king!
_Win._ The king? The doors are closed to all!
_Hen._ [_Entering_] All but the king, lord bishop. Margaret,
I bring a gift--your freedom. Ah, you sinned
When you confessed your guilt, but not before.
Our dearest Glaia died not by your hand,
Nor yet by Kent's. First, lords, know you
The maiden was the daughter of my father--
Ay, ay, there's proof. She was the child of John
And a fair lady of his court and ours,
Who, dying, made confession to her priest----
_Win._ A priest? We know, my lord and king, that priests
Oft sell reports unto the devil's purse.
_Hen._ That from a churchman?
_Win._ Would an honest priest
Betray confession?
_Hen._ This was given, sir,
For open use in Kent's defence. In short,
I was that priest, my lord, and played the monk
To better purpose than I've played the king.
_Cant._ Your majesty----
_Hen._ Is pleased to speak, your grace
This then, my lords, proves Kent had holy reason
For thwarting my vain love.
_Alb._ Could this be true
And Kent not speak when a bare word had saved him?
_Hen._ Have you been home to-day, my lord?
_Alb._ My liege,
Since morn I've ridden hard, and was much pushed
To arrive in season for the trial.
_Hen._ What news
From north?
_Alb._ 'Twas south I rode, your majesty,
About my shore estates.
_Pem._ Sire, I informed you----
_Hen._ Ay, so.
_Alb._ What should I do at home, my liege?
_Hen._ Comfort your lady, who fast droops to death.
_Alb._ My wife? But she was well when I set forth.
_Hen._ You'll find her changed! But we must speak of Kent.
My lords, he was close pledged not to betray
The maiden's parentage for this good reason.
Her mother was his sister, living in dread
Of her harsh present lord, and she besought,
Past power to resist, his oath to die
Ere he should make it known. I know not who
Of you would prove so true to oaths if death
Lay in the keeping, or what hearts are here
Would drain themselves to guard a sister's life.
_Cant._ Who is this sister, sire?
_Alb._ This shows that kings
May even be duped like poorer men. All know
That Kent's sole sister is my countess.
_Hen._ Sir,
We've no mind to deny you. It is she
We mean,--the lady Albemarle.
[_Albemarle staggers_]
_Pem._ My lord----
_Alb._ Air! Stand from me! Give way! I must be gone!
_Hen._ We must command you stay.
_Alb._ This air is poison!
_Hen._ Stay, sir!
_Alb._ I say not to the king 'tis false,
But to each British lord who hears I swear
'Tis a foul lie!
_Hen._ My ears, sir, registered
Her last confession, that 'twas her hand struck
Her daughter's heart, her child and John's.
_Alb._ Let go!
It was her malady that spoke. I'll to her
And rival death in tortures! God, I will----
_Hen._ Death has outstripped you, sir. Her breath is gone.
_Alb._ Then I'll inflict her body till her ghost
Comes back to shriek in it!
_Hen._ You're yet too late.
We've given orders for her due interment
As mother of our sister.
_Alb._ Ha! My servants!
You guard my house?
_Hen._ We do, my lord.
_Win._ [_Aside to Canterbury_] Haste, sir,
Or Kent will yet escape.
_Cant._ Your majesty,
The lady Margaret, thanks to Heaven and you,
Is now at liberty, but the life of Kent
Is forfeited. He must at once to doom.
_Hen._ Already sentenced, sir? You're hasty reaching
Your black conclusion. Stay a little----
_Cant._ Sire,
We moved with deference, respecting him
Who for a time had lived within your bosom.
To longer stay his death would tempt the skies
To draw their mercy from us, seeing it were
So basely used. Guards here for Kent!
_Hen._ O, stay
One moment, please your eminence. My lord
Of Winchester, I'd see again the papers
First gave excuse to put this guilt on Kent.
_Win._ And here they are, my liege.
[_Gives him papers_]
There you will read
Of the great trust consigned by Henry Second
To Geoffrey de Burgh, and by him to his son,
As Adelais brings proof.
[_Enter Wynne, carrying a small box_]
_Wynne._ Your majesty----
_Hen._ [_Reading_] Your patience! Presently we'll hear you.
_Pem._ What!
The lord of Wynne returned?
_Alb._ Returned! I doubt
If he has seen salt water.
_Pem._ But I hope
He has not bent a wizard's eye upon
Our secrets.
_Hen._ Hear, my lords, this paper given
By dying Pembroke to our Winchester,
Signed, ay, and written, by our grandsire king.
[_Reads_] "And for we know that envious ills assail
The nobly born when not by wedlock blest----"
_Win._ Nay--'tis not that! My lord, I beg--it is
The other paper!
_Hen._ [_Reading_] "Till he be a man
And cast a weighty spear, let him be called
De Burgh, and known as Geoffrey's son----"
_Win._ Hear me----
_Hen._ Peter des Roches, here's matter for your death,
Which at your humble suit we'll moderate
To banishment.
_Win._ O, blasted be this hand----
_Wynne._ Curse not the unlucky hand that bared thy sin,
For we have other proof of Kent's high birth.
Within this box where lady Albemarle
Treasured the tokens from her kingly love,
I found a paper of another tenor,--
A letter from her father, old De Burgh,
To be delivered at his death to one
Called Hubert, his supposed son, wherein
He tells him of his birth and bids him claim
Name and estate as his great father willed.
You know the words, my fallen Winchester,--
"Rockingham, Harle, Beham and Fotheringay,
With strongest Bedford as his ducal seat."
This letter, as we know, was kept from Kent,
And where 'twas found best tells the why thereof.
_Ade._ [_Rising_] Who will deny me now? Must I keep still,
Ye lords of England? Have I yet your leave
T' embrace my son?
_Kent._ [_Crossing to her_] We'll ask no leave, my mother.
Do dreams take flesh, and prayers become alive?
For I have dreamed and prayed to see your face,
Though but in vision, thinking you in Heaven;
And all my life your voice like far off singing
Has followed me. Sometimes it seemed 'twould near
If I might wait in silence, wooing it,
But life that waits no longing pushed me on
With the old loss new in my heart.
_Ade._ My son!
My only son! O, twice thou'rt born to me!
_Kent._ And I must double yet thy joy, for see
Thy daughter too. [_Presents Margaret_]
_Mar._ [_To Adelais_] If thou wilt call me so.
[_Adelais embraces Margaret_]
_Hen._ Those castles, Albemarle, which were your boast,
Must now revert to their right lordly owner,
The earl of Kent.
_Alb._ Take them, my liege, take all,
But leave me this good sword which I would wear
As your most loyal subject.
_Hen._ Nay, my lord,
Your service past but illy recommends you.
You are our prisoner. Guards for Albemarle!
_Alb._ What does this mean? You cast your crown by this!
_Hen._ It means, proud man, you are a traitor proved.
You galloped hard last night, and 'twas to death.
Those troops you called on pretence to avenge
The death of Kent will be by Kent commanded.
_Alb._ [_To Wynne_] 'Tis you who've brought this hell
upon me, villain!
_Hen._ By your good patience, he is not a villain!
I know not all his merit, but enough
To make him my chief general; asking first
His guard against this plotting Poitevin--
This unfrocked bishop--should he e'er attempt
To make new friends and land upon our shores.
_Wynne._ Sire, in my arms he'll find a barrier
High as the devil sealed to enter Heaven.
_Alb._ [_To Pembroke_] Be lightning in my cause, if you
would save me!
_Pem._ I go at once to raise what power I can.
_Hen._ Out, guards, with Albemarle, and keep him close
Till he go forth to death.
[_Exit Albemarle under guard. Pembroke is hurrying out_]
Stay, Pembroke. You
Have been too close his brother. 'Tis a pity
To sever you in death, but for the sake
Of your great father dead we're lenient
And banish you the kingdom.
_Pem._ Sire, I go.
[_Exit_]
_Hen._ [_To officer_] Follow him, sir, and see him straightway shipped.
[_Exit officer_]
Now Kent may ask and have. What gift shall speak
My great affection? What thy dearest wish?
_Kent._ Let him not ask for more, who has the love
Of Margaret, his mother, and his king.
[_Curtain_]
THE SHEPHERD
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
_CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY_
ADRIAN LAVROV, _the Shepherd of Lonz_
PETER VETROVA, _an old peasant_
CATHERINE, _Vetrova's wife_
VASIL, _grandson of Peter and Catherine_
VERA, _sister to Vasil_
KORELENKO, _betrothed to Vera_
PRINCESS SOPHIE TRAVINSKI
KALUSHKIN, SIMEON, GREGORI, UGO, _peasants of Lonz_
ANNA, ULIANA, _neighbors to the Vetrovas_
GREGORIEF, _an ex-prisoner_
GALOVKINE, _a doctor_
MANLIEF, _a student_
COLONEL ORLOFF, _of the Czar's army_
IRTENIEFF, ZARKOFF, _officers_
_Soldiers_, _revolutionists_, _peasants_, _&c._
SCENE: _A peasant home in Russia_
TIME: _June, nineteen hundred and five_
NOTE.--The song episode in Act II is adapted from "The Green Book," by
Maurus Jokai.
ACT I
SCENE 1. _A room in Peter Vetrova's cottage. Door opens centre
rear into a little yard beyond which is the village street. Centre
right, door into Lavrov's room. Right second entrance leads to
kitchen and garden. Between the two doors right a large brick
stove whitewashed and at present unused. Shelf above stove. A loom
stands in right hand corner rear. A window in rear wall between
loom and door. Before window a small table on which are student's
books and papers. On left side of door a small, rude cabinet is
built in the wall about six feet from floor. A wide bench stands
under cabinet. A small high window in left wall. Near front, very
high up on wall left, hangs a half length portrait of the Saviour._
_A table left of centre. Bench before loom. Two or three stools,
one or two plain chairs; and a larger chair, of peasant make, near
table centre._
_Glimpses of grass and a fruit-tree in bloom seen through open door
and window rear._
_Vetrova discovered, making bark shoes. Catherine sits near him in
the large chair, sewing. Vera at loom. Vasil in door rear with
violin. He ceases playing as curtain rises._
_Vetrova._ That brings back young days, mother.
_Catherine._ The summer is getting into your head, Petrovich.
_Vet._ My heels too. If the boy plays any more I shall forget my broken
bones and be off to the forest.
_Vasil._ I'll keep on forever if I can play your crutch away,
grandfather.
_Cath._ [_Hastily, as Vasil raises the bow_] No! Enough for to-day.
_Vera._ [_To herself, as she weaves_] Rags--rags--_rags_! O, if
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