KING. Know you, where-e'er a spring is nigh? Fain would I drink, I am right dry.

ROB. H. I have a drink within my bower Of pleasant taste and sovereign power: My reverend uncle gives it me, To give unto your majesty.

KING. I would be loth, indeed, being in heat To drink cold water. Let us to thy bower.

ROB. H. Run, Friar, before, And bid my uncle be in readiness.

FRIAR. Gone in a trice[276] on such good business.

[Exeunt omnes.



SCENE III.[277]

Enter MARIAN, with a white apron.

MAR. What, Much! What, Jenny! Much, I say!

MUCH. What's the matter, mistress?

MAR. I pray thee, see the fueller Suffer the cook to want no wood. Good Lord, where is this idle girl? Why, Jenny!

JENNY (within). I come, forsooth.

MAR. I pray thee, bring the flowers forth.

MUCH. I'll go send her, mistress, and help the cooks, if they have any need.

MAR. Despatch, good Much. What, Jen, I say!

Enter JENNY.

MUCH. Hie ye, hie ye! she calls for life. [Exit MUCH.

MAR. Indeed, indeed, you do me wrong, To let me cry, and call so long.

JEN. Forsooth, I straw'd[278] the dining bowers, And smooth'd the walks with herbs and flowers. The yeomen's tables I have spread, Dress'd salts, laid trenchers, set on bread. Nay, all is well, I warrant you.

MAR. You are not well, I promise you, Your 'foresleeves are not pinn'd; fie, fie! And all your head-gear stands awry. Give me the flowers. Go in, for shame, And quickly see you mend the same.

[Exit JENNY.

Enter SIR DONCASTER, PRIOR. MARIAN strewing flowers.

DON. How busy Mistress Marian is! She thinks this is her day of bliss.

PRIOR. But it shall be the wofull'st day That ever chanc'd her, if I may.

MAR. Why are you two thus in the air? Your wounds are green. Good coz, have care.

PRIOR. Thanks for your kindness, gentle maid: My cousin Robert us hath prayed To help him in his business.

Enter FRIAR.

FRIAR. Sir Doncaster, Sir Doncaster!

DON. Holla!

FRIAR. I pray you, did you see the Prior?

PRIOR. Why, here I am. What wouldst thou. Friar?

FRIAR. The king is heated in the chase, And posteth hitherward apace. He told my master he was dry, And he desires ye presently To send the drink whereof ye spake.

PRIOR. Come, it is here: haste let us make.

[Exeunt DONCASTER, PRIOR, and FRIAR.

_Horns blow.

Enter_ KING, QUEEN, JOHN, SCARLET, SCATHLOCK, ELY, FITZWATER, SALISBURY, CHESTER.

MARIAN kneels down.

MAR. Most gracious sovereign, welcome once again: Welcome to you and all your princely train.

KING. Thanks, lovely hostess; we are homely guests. Where's Robin Hood? he promis'd me some drink.

MAR. Your handmaid, Robin, will not then be long: The Friar, indeed, came running to his uncle, Who, with Sir Doncaster, were here with me, And all together went for such a drink.

KING. Well, in a better time it could not come, For I am very hot and passing dry.

Enter ROBIN HOOD, with a cup, a towel, leading DONCASTER: TUCK and MUCH pulling the PRIOR.

ROB. H. Traitor! I'll draw thee out before the king.

FRIAR. Come, murderous Prior.

MUCH. Come, ye dog's face.

KING. Why, how now, Robin? Where's the drink you bring?

ROB. H. Lay hold on these! Far be it I should bring your majesty The drink these two prepared for your taste.

KING. Why, Robin Hood? be brief and answer me. I am amazed at thy troubled looks.

ROB. H. Long will not my ill-looks amaze your grace; I shortly look never to look again.

MAR. Never to look! What, will it still be night? If thou look never, day can never be. What ails my Robin? Wherefore dost thou faint?

ROB. H. Because I cannot stand: yet now I can. [KING and MARIAN support him. Thanks to my king, and thanks to Marian.

KING. Robin, be brief, and tell us what hath chanc'd.

ROB. H. I must be brief, for I am sure of death, Before a long tale can be half-way told.

FITZ. Of death, my son! bright sun of all my joy! Death cannot have the power of[279] virtuous life.

ROB. H. Not o'er[280] the virtues, but the life it can.

KING. What, dost thou speak of death? how shouldst thou die?

ROB. H. By poison and the Prior's treachery.

QUEEN. Why, take this sovereign powder at my hands: Take it, and live in spite of poison's power.

DON. Ay, set him forward. Powders, quoth ye? hah! I am a fool, then, if a little dust, The shaving of a horn, a Bezoar stone,[281] Or any antidote have power to stay The execution of my heart's resolve. Tut, tut! you labour, lovely queen, in vain, And on a thankless groom your toil bestow. Now hath your foe reveng'd you of your foe: Robin shall die, if all the world said no.[282]

MAR. How the wolf howls! Fly, like a tender kid, Into thy shepherd's bosom. Shield me, love! Canst thou not, Robin? Where shall I be hid? O God! these ravens will seize upon thy dove.

ROB. H. They cannot hurt thee; pray thee, do not fear: Base curs will couch, the lion being near.

QUEEN. How works my powder?

ROB. H. Very well, fair queen.

KING. Dost thou feel any ease?

ROB. H. I shall, I trust, anon: Sleep falls upon mine eyes. O, I must sleep, And they that love me, do not waken me.

MAR. Sleep in my lap, and I will sing to thee.

JOHN. He should not sleep.

ROB. H. I must, for I must die; While I live, therefore, let me have some rest.

FITZ. Ay, let him rest: the poison urges sleep. When he awakes, there is no hope of life.

DON. Of life! Now, by the little time I have to live, He cannot live one hour for your lives.

KING. Villain! what art thou?

DON. Why, I am a knight.

CHES. Thou wert indeed. If it so please your grace, I will describe my knowledge of this wretch.

KING. Do, Chester.

CHES. This Doncaster, for so the felon hight, Was by the king, your father, made a knight, And well in arms he did himself behave. Many a bitter storm the wind of rage Blasted this realm within those woful days, When the unnatural fights continued Between your kingly father and his sons. This cutthroat, knighted in that time of woe, Seized on a beauteous nun at Berkhamstead, As we were marching toward Winchester, After proud Lincoln was compell'd to yield. He took this virgin straying in the field— For all the nuns and every covent[283] fled The dangers that attended on our troops: For those sad times too oft did testify, War's rage hath no regard to piety— She humbly pray'd him, for the love of heaven, To guide her to her father's, two miles thence: He swore he would, and very well he might, For to the camp he was a forager. Upon the way they came into a wood, Wherein, in brief, he stripp'd this tender maid: Whose lust, when she in vain had long withstood, Being by strength and torments overlaid, He did a sacrilegious deed of rape, And left her bathed in her own tears and blood. When she reviv'd, she to her father's got, And got her father to make just complaint Unto your mother, being then in camp.

QUEEN. Is this the villain, Chester, that defil'd Sir Eustace Stutville's chaste and beauteous child?

DON. Ay, madam, this is he That made a wench dance naked in a wood; And, for she did deny what I desired, I scourg'd her for her pride, till her fair skin With stripes was checquer'd like a vintner's grate.[284] And what was this? A mighty matter, sure! I have a thousand more than she defil'd, And cut the squeaking throats of some of them— I grieve I did not hers.

QUEEN. Punish him, Richard. A fairer virgin never saw the sun; A chaster maid was never sworn a nun.

KING. How 'scaped the villain punishment that time?

FITZ. I rent his spurs off, and disgraded him.

CHES. And then he rail'd upon the Queen and me. Being committed, he his keeper slew, And to your father fled, who pardon'd him.

RICH. God give his soul a pardon for that sin.

SAL. O, had I heard his name or seen his face, I had defended Robin from this chance! Ah, villain! shut those gloomy lights of thine. Remember'st thou a little son of mine, Whose nurse at Wilton first thou ravishedst, And slew'st two maids that did attend on them?

DON. I grant I dash'd the brains out of a brat— Thine if he were, I care not: had he been The first-born comfort of a royal king, And should have yall'd, when Doncaster cried peace, I would have done by him as then I did.

KING. Soon shall the world be rid of such a wretch. Let him be hang'd alive in the highway That joineth to the tower.[285]

DON. Alive or dead (I reck not how I die), You, them, and these I desperately defy.

ELY. Repent, or never look to be absolv'd; But die accurs'd, as thou deservest well.

DON. Then give me my desert: curse, one by one!

ELY. First I accurse thee; and if thou persist, Unto damnation leave thee, wretched man.

DON. What do I care for your damnation? Am I not doomed to death? what more damnation Can there ensue your loud and yelling cries?

PRIOR. Yes, devil! hear thy fellow-spirit speak— Who would repent; O, fain he would repent!— After this body's bitter punishment, There is an ever-during endless woe, A quenchless fire, an unconsuming pain, Which desperate souls and bodies must endure.

DON. Can you preach this, yet set me on, Sir Prior, To run into this endless, quenchless fire?

PRIOR. High heavens, show mercy to my many ills! Never had this been done, but like a fiend Thou temptedst me with ceaseless devilish thoughts. Therefore I curse with bitterness of soul The hour wherein I saw thy baleful eyes. My eyes I curse for looking on those eyes! My ears I curse for hearkening to thy tongue! I curse thy tongue for tempting of mine ears! Each part I curse, that we call thine or mine; Thine for enticing mine, mine following thine!

DON. A holy prayer. What collect have we next?

[This time ROBIN stirs.

FITZ. My Marian wanteth words, such is her woe; But old Fitzwater, for his girl and him, Begs nothing but world's plague for such a foe, Which causeless harm'd a virtuous nobleman, A pitier of his griefs, when he felt grief. Therefore, bethink thee of thy hateful deed, Thou faithless Prior, and thou this ruthless thief.

PRIOR. Will no man curse me, giving so much cause? Then, Doncaster, ourselves ourselves accurse, And let no good betide to thee or me!

[All the Yeomen, FRIAR, MUCH, JENNY cry.

ALL. Amen, amen! accursed may he be For murdering Robin, flower of courtesy.

[ROBIN sits up.

ROB. H. O, ring not such a peal for Robin's death! Let sweet forgiveness be my passing bell. Art thou there, Marian? then fly forth, my breath: To die within thy arms contents me well.

PRIOR. Keep in, keep in a little while thy soul, Till I have pour'd my soul forth at thy feet.

ROB. H. I slept not, uncle; I your grief did hear, Let him forgive thy soul that bought it dear: Your body's deed I in my death forgive, And humbly beg the king that you may live. Stand to your clergy, uncle;[286] save your life, And lead a better life than you have done.

PRIOR. O, gentle nephew! O, my brother's son, Thou dying glory of old Huntington! Wishest thou life to such a murderous foe? I will not live, since thou must life forego. O, happy Warman! blessed in thy end; Now too-too late thy truth I do commend. O, nephew, nephew! Doncaster and I Murder'd poor Warman, for he did deny To join with us in this black tragedy.

ROB. H. Alas, poor Warman! Friar, Little John, I told ye both where Warman's body lay, And of his burial I'll dispose anon.

KING. Is there no law, Lord Ely, to convict This Prior, that confesses murders thus?

ELY. He is a hallow'd man, and must be tried And punish'd by the censure of the church.

PRIOR. The church therein doth err: God doth allow No canon to preserve a murderer's life. Richard! King Richard! in thy grandsire's days A law was made, the clergy sworn thereto, That whatsoever churchman did commit Treason or murder, or false felony, Should like a secular be punished. Treason we did, for sure we did intend King Richard's poisoning, sovereign of this land. Murder we did, in working Warman's end And my dear nephew's by this fatal hand: And theft we did, for we have robb'd the king, The state, the nobles, commons, and his men, Of a true peer, firm pillar, liberal lord. Fitzwater we have robbed of a kind son, And Marian's love-joys we have quite undone.

DON. Whoop! what a coil is here with your confession!

PRIOR. I ask but judgment for my foul transgression.

KING. Thy own mouth hath condemn'd thee. Hence with him! Hang this man dead, then see him buried; But let the other hang alive in chains.

DON. I thank you, sir.

[Exeunt Yeomen, FRIAR, Prisoners, MUCH.

JOHN. Myself will go, my lord, And see sharp justice done upon these slaves.

ROB. H. O, go not hence, Prince John! a word or two, Before I die, I fain would say to you.

KING. Robin, we see what we are sad to see— Death, like a champion, treading down thy life: Yet in thy end, somewhat to comfort thee, We freely give to thy betrothed wife, Beauteous and chaste Matilda, all those lands, Fallen by thy folly to the Prior's hands, And by his fault now forfeited to me. Earl Huntington, she shall thy countess be: And thy wight yeomen, they shall wend with me Against the faithless enemies of Christ.

ROB. H. Bring forth a bier, and cover it with green; That on my deathbed I may here sit down. [A bier is brought in. He sits. At Robin's burial let no black be seen, Let no hand give for him a mourning gown; For in his death his king hath given him life By this large gift, given to his maiden wife. Chaste maid Matilda, countess of account, Chase with thy bright eyes all these clouds of woe From these fair cheeks; I pray thee, sweet, do so: Think it is bootless folly to complain For that which never can be had again. Queen Elinor, you once were Matilda's foe; Prince John, you long sought her unlawful love: Let dying Robin Hood entreat you both To change those passions: madam, turn your hate To princely love: Prince John, convert your love To virtuous passion, chaste and moderate. O, that your gracious right hands would enfold Matilda's right hand, prison'd in my palm, And swear to do what Robin Hood desires!

QUEEN. I swear I will: I will a mother be To fair Matilda's life and chastity.

JOHN. When John solicits chaste Matilda's ears With lawless suits, as he hath often done, Or offers to the altars of her eyes Lascivious poems, stuff'd with vanities, He craves to see but short and sour days: His death be like to Robin's he desires; His perjured body prove a poison'd prey For cowled monks and barefoot begging friars.

ROB. H. Enough, enough! Fitzwater, take your child. My dying frost, which no sun's heat can thaw, Closes the powers of all my outward parts: My freezing blood runs back unto my heart, Where it assists death, which it would resist: Only my love a little hinders death, For he beholds her eyes, and cannot smite: Then go not yet, Matilda, stay awhile. Friar, make speed, and list my latest will.

MAT. O, let me look for ever in thy eyes, And lay my warm breath to thy bloodless lips, If my sight can restrain death's tyrannies, Or keep life's breath within thy bosom lock'd.

ROB. H. Away, away! Forbear, my love; all this is but delay.

FITZ. Come, maiden daughter, from my maiden son, And give him leave to do what must be done.

ROB. H. First, I bequeath my soul to all souls Sav'our, And will my body to be buried At Wakefield, underneath the abbey wall; And in this order make my funeral. When I am dead, stretch me upon this bier! My beads and primer shall my pillow be; On this side be my bow, my good shafts here; Upon my breast the cross, and underneath My trusty sword, thus fasten'd in the sheath. Let Warman's body at my feet be laid, Poor Warman, that in my defence did die. For holy dirges sing me woodmen's songs, As ye to Wakefield walk with voices shrill. This for myself. My goods and plate I give Among my yeomen: them I do bestow Upon my sovereign Richard. This is all. My liege, farewell! my love, farewell, farewell! Farewell, fair Queen, Prince John, and noble lords! Father Fitzwater, heartily adieu! Adieu, my yeomen tall. Matilda, close mine eyes. Friar, farewell! farewell to all!

MAT. O, must my hands with envious death conspire To shut the morning gates of my life's light!

FITZ. It is a duty and thy love's desire! I'll help thee, girl, to close up Robin's sight.[287]

KING. Laments are bootless, tears cannot restore Lost life, Matilda; therefore weep no more: And since our mirth is turned into moan, Our merry sport to tragic funeral, We will prepare our power for Austria, After Earl Robert's timeless burial. Fall to your wood-songs, therefore, yeomen bold. And deck his hearse with flowers, that loved you dear: Dispose his goods as he hath them dispos'd. Fitzwater and Matilda, bide you here. See you the body unto Wakefield borne: A little we will bear ye company, But all of us at London 'point to meet: Thither, Fitzwater, bring Earl Robin's men; And, Friar, see you come along with them.

FRIAR. Ah, my liege lord! the Friar faints, And hath no words to make complaints: But since he must forsake this place, He will await, and thanks your grace.

_Song.

Weep, weep, ye woodmen, wail, Your hands with sorrow wring; Your master Robin Hood lies dead, Therefore sigh as you sing.

Here lie his primer and his beads, His bent bow and his arrows keen, His good sword and his holy cross: Now cast on flowers fresh and green;

And as they fall, shed tears and say, Wella, wella-day! wella, wella-day: Thus cast ye flowers and sing, And on to Wakefield take your way_.

[Exeunt.

FRIAR. Here doth the Friar leave with grievance; Robin is dead, that graced his entrance, And being dead, he craves his audience With this short play they would have patience.[288]

Enter CHESTER.

CHES. Nay, Friar, at the request of thy kind friend, Let not thy play too soon be at an end. Though Robin Hood be dead, his yeomen gone, And that thou think'st there now remains not one To act another scene or two for thee, Yet know full well, to please this company, We mean to end Matilda's tragedy.

FRIAR. Off then, I wish you, with your Kendal green; Let not sad grief in fresh array be seen. Matilda's story is replete with tears, Wrongs, desolations, ruins, deadly fears. In, and attire ye. Though I tired be, Yet will I tell my mistress' tragedy. Apollo's masterdom[289] I invocate, To whom henceforth my deeds I dedicate; That of his godhead, 'bove all gods divine, With his rich spirit he would lighten mine: That I may sing true lays of trothless deeds, Which to conceive my heart through sorrow bleeds, Cheer thee, sad soul, and in a lofty line Thunder out wrong, compass'd in cloudy tears:

[Enter in black.[290]

Show to the eyes, fill the beholders' ears, With all the lively acts of lustful rage, Restrain'd by modest tears and chastity's intreats: And let King John, that ill-part[291] personage, By suits, devices, practices, and threats, And when he sees all serveth to no end, Of chaste Matilda let him make an end.

CHO. We are all fitted, Friar: shall we begin?

FRIAR. Well art thou suited: would my order would Permit me habit equal to my heart!

CHO. If you remember, John did take an oath Never again to seek Matilda's love.

FRIAR. O, what is he, that's sworn affection's slave, That will not violate all laws, all oaths? And, being mighty, what will he omit To compass his intents, though ne'er so ill?— You must suppose King Richard now is dead, And John, resistless, is fair England's lord Who, striving to forget Matilda's love, Takes to his wife the beauteous Isabel, Betroth'd to Hugh le Brun, Earl of North-March:[292] And picking quarrels under show of kin, Wholly divorces his first queen away. But yet Matilda still-still troubles him, And being in the court, so oft he courts her, That by her noble father, old Fitzwater, She is remov'd from his lust-tempting eye. But tides restrain'd o'erswell their bounds with rage: Her absence adds more fuel to his fire. In sleep he sees her, and his waking thoughts Study by day to compass his desire.

CHO. Friar, since now you speak of visions, It was received by tradition From those that were right near unto King John, Of three strange visions that to him appear'd; And, as I guess, I told you what they were.

FRIAR. With them I will begin. Draw but that veil, And there King John sits sleeping in his chair.

[Draw the curtain: the king sits sleeping, his sword by his side. Enter Austria, before whom cometh Ambition, and bringing him before the chair, King John in sleep maketh signs to avoid, and holdeth his own crown fast with both his hands.

FRIAR. Ambition, that had ever waited on King John, Now brings him Austria, easy to be ta'en, Being wholly tam'd by Richard's warlike hand. And bids him add that dukedom to his crown: But he puts by Ambition, and contemns All other kingdoms but the English crown, Which he holds fast, as if he would not loose[293].

[Enter Constance, leading Young Arthur: both offer to take the crown; but with his foot he overturneth them: to them cometh Insurrection, led by the F.K. and L.[294] menacing him, and leads the child again to the chair; but he only layeth hand on his sword, and with his foot overthroweth the child, whom they take up as dead; and, Insurrection flying, they mournfully bear in the body.

FRIAR. The lady and the child that did ascend, Striving in vain to take the crown from John, Were Constance and her son the Duke of Britain, Heir to the elder brother of the king: Yet he sleeps on, and with a little spurn The mother and the prince doth overturn. Again, when Insurrection them assists, Stirr'd by the French king and the wronged earl, Whose troth-plight wife King John had ta'en to wife, He only claps his hand upon his sword, Mocketh their threatenings, and in their attempts The harmless prince receives recureless death, Whom they too late with bootless tears lament.

[Enter Queen with two Children, borne after her: she ascends, and seeing no motion, she fetcheth her children one by one; but seeing yet no motion, she descendeth, wringing her hands, and departeth. Enter Matilda in a mourning veil, reading on a book, at whose coming he starteth, and sitteth upright; as she passeth by, he smiles, and folds his arms as if he did embrace her: being gone, he starts suddenly, and speaks.

KING. Matilda! stay, Matilda, do but speak! Who's there? Entreat Matilda to come back.

Enter BONVILLE[295].

BON. Who would you have, my lord?

KING. Why, my Lord Bonville, I would have Matilda, That but even now pass'd by toward the door.

BON. I saw her not, my lord.

KING. Hadst thou a lover's eye, A gnat, a mote, a shadow thou wouldst spy. Come, follow me; she cannot be so far, But I shall overtake her: come away! [Exeunt.

FRIAR. The last appearance shadow'd the fair queen And her two children, at whose sight King John Shewed neither sign nor show of passion: But when the sun came masked in a cloud, And veiled beauty, join'd with chastity, Appeared in Matilda's lovely shape, He starts, he clasps, he wakes, he calls, he seeks The shadow of that substance he affects. To her he sues, but she his suit rejects; To him she sues, but he her suit neglects: He sues to be her love; she doth despise: She sues to live a maid, which he denies. What follows of this wilfull will and shall, This no and nay, this quenchless, bootless fire, This cold affection and this hot desire, The act itself shall tell; and the poor friar Your partial favours humbly doth require. [Exit.



ACT II., SCENE I.

Sound trumpets. Enter KING, BONVILLE, SALISBURY, LORDS.[296]

KING. Now I perceive this only was a dream. Divine Matilda's angel did appear, Deck'd like a vestal ready for heaven's quire, And to this earthly trunk will not come near. Well, let her go: I must, i' faith, I must, And so I will. Kings' thoughts should be divine; So are Matilda's, so henceforth shall mine.

OLD AUB. So doing, peace shall wait upon your crown, And blessing upon blessing shall befall.

KING. It's true, my lord: I know full well there shall.

SAL. Your people will wax proud of such a king, That of himself is king, lord of his thoughts; Which by assertion of philosophers Is held to be the greatest empery.

KING. And they said wisely, noble Aubery.

SAL. Then will Fitzwater, with his gallant troop[297], Again keep triumph[298] in the English court; Then will Matilda—

KING. Matilda! what of her?

SAL. Like a bright star adorn the lovely train Of beauteous ladies which attend the queen, Whose only beauty equalleth them all.

KING. Like an old fool, whose dim eyes, wanting sight, Compar'st the sun to common candle light?

SAL. Pardon, my liege, I do confess her fair[299] Exceeds all these as far as day doth night.

KING. Grossly alluded: night by moon, by stars By wandering fires, exhaled meteors, By artificial lights, by eyes of beasts, And little glow-worms glimpsing in the dark, Hath somewhere brightness, lightness; and sometime Under each horizon in all parts clear: But they at no time nowhere can be said To be less dark than dungeon darkness is: Pitch-colour'd, ebon-fac'd, blacker than black, While her fair eyes give beauty to bright day.

SAL. To hear the queen thus prais'd works my content.

KING. The queen! O, had I such a thought, I would repent. [To himself.

SAL. Further, my lord—

KING. What, shall we further wade? I fear I shall be tired with this jade.

SAL. The commonwealth will flourish and increase.

KING. Good Salisbury,[300] of those things now hold your peace, And take the pains to fetch in Isabel. I have strange tidings sent me out of France, Which she will take, I know, in as good part, As I accept her praise. Fetch her, I say. [Exit SALISBURY. What, is the old fool gone? now go thy way. What think'st thou of him, Hubert? tell me, man.

HUB. As of a good old gentleman, my lord, That speaks but what he thinks, and thinks you think As he doth; and, I warrant you, Will not conceal those praises from the queen Which, as he deems, you utter'd in her praise.

KING. I would have them believe it so, indeed; But I protest 'tis no part of my creed. [Aside.

HUB. I'faith, your grace did Salisbury's years great wrong, To curtail his good work, that seem'd so long: He, peradventure, would have brought in more, After his preface, to rich plenty's store. Perchance he would have show'd Dame Vanity, That in your court is suffered hourly; And bade you punish ruffians with long hair, New fashions, and such toys. A special care Has that good man: he turns the statute-book; About his hall and chambers if you look, The moral virtues in fair effigy Are lively painted: moral philosophy Has not a sentence, be it great or small, But it is painted on his honour's wall.

Enter QUEEN and SALISBURY.

KING. Peace, peace! he comes: now let's be silent all.

SAL. I tell you, I was proud of his good words.

QUEEN. God hold them, Salisbury, for it's often seen, A reconciled foe small good affords.

SAL. O, forbear! trust me. I gage my honour he doth hold you dear.

KING. How cheer you, Isabel? The earl your spouse Hath sent defiance to the king your husband, And, like a tried tall soldier, fled his holds In Marchland, where he knows, despite of him And all the men that he therein can raise, King John could have sent dogs enou' to tear Their ill-arm'd bodies piecemeal, ere his bands Should with base blood have stain'd their noble hands. And whither is this worshipful good earl (This first love, old love, new love, if you will) Gone, thinks your ladyship? forsooth, good man, To Normandy; and there he stirs up coals, And urgeth strong aid for confederates Who, as he says, are treacherously disposed.

QUEEN. If he do so, the greater is his sin. Poor man. I have no interest in him.

KING. But he hath had in you, as it should seem, Else would he not make sonnets of your brow, Your eye, your lip, your hand, your thigh. A plague upon him! how came he so nigh? Nay, now you have the curs'd quean's counterfeit: Through rage you shake, because you cannot rave. But answer me: why should the bedlam slave Entitle a whole poem to your kiss, Calling it cherry, ruby, this and this? I tell you, I am jealous of your love, Which makes me break into this passion. Here's the kind noble Aubery de Vere Knows what I speak is true. My lord, my lord! I do appeal to you, Are these things to be borne?

SAL. No, by the rood: These love-rhymes are the tokens of small good.

HUB. Why, my good lord, was never poetry Offer'd unto a lady's patronage?

SAL. Yes, but not taken[301].

HUB. Yes, and taken too. Though moody[302] slaves, whose balladising rhymes With words unpolish'd show their brutish thoughts, Naming their maukins[303] in each lustful line, Let no celestial beauty look awry, When well-writ poems, couching her rich praise, Are offer'd to her unstain'd, virtuous eye: For poetry's high-sprighted sons will raise True beauty to all wish'd eternity. Therefore, my lord, your age is much to blame To think a taken poem lady's shame.

SAL. You see the king, that's better read than you, And far more wrong'd than I, takes it not well.

KING. Yes, but I do: I think not Isabel The worse for any writing of Le Brun's.[304]

SAL. Will you ha' the truth, my lord, I think so too; And though I be an old man, by my sword, My arm shall justify my constant word.

QUEEN. After a long storm in a troublous sea, The pilot is no gladder of a calm, Than Isabel to see the vexed looks Of her lov'd lord chang'd into sweet aspects.

KING. I will not tell thee what a world of foes For thy love (dear love) rise against my life. Matilda's love, few swords will fight for thee. [To himself. I will not number up the many woes That shall be multiplied: strife upon strife Will follow; but to shun ensuing ills, I'll take such pledges as shall please me ask Of each proud baron dwelling in the realm. Bruce, kinsman and the deputy to March, Hath a high-minded lady to his wife, An able son for arms, and a less boy, That is the comfort of his father's life. Madam, I know you love the lady well, And of her wealth you may be bold to build[305], By sending you four hundred white milch kine, And ten like-colour'd bulls to serve that herd; So fair, that every cow did Ioe seem, And every bull Europa's ravisher. To friend myself with such a subject's truth, Thus I command: you and Earl Salisbury Shall, with what speed conveniently ye may, Hie ye to Guildford: there the lady lies, And her sons too, as I am told by spies. All that she hath, I know, she calleth yours; All that she hath I gladly would call mine, If she abuse ye; if she use ye well, For ever be what she retains her own. Only go by, as queens in progress do, And send me word how she receiveth you.

QUEEN. Well, I avouch, she will, before I go: Far be it John should prove Lord Bruce's foe. Come, noble Salisbury, I long to be at Guildford.

SAL. In such a business, madam, so do I.

[Exeunt.

KING. Go on, good stales[306]: now Guildford is mine own! [Aside.] Hubert, I charge you take an hundred horse, And follow unto Guildford castle-gates. The queen pretend you come to tend upon, Sent carefully from us: when you are in, Boldly demand the lady for her sons, For pledges of her husband's faith and hers: Whom when ye have, upon the castle seize, And keep it to our use, until we come. Meanwhile let me alone with Hugh your son, To work a wonder, if no prodigy; But whatsoe'er, it shall attempted be.

HUB. Even that which to your majesty May seem contentful, thereto I agree.

KING. Go then to Guildford, and a victor be, [Exit HUBERT. Mowbray, our masque: are you and Chester ready?

MOW. We will before your grace, I warrant you.

KING. How think'st of it, Mowbray?

MOW. As on a masque: but for our torch-bearers, Hell cannot make so mad a crew as I.

KING. Faith, who is chief?

MOW. Will Brand, my lord; But then your grace must curb his cruelty: The rein once got, he's apt for villainy.

KING. I know the villain is both rough and grim; But as a tie-dog I will muzzle him. I'll bring him up to fawn upon my friends. And worry dead my foes. But to our masque. I mean this night to revel at the feast, Where fair Matilda graceth every guest; And if my hidden courtesy she grace, Old Baynard's Castle, good Fitzwater's place, John will make rich with royal England's wealth: But if she do not, not those scatter'd bands, Dropping from Austria and the Holy Land, That boast so much of glorious victories, Shall stop the inundations of those woes, That like a deluge I will bring on them. I know the crew is there; banish all fears: If wrong'd, they shall be ours: if welcome, theirs.

[Exeunt.



SCENE II.

Enter FITZWATER and his son: OLD BRUCE and YOUNG BRUCE, and call forth MATILDA[307].

FITZ. Why, how now, votary! still at your book? Ever in mourning weeds? For shame, for shame! With better entertainment cheer our friends. Now, by the bless'd cross, you are much to blame To cross our mirth thus: you are much to blame, I say. Good lord! hath never woe enough Of welladay? Indeed, indeed, Some sorrow fits, but this is more than need.

MAT. Good father, pardon me: You saw I sat the supper and the banquet; You know I cannot dance; discourse I shun, By reason that my wit, but small before, Comes far behind the ripe wits of our age.

YOUNG B. You'll be too ripe for marriage, If you delay by day and day thus long. There is the noble Wigmore, Lord of the March That lies on Wye, Lug[308], and the Severn streams: His son is like the sun's sire's Ganymede, And for your love hath sent a lord to plead. His absence I did purpose to excuse,

Enter LEICESTER.

But Leicester is the man for him that sues.

FITZ. My cousin Bruce hath been your broker, Leicester; At least hath broke the matter to my girl.

LEI. O, for a barber at the time of need, Or one of these that dresses periwigs, To deck my grey head with a youthful hair! But I must to't. Matilda, thus it is! Say, can you love me? I am Wigmore's son.

MAT. My cousin said he look'd like Ganymede; But you, but you—

LEI. But I, but I, you say, Am rather like old Chremes in a play[309]; But that's a nice objection: I am he, But by attorneyship made deputy.

MAT. He's never like to speed well all his life, That by attorney sues to win a wife: But grant you are, whom you seem nothing like, Young Wigmore, the heir to this noble lord— He for his son hath sent us ne'er a word.

OLD B. If you grant love, when [that] his son doth woo, Then in your jointure he'll send, say, and do.

YOUNG B. And for a doer, cousin, take my word: Look for a good egg, he was a good bird; Cock o' the game, i' faith, O never fear.

MAT. Ay, but I fear the match will fall out ill, Because he says his son is named Will.

FITZ. And why, good daughter? hath some palmister, Some augur, or some dreaming calculator (For such, I know, you often hearken to), Been prating 'gainst the name? go to, go to; Do not believe them. Leicester, fall to woo.

MAT. I must believe my father; and 'tis you That, if I ought misdid, reprov'd me still, And chiding said, "You're wedded to your will."

FITZ. God, for thy mercy! have ye catch'd me there? Wigmore is William, woman. Leicester, speak: Thou art the simplest wooer in the world.

LEI. You have put me out, and she hath took me down; You with your talk, she with her ready tongue. You told me I should find her mild and still, And scarce a word came from her in an hour: Then did I think I should have all the talk, Unhinder'd by your willingness to help, Unanswer'd, till I had no more to say; And then—

YOUNG B. What, then? She with a courtly court'sy saying Nay!

MAT. Your friend's attorney might have gone his way With as great credit as did that orator Which, handling an oration some three hours, Ill for the matter, worse than bad for phrase, Having said dixi, look'd, and found not one To praise or dispraise his oration; For, wearied with his talk, they all were gone.

FITZ. Now, by my troth, if any troth I have, I am as merry at Matilda's mirth, As I was glad to see her first day's birth. For till this hour, so help me halidom,[310] Since the too timely death of Huntington, Not a blithe word had passage through her lips.

LEI. See, what a pleasing humour wooers bring.

YOUNG B. O, but ye leave too soon.

LEI. Yet she avers I stand too long: shall I choose yours or hers?

MAT. Either forbear, I pray ye, for a while.

Enter RICHMOND.[311]

Welcome, Lord Richmond.

RICH. What, doth Matilda smile, That still like silence solitary sat? Then off with widow's weeds, and teach your feet (That have forgot for want of exercise, And by the means your sorrow had no mean) To tread a measure for a gallant crew Of courtly masquers landed at the stairs; Before whom, unentreated, I am come, And have prevented, I believe, their page, Who with his torch is enter'd.

FITZ. Richmond, thanks, If you have aught to say about the masquers. Beseech the gentlemen to enter in, For they are welcome guests to old Fitzwater. [Exit Messenger. Son, son, I pray you fetch the ladies in: We have been talking here about a match, And left our noble friends in discontent.

RICH. Nay, by my faith we had much merriment, Yet thought it long you neither came nor sent.

[MATILDA faints, and sits down.

FITZ. How now, Matilda? pray thee, cheer thee, girl.

MAT. I thought it was a lightening before death,[312] Too sudden to be certain. Good pleasure, stay.

Enter Ladies.

Wilt thou not, wanton? churl, then go thy way.

RICH. What, chang'd so soon? so soon fallen to your dumps? Cheerly! the masque comes in.

[Enter the Masque.]

MAT. O[313] God, this veil And look fit not this sport. I'll leave it.

LEI. Nay, For your love William's sake, fair maiden, stay!

[Dance: Masquers take each a lady, JOHN MATILDA, but [she] refusing, father.[314] They sit down apart.

FITZ. This is no courtship, daughter, be not nice, You both abuse him and disparage us. His fellows had the ladies they did choose, And, well, you know here's no more maids than Maud:[315] Yourself are all our store. I pray you, rise, Or, by my faith, I say you do us wrong.

MAT. I will do what you will. Lead, lead your dance.

KING. You know me by my speech.

MAT. Ay, my liege, ay. O, that temptation's tongue Hath[316] nowhere to be plac'd but in your head!

KING. Well, say I have her tongue, had I not need, When you have both her eyes, nay, all her shape, Able to tempt even Job himself to rape?

MAT. Good my lord, leave, or I will leave the place.

[Dance again; and in the first course MATILDA flings from him: JOHN follows.

FITZ. Dance out your galliard: God's dear holy-bread! Y'are too forgetful. Dance, or, by my troth, You'll move my patience more than I will speak. [She unwilling, JOHN roughly pulls her. Nay, soft, unmanner'd sir: you are too rough: Her joints are weak, your arms are strong and tough. If ye come here for sport, you welcome be; If not, better your room than such bad company. [JOHN threatens him by signs. Dost threaten me? then will I see thy face.

KING. And so thou shalt. Look on me, rebel lord! Thou that wert late a factious ringleader, And in the open field gav'st me fierce fight: Art thou again gathering another head, That with such rudeness thou dost entertain The gentle coming of thy sovereign?

FITZ. My dread lord, hear me, and forgive this fault, What I have erst done, long since you forgave: If I did lead the barons in the field, The barons chose me, when they could not choose But make some leader, you were so misled. When better thoughts enter'd your royal breast, We then obey'd you as our sovereign head.

KING. You did even what you list, and so do still: I am the king, but you must have your will. The plain truth is, we are not come in sport, Though for our coming this was our best cloak; For if we never come, till you do send, We must not be your guest, while banquets last. Contentious brawls you hourly send to us; But we may send and send, and you return— This lord is sick, that pained with the gout, He rid from home. You think I find not out Your close confederacies: yes, I do, no doubt.

LEI. If there be here a close confederate, God's vengeance light upon him with my hate!

KING. No, you are open, Leicester; that I know.

CHES. I, by the Lord, my lord, your open foe.

LEI. By thy lord's Lord and mine, proud Ralph of Chester, Thou durst not say so, wert thou from the king.

MOW. Yes, but he dares and shall.

RICH. Mowbray, if you stand by, He dares perchance; else will the dastard fly.

CHES. My own sword shall maintain my tongue's true speech; For it is not frequented to such lies, As wrangling Leicester and proud Richmond use: It cannot set out, like a thundering drum Or roaring cannon, stuff'd with nought but brags, The multitudes of seas dyed red with blood,[317] And famous cities into cinders turn'd By their two armed arms.

KING. Ay, Chester; And then they show us rags, torn off belike From poor decayed ladies' petticoats; For neither bill, nor feather'd shot, nor pike Make half nor any of those rents they have. These, patch'd together, fasten'd unto staves, They will not stick to swear have been advanc'd Against the Sophy, Soldan, and the Turk.

LEI. Do not maintain proud Chester, my life's liege: Your words I must put up; his if I bear—

KING.[318] Yes, you shall bear them, bear, and yet not bite: We have you muzzled now. Remember once You brav'd us with your bombard boasting words. Come (briefly), Leicester, Richmond, both Fitzwaters, Bruce, Deliver up your swords immediately; And either yield your bodies to our hands, Or give such pledges as we shall accept Unto our steward Winchester with speed.

LEI. I will not leave my arms, nor break my word, Except I be provok'd: your liege-man I am sworn; That oath is pledge enough. If you mislike—

KING. Thou hear'st me say I do.

LEI. And I reply: That pledge refus'd, I have no more for you.

RICH. And Richmond says as noble Leicester saith. Already have we plighted fame and faith Which, being scorn'd, returns to us again, And by the king's own mouth we are discharged.

KING. Fitzwater, what say you?

FITZ. What pledge desires my liege?

KING. I ask your stubborn daughter.

YOUNG B. That were a gage To be engaged.

FITZ. Peace, thou headstrong boy! Pardon me, sovereign; all my power is yours; My goods you may command, my life you may: My children too, I know, with both their lives Will readily adventure death's worst wrongs, To do such service as true subjects should; But honourable fame; true chastity—

KING. Make no exceptions: yield her up to me, Or look for ever for my enmity.

FITZ. Nay, then, Fitzwater tells your majesty, You do him wrong; and well will let you wit, He will defend his honour to the death.

KING. And, Bruce, you are no otherwise disposed: You will not give your sons to me for pledge.

BRUCE. I have but one, being my lesser boy, Who is at Guildford: for my other son—

KING. He braves me with the rest. Well, it is night, and there's no sun to swear by, But God's[319] son, and by him I here protest A miserable storm this night to raise That shall not cease, while England giveth rest To such vile traitors. Bruce, I'll begin with you; I will, i' faith, as true as God is true.

[Exit KING, cum suis.

LEI. Then shall a storm be rais'd against a storm, And tempest be with tempest beaten back.

FITZ. But this firm island, like the sea, will toss. And many goodly buildings go to wrack; Many a widow weep her dying son, And many a mother to her weeping babes Cry out uncomfortably, "Children, peace, Your crying unto me is all in vain, Dead is my husband, your poor father slain!"

YOUNG B. We cannot help it, uncle.

RICH. No, you see Entreats and humble suits have now no power, But lust and wrath the kingdom do devour.

BRUCE. Me he did menace first, and much I fear He will to Guildford, and besiege my wife.

FITZ. O, hie to save her! Richmond, ride with him.

RICH. Let us away, Bruce, lest we come too late, And with us take some score of men well-arm'd.

[Exeunt RICHMOND and BRUCE.

FITZ. Do: Leicester and myself will keep the city, Till we are furnish'd with an able army. Your nephew Bruce shall take an hundred men,[320] And post to Hertford Castle with your sister. Sith wrong doth[321] wake us, we will keep such watch, As for his life he shall not hurt us bring.

[Exeunt omnes.



ACT III., SCENE I.

Enter QUEEN, BRUCE'S LADY, HUBERT, SALISBURY.

QUEEN. Be comforted, good madam, do not fear, But give your son as pledge unto the king: Yourself at court may keep him company.

LADY B. I am betray'd! alas, I am betray'd! And little thought your highness had been bent So much against me for my many loves, As to prepare an entrance for my foe.

QUEEN. As I shall live in heaven, I did not know Of Hubert's coming. But lament not this: Your son, you say, is gone; what fear you then?

LADY B. O madam, murder, mischief, wrongs of men I fear, I fear—what is't I do not fear, Sith hope is so far off, despair so near?

SAL. Answer me, good Hubert, I pray thee, Hubert, do: What think you of this matter? may I on your word Persuade the woman that all things are well?

HUB. You may persuade her if you can, my lord; For I protest I know no other thing, But that the king would have him for a pledge Of the Lord Bruce's faith.

SAL. And reason, too. Now, by my honour, Hubert, I protest It is good reason: Bruce, I tell you plain, Is no sound cloak to keep John from the rain.[322] I will go to her.

HUB. Do, good simple earl. If not by threats nor my entreats she yield, Thy brain is barren of invention, Dried up with care; and never will she yield Her son to thee, that having power want'st wit.

LADY B. I overhear thee, Hubert.

SAL. So do I, Dame Bruce; But stir no coals: the man is well belov'd, And merits more than so.

LADY B. But I will answer. Hubert, thou fatal keeper of poor babes, That are appointed hostages for John,[323] Had I a son here, as I have not one, (For yesterday I sent him into Wales), Think'st thou I would be so degenerate, So far from kind, to give him unto thee? I would not, I protest: thou know'st my mind.

SAL. Lady, you fear more than you need to do; Indeed you do—in very deed you do. Hubert is wrong'd about the thing you mean— About young Arthur: O, I thought 'twas so: Indeed the honest, good, kind gentleman Did all he might for safeguard of the child.

QUEEN. Believe me, Madam Bruce, the man is wrong'd.

LADY B. But he wrongs me to keep my castle thus, Disarming my true servants, arming his. Now more of outrage comes! what shall I do?

Enter the KING, MOWBRAY, WINCHESTER, CHESTER.

KING. O, this is well! Hubert, where's Bruce's son?

LADY B. Where thou shalt never see him, John.

KING. Lady, we will have talk with you anon. Where is he, Hubert?

HUB. Hid or fled, my lord: We can by no means get her to confess.

SAL. Welcome to Guildford, Salisbury's liefest lord.[324]

KING. You scarce give welcome, ere I bid you go; For you, my lord, the queen and Winchester Shall march to Hertford. Sweet Isabel, And if thou love me, play the amazon. Matilda, that hath long bewitch'd mine eye, Is, as I hear by spials, now in Hertford Castle: Besiege her there; for now her haughty father Ruffians it up and down, and all the brood Of viperous traitors whet their poison'd teeth, That they may feed on us that foster them. Go forward, and go with you victory! Which to assure my powers shall follow you.

SAL. Did I not tell you this? then trust me next. Nay, he is chang'd, and cares no more for her Than I do, madam.

KING. Begone, I say, begone! Your speed rich victory attendeth on: But your delay May give your foes the happy glorious day.

QUEEN. One boon, my liege, and part.

KING. Be brief.

QUEEN. Show that poor lady pity, I beseech.

[Exeunt.

KING. I will indeed. Come, lady, let us in. You have a son; go in and bring him me, And for the queen's sake I will favour ye.

LADY B. I have no son. Come, come; come in and search, And if you find him, wretched may I be. [Exit.

KING. Chester and Hubert, see you keep good watch. Not far off do I hear a warlike sound: Bruce, on my life! look to't, while I go in To seek this boy, for needs we must have him. Come with us, Mowbray. [Exeunt.



SCENE II.

Enter BRUCE, RICHMOND, Soldiers.

RICH. The castle-gates are shut. What ho! what ho! You that are servants to the Lady Bruce, Arise, make entrance for your lord and friends.

Enter, or above, HUBERT, CHESTER.[325]

HUB. We will make issue, ere ye enter here. Who have we there? Richmond and Bruce, is't you? What, up so soon? are ye so early here? In you, i' faith, the proverb's verified, Y'are early up, and yet are ne'er the near.

RICH. The worse, our fortune. Bruce, let us go hence; We have no power to fight, nor make defence.

CHES. What, Richmond, will you prove a runaway?

RICH. From thee, good Chester I now the Lord defend! Bruce, we will stay and fight.

BRUCE. 'Tis to no end: We have but twenty men, and they be tired. But ere we do retire, tell me, Lord Hubert, Where are my wife and son?

HUB. Your wife is here; your son we cannot find.

BRUCE. Let son and wife, high heavens, your comfort find!

[Exeunt.



SCENE III.[326]

Enter KING, MOWBRAY, LADY BRUCE.

CHES. Bruce hath been here, my lord.

KING. Ay, let him go. We have good pledges: though we see but one, The other we are sure will come anon.

MOW. I do advise you, for your own discharge, Deliver up your son unto the king.

KING. Nay, let her choose. Come hither, Mowbray.

[The KING and MOWBRAY whisper.

HUB. The king is angry: Lady Bruce, advise you.

LADY B. What! be advis'd by thee To have my loving, kind, and pretty boy Given to an unkind killer of sweet boys?

CHES. Madam, go to; take counsel of your friends. I warrant you the king will use him well.

LADY B. Ay, as he us'd his nephew Arthur, Chester. God bless my child from being used so!

MOW. Sir Hubert, what, are all the people voided, The horses and the cattle turned forth?

HUB. Mowbray, they be.

MOW. Then will I do the king's commandment.

LADY B. What will he do? good Lord! what will he do? Mowbray, I pray you, what is't you will do?

MOW. Why, fire the castle.

LADY B. The castle, Mowbray? tarry, tarry, man! Hold me not, Chester! gentle Mowbray, stay! Good Hubert, let me go!

MOW. You must not go: The king is mov'd, and will not hear you speak.

LADY B. But he shall hear me! pity me, King John! Call Mowbray back: hear me, for pity's sake! Regard the Lady Bruce's woful cry!

KING. What dost thou ask?

LADY B. First call back Mowbray.

KING. Stay, Mowbray. Now, be brief.

LADY B. I have some linen garments, jewels, 'tires, Pack'd in a hamper here within the lodge: O, let me save it from consuming fire!

KING. And is this all?

LADY B. It's all the little all I here have left.

KING. Away! set fire! linen and trash!

LADY B. Once more hear me! there's a precious gem, You have not any richer in all the realm: If fire do blemish it, art never more To his true colour can the same restore.

KING. Fetch it. Two of ye help her with her hamper hither.

LADY B. Nay, nay, one will suffice: the jewel if I save, Is all I ask. [Exit with CHESTER.

KING. We shall her jewel have.

HUB. She is very fearful I should keep her son.

LADY B. [Within.] Ye do, ye do!

KING. Alas! good Lady, hark: Chester and she are chiding.

Enter CHESTER and she, leading the boy.

LADY B. Let go his hand! Is this a paw, think you, To hold a tender hand in? fie, for shame! A nobleman so churlish! Look, I pray, His arms are gristless.[327]

KING. How now, Lady Bruce! Doth Chester hurt the jewel of your joy? Now, by my troth, it is a pretty boy!

LADY B. Ay, knew your majesty as much as I, You would say more.

KING. Well, he and you of us no wrong shall have, But stay in Windsor Castle with Sir Walter Blunt, And honourably be us'd; provided still Your husband and your son obey our will.

LADY B. For this great mercy, if they disobey, Myself will chide them. Fortune follow John, And on his foes fall swift destruction!

KING. Come! let us now after the queen and Salisbury.

[Exeunt omnes.



SCENE IV.

Enter the QUEEN, SALISBURY, Soldiers.

QUEEN. Now are ye, worthy and resolved men, Come to the cage where the unclean birds bide, That tire[328] on all the fair flight in the realm. Summon this castle, or (to keep my words) This cage of night-hid owls, light-flying birds. [Offer to summon.

Enter YOUNG BRUCE, MATILDA, Soldiers.

SAL. Stay, drum! thou need'st not summon willing men, Or rather wilful, for such methinks they be.

QUEEN. See ye yon baggage, muffled in black weeds: Those clouds fold in the comet that portends Sad desolation to this royal realm. For ever seek to mask her light, good friends: Let us disrobe her of each little beam, And then your Phoebus will one Phoebe have, That while they live shall lend your land true light, Give joy unto your day, rest to your night. Assail them, stay not.

SAL. Stay, and assay them first! I say to you, fair queen, this fact is foul. Let not provoking words whet dull-edg'd swords, But try if we can blunt sharp blades with words. Fitzwater's nephew, Bruce, I see thee there, And tell thee it is shame for such a boy To lead a many able men to fight. And, modest-looking maid, I see you too: An unfit sight to view virginity Guarded with other soldiers than good prayers. But you will say the king occasions it: Say what you will, no king but would take cause Of just offence. Yield you, young Bruce, your mother is in hold. Yield you, young maid, your father is in hold.

MAT. Will the queen keep me from the lustful king, Then will I yield.

QUEEN. A plague upon this counterfeiting quean.

MAT. God's blessed mercy! will you still be mad, And wrong a noble virgin with vile speech?

SAL. Let me alone. Matilda, maiden fair, Thou virgin spouse, true Huntington's just heir, Wilt thou come hither? and I do protest, The queen and I, to mitigate this war, Will do what thou wouldst have.

MAT. I come.

BRUCE. You shall not go. Sound, drums, to war! Alack, alack, for woe! Well, God for us! sith it will needs be so.

[Alarum, fight, stay.

SAL. What stay you for?

BRUCE. Matilda's cries do stay us.

MAT. Salisbury, I come in hope of thy defence.

BRUCE. First will I die, ere you shall yield yourself To any coward lord that serves the king.

SAL. Coward, proud boy! Thou find'st me no such beast, And thou shalt rue in earnest this rude jest.

[Fight again. MATILDA taken, led by the hair by two Soldiers.

SAL. Rude hands! how hale you virtuous honour forth! You do not well: away! Now, by my faith, ye do not well, I say. Take her, fair queen, use her as she deserves: She's fair, she's noble, chaste, and debonair. I must, according to due course of war, See that our soldiers scatter not too far, Lest, what care won, our negligence may lose. [Exit.

QUEEN. Is this the Helen, this the paragon, That makes the English Ilion[329] flame so fast?

MAT. I am not she; you see I am not she: I am not ravish'd yet, as Helen was. I know not what will come of John's desire, That rages like the sea, that burns like fire.

QUEEN. Plain John, proud Joan! I'll tear your painted face. Thus, thus I'll use you. [Scratches her.

Enter SALISBURY.

MAT. Do, do what you will.

SAL. How goes this gear? ha! foul fall so foul deed![330] Poor chaste child of Fitzwater, dost thou bleed? By God's bless'd mother! this is more than need; And more, I tell you true, than I would bear, Were not the danger of the camp so near.

Enter a MESSENGER.

MES. My lord, the foes have gathered head: Lord Bruce, the father, joineth with the son.

SAL. Why, here's the matter: we must spend our time To keep your nails from scratching innocence, Which should have been bestow'd for our defence. What shall we now do? Help me, holy God! The foe is come, and we are out of rank.

[Skirmish: QUEEN taken, MATILDA rescued.

Enter OLD BRUCE wounded, led by his Son, and LEICESTER.

BRUCE. Is the field ours?

YOUNG B. Ay, thanks to noble Leicester.

BRUCE. Give God thanks, son: be careful to thy mother; Commend me to Fitzwater; love thy brother, If either arms or prayers may him recover.

LEI. How cheers old Bruce?

YOUNG B. His soul to joy is fled, His grief is in my bosom buried.

LEI. His life was dearly bought; for my eyes saw A shambles of dead men about his feet, Sent by his sword into eternal shade. With honour bury him. Cease tears, good Bruce.

YOUNG B, Tears help not, I confess, yet must I weep. Soldiers, your help to bear him to my tent.

[Exeunt cum BRUCE.

Enter QUEEN and MATILDA.

MAT. Be comforted, great queen: forget my wrongs. It was my fortune, and no fault of yours.

QUEEN. Is she thus mild? or doth she mock my chance?

LEI. Queen Isabel,[331] are you a prisoner? See what it is to be a soldier. But what foul hand hath harm'd Matilda's fair?[332] Speak, honourable maid, who tore thy hair? Did Salisbury or the queen this violence?

MAT. Ungentle grooms first took and tore me thus, From whom old Salisbury, chastising their wrong, Most kindly brought me to this gentle queen; Who laid her soft hand on my bleeding cheeks, Gave kisses to my lips, wept for my woe; And was devising how to send me back, Even when your last alarum frighted us, And by her kindness fell into your hands.

LEI. Which kindness we return: Madam, be free. Soldiers, conduct the queen whither she please.

QUEEN. Farewell, Matilda; if I live, believe I will remember this. O, how I grieve That I should wrong so innocent a maid! Come, lady, old Fitzwater is not far: He'll weep to see these scars, full well I know.

MAT. Would I were from this woful world of war! Sure I will 'scape, and to some nunnery go.

[Exeunt.



SCENE V.

Enter KING, SALISBURY, HUBERT.

KING. Had you her, then, had you her in your power?

SAL. Ay, marry had we: we had taken her.

KING. O, had she been in mine, not all earth's power From my power should have freed her!

SAL. You are a king, and high are princes' thoughts: It may be, with your sight you could have chas'd A host of armed men; it may be so: But we, your subjects, did the best we could. Yet Bruce the father, backing Bruce the son, Scatter'd our troops, brought rescue to Matilda, And took your peerless queen their prisoner.

KING. On all the race of Bruces for this wrong I will have vengeance! Hubert, call in Brand. [Exit HUBERT. My Lord of Salisbury, give us leave awhile To be alone.

SAL. I will, my liege. Be you comforted; The queen will be recovered, do not fear, As well as e'er she was.

KING. Salisbury, forbear, I pray.

SAL. Yet for the wrong she did unto Matilda, I fear, I fear— [Exit.

KING. The father and the son did rescue her; The mother and the son shall rue the deed. So it shall be; I am resolv'd thereon. Matilda, my soul's food, those have bereft, And these of body's food I will bereave.

Enter HUBERT [with] BRAND.

KING. Will Brand.

BRAND. Your majesty. [Make legs.

KING. Less of your court'sy. Hubert, stand aside. Post speedily to Windsor; take this ring; Bid Blunt deliver Bruce's wife and child Into your hands, and ask him for the key Of the dark tower o'er the dungeon vault: In that see you shut up the dam and brat. Pretend to Blunt that you have left them meat, Will serve some se'ennight; and unto him say, It is my will you bring the key away. And hear you, sir, I charge you on your life, You do not leave a bit of bread with them.

BRAND. I warrant you; let me alone.

KING. Come back again with all the speed you may.

[Exit BRAND.

HUB. Some cruel task is pointed for that slave, Which he will execute as cruelly. [Aside.]

KING. No ruth, no pity shall have harbour here, Till fair Matilda be within these arms.

Enter SALISBURY with the QUEEN.

SAL. Comfort, my lord; comfort, my gracious lord; Your love is come again!

KING. Ah, Salisbury! where?

SAL. Here, my dread sovereign.

KING. Thou liest; she is not there.

SAL. Under correction you wrong my age. Say, I beseech you, is not this the queen?

KING. I cry you mercy, Salisbury; 'tis indeed. Where is Matilda?

QUEEN. Where virtue, chastity, and innocence remain, There is Matilda.

KING. How comes she, pray, to be so chaste, so fair: So virtuous in your eye?

QUEEN. She freed me from my foes, and never urg'd My great abuse when she was prisoner.

KING. What did you to her!

QUEEN. Rail'd upon her first, Then tare her hair, and rent her tender cheeks.

KING. O heaven! was not the day dark at that foul deed? Could the sun see without a red eclipse The purple tears fall from those tyrant wounds? Out, Ethiop, gipsy, thick-lipped blackamoor! Wolf, tigress! worse than either of them both!

SAL. Are you advis'd, my lord?

KING. Out, doting earl! Couldst thou endure to see such violence?

SAL. I tell you plain, my lord, I brook'd it not. But stay'd the tempest.

KING. Rend my love's cheeks! that matchless effigy Of wonder-working nature's chiefest work: Tear her rich hair! to which gold wires, Sun's rays, and best of best compares (In their most pride) have no comparison. Abuse her name! Matilda's sacred name! O barbarous outrage, rudeness merciless!

QUEEN. I told you, Salisbury, you mistook the king.

SAL. I did indeed. My liege lord, give me leave To leave the camp.

KING. Away, old fool! and take with thee that trull; For if she stay—

SAL. Come, lady, come away, Tempt not his rage. Ruin wrath always brings: Lust being lord, there is no trust in kings.

[Exeunt.

Enter MOWBRAY.

MOW. To arms, King John! Fitzwater's field is pitch'd About some mile hence on a champain[333] plain. Chester hath drawn our soldiers in array: The wings already have begun the fight.

KING. Thither we will with wings of vengeance fly, And win Matilda, or lose victory!

[Exeunt.



ACT IV., SCENE I.

Enter LADY BRUCE and her BOY with BRAND.

LADY B. Why did my keeper put us in thy hands? Wherein have we offended Blunt or thee?

BRAND. You need not make these words: You must remove your lodging; this is all. Be not afeard: come, come, here is the door.

LADY B. O God, how dark it is!

BRAND. Go in, go in; it's higher up the stairs.

LADY B. My trembling heart forbids me to go in. O, if thou have compassion, tell me true, What my poor boy and I must trust unto?

BRAND. I tell thee true, compassion is my foe; Yet have I had of thee compassion. Take in thy child: as I have faith or troth, Thou and thy boy shall be but prisoners, And I must daily bring you meat and drink.

LADY B. Well, thou hast sworn, and God so give thee light, As in this dark place thou rememb'rest us. Poor heart, thou laugh'st, and hast not wit to think Upon the many fears that me afflict. I will not in. Help us, assist us, Blunt! We shall be murdered in a dungeon!

BRAND. Cry without cause? I'll have ye in, i' faith.

LADY B. O, let my boy and I but dine with Blunt, And then I will with patience go in.

BRAND. Will ye or nill ye, zounds! ye must go in, And never dine.

LADY B. What say'st thou I never dine!

BRAND. No—not with Blunt, I mean. Go in, I say; Or by this hand ye get no meat to-day.

LADY B. My child is hungry: when shall he have meat?

BRAND. Why, and ye would go in, immediately.

LADY B. I will go in; but very much I doubt, Nor I nor my poor boy shall e'er come out.

[Exeunt. He seems to lock a door.

BRAND. Ne'er, while ye live, i' faith! now are they sure. Cry, till their hearts ache, no man can them hear. A miserable death is famishment; But what care I? The king commanded me. [Exit.



SCENE II.

Alarum within: excursions: enter FITZWATER, BRUCE.

FITZ. Now doth fair fortune offer hope of speed; But howsoe'er we speed, good cousin Bruce, March with three hundred bows and pikes to Windsor, Spreading a rumour that the day is ours, As ours it shall be with the help of heaven. Blunt loves our part far better than the king's, And will, I gage my life, upon the news Surrender up the castle to our use. By this means shall you help us to a hold, Howe'er it chance: set free your lady mother, That lives in prison there with your young brother.

BRUCE. Away, good uncle, to the battle go! But that a certain good ensues, I know, For all the world I would not leave you so.

FITZ. Away, away! God send thee Windsor: us this happy day.

Alarum still. Enter HUBERT and MATILDA.[334]

HUB. You cannot hide yourself, Matilda; no disguise Will serve the turn: now must you to the king, And all these wars will with your presence cease. Yield you to him, he soon will yield to peace.

MAT. They say thou took'st some pity of a child, The king appointing thee to sear his eyes; Men do report thee to be just of word, And a dear lover of my lord the king. If thou didst that, if thou be one of these, Pity Matilda, prostrate at thy feet.

HUB. I sav'd young Arthur's eyes, and pity thee; My word is just, which I have given the king; The king I love, and thee I know he loves: Compare these, then how can I pleasure thee?

MAT. By letting me escape to Dunmow Abbey, Where I will end my life a votary.

HUB. And the king die with doting on thy love?

MAT. No, no; this fire of lust would be soon laid, If once he knew me sworn a holy maid.

HUB. Thy tears and love of virtue have the power To make me at an instant true and false: True to distressed beauty and rare chastity; False to King John, that holds the sight of thee Dearer than England or earth's empery. Go, happy soul, that in so ill an age Hast such fair beauty for thy heritage: Yet go not so alone. Dost hear, tall soldier? [Call a Soldier. I know thee honest: guide this gentle maid To Dunmow Abbey: she is one I know. I will excuse thee, and content thee well; My signet take, that ye may pass unsearch'd.

MAT. Kind Hubert, many prayers for this good deed Shall on my beads be daily numbered.

[Exeunt.

Enter LEICESTER, RICHMOND, FITZWATER.

LEI. O treble heat of honour, toil, and rage! How cheers Earl Richmond? Fitzwater, speak, old man. We are now near together: answer me.

FITZ. Leicester, the more our woe, The likelier to be taken by the foe.

RICH. O, let not such a thought abuse thy age! We'll never yield us to the tyrant's rage.

LEI. But if my girl be yielded— If she be!

FITZ. Ay, ay— There's no man but shall have his time to die.

LEI. Now is our hour, which they shall dearly by.

Enter KING, HUBERT, CHESTER, MOWBRAY.

RICH. Leicester, we'll stand like three battalions: What says our noble general thereto?

FITZ. Why, I say, do: [And] while I can, I'll keep my place with you.

KING. How now, my bugbear, will you now submit?

LEI. To death, but not to thee.

KING. Richmond, nor you?

RICH. Earl Richmond will not yield.

KING. Methinks, Fitzwater, you should have more wit.

FITZ. If it be wit to live, I have no will; And so in this my will o'errules my wit.

KING. Alarum then! with weapons will we scourge Your desperate will, and teach ye to have wit.

[Fight: drive back the KING.

KING. Of high heroic spirits be they all. We will withdraw a little, and confer, For they are circled round, and cannot 'scape. [Withdraw.

RICH. O that we three who, in the sun's arise Were, like the three Triumviri[335] of Rome, Guides of an host, able to vanquish Rome, Are now alone, enclos'd with enemies!

FITZ. The glory of the world hath no more stay, But as it comes, it fleets, and fades away.

LEI. Courage, and let us die! they come again: It's Lord Hubert alone. Hubert, what news?[336]

Enter HUBERT.

HUB. This day's fierce slaughter, John our king laments, And to you three, great leaders of an host, That now have not a man at all to lead, You worthy captains without companies—

LEI. Fitzwater! Richmond! by the blessed sun, Lord Hubert mocks us.

HUB. By the moon, I do not; and put the blessed to't, It is as good an oath as you have sworn. My heart grieves that so great hearts as yours be Should put your fortunes on a sort[337] of slaves, That bring base fear within them to the field. But to the matter—sith your state is such, That without mercy you are sure of death (Which I am sure, and well his highness knows, You do not fear at all), yet he gives grant, On just conditions you shall save your lives.

FITZ. On no condition will I save my life, Except Matilda be return'd again, Unblemish'd, unabus'd; and then I yield.

HUB. She now is where she never will return.

FITZ. Never? O God! is my Matilda dead?

HUB. Dead to the world; dead to this woe she is. She lives at Dunmow, and is vow'd a nun.

FITZ. Do not delude me, Hubert, gentle son.

HUB. By all the faith and honour of my kin, By my unstain'd allegiance to the king. By my own word, that hath reproveless been, She is at Dunmow.

FITZ. O, how came she there?

HUB. When all these fields were walks for rage and fear: This howling like a head of hungry wolves,[338] That, scudding as a herd of frighted deer: When dust, arising like a coal-black fog, From friend divided friend, join'd foe to foe, Yet neither those nor these could either know; Till here and there, through large wide-mouthed wounds, Proud life, even in the glory of his heat Losing possession, belch'd forth streams of blood, Whose spouts in falling made ten thousand drops, And with that purple shower the dust allay'd— At such a time met I the trembling maid; Seeming a dove from all her fellows parted— Seen, known, and taken; unseen and unknown To any other that did know us both, At her entreats I sent her safely guided To Dunmow Abbey; and the guide return'd Assures me she was gladfully receiv'd, Pitied, and in his sight did take her oath.

FITZ. Hubert, for this thy honourable deed I and my house will reverence thy name.

HUB. Yet, I beseech you, hide it from the king; At least that I convey'd her to the place.

Enter KING, MOWBRAY, CHESTER.

FITZ. Hubert, I will.

KING. What, stand they still on terms?

LEI. On honourable terms, on terms of right. Our lives without our liberty we scorn.

KING. You shall have life and liberty, I swear.

LEI. Then Leicester bows his knee to his liege lord, And humbly begs his highness to beware Of wronging innocence, as he hath done.

RICH. The like Richmond desires, and yields his sword.

KING. I do embrace ye both, and hold myself Richer by a whole realm in having you.

FITZ. Much is my wrong; yet I submit with these, Begging free leave to live a private life.

KING. Old brands of malice in thy bosom rest: Thou shalt have leave to leave me, never doubt. Fitzwater, see thou ship thee straight for France, And never set thy foot on English shore, Till I repeal thee. Go, go hence in peace.

LEI. Why doth your highness wrong Fitzwater thus?

KING. I right his wrong; he's weary of the land.

RICH. Not of the land, but of a public life.

KING. Content ye, lords: in such quick times as these We must not keep a drone among our bees.

FITZ. I am as glad to go as you to send: Yet I beseech this favour of your grace, That I may see Matilda, ere I part.

KING. Matilda! see Matilda, if thou canst, Before sunset: stay not another day.

FITZ[339]. The abbey-walls, that shroud my happy child, Appear within her hapless father's sight. Farewell, my sovereign, Leicester, Richmond, lords: Farewell to all; grief gives no way to words.

KING. Fitzwater, stay: lords, give us leave awhile. Hubert, go you before unto the abbess, And signify our coming. Let her bring Matilda to her father. (Exit HUBERT.) Come, old man; Be not too froward, and we shall be friends. About this girl our mortal jars began, And, if thou wilt, here all our quarrel ends.

FITZ. Reserve my honour and my daughter's fame, And no poor subject that your grace commands Shall willinger submit, obey, and serve.

KING. Do then but this. Persuade thy beauteous child To leave the nunnery and return to court, And I protest from henceforth to forswear All such conceits of lust as I have borne.

FITZ. I will, my lord, do all that I may do; But give me leave in this to doubt of you.

KING. This small thing grant, and ask me anything; Or else die in exile, loath'd of the king.

FITZ. You shall perceive I will do what I may.

Enter on the wall, ABBESS, MATILDA. Re-enter HUBERT.

HUB. Matilda is afraid to leave the house; But lo, on yonder battlement she stands, But in no case will come within your hands.

KING. What! will my lady-abbess war[340] with us? Speak, lady; wherefore shut you up your gates?

ABB. Have we not reason, when an host of men Hunt and pursue religious chastity? King John, bethink thee what thou tak'st in hand On pain of interdiction of thy land. Murderers and felons may have sanctuary, And shall not honourable maids distress'd, Religious virgins, holy nuns profess'd, Have that small privilege? Now, out upon thee, out! Holy Saint Catherine, shield my virginity! I never stood in such extremity.

HUB. My lord, the abbess lies, I warrant you; For I have heard there is a monk of Bury, That once a week comes thither to make merry.

KING. Content thee, Hubert; that same monk and she, And the worst come, my instruments shall be. Good lady-abbess, fear no violence; There's not one here shall offer you offence.

FITZ. Daughter, all this while tears my speech have stay'd. My lord the king, lords, all draw near, I pray, And hear a poor man's parting from his child. Matilda, still my unstain'd honour's joy, Fair ornament of old Fitzwater's coat,[341] Born to rich fortunes, did not this ill-age Bereave thee of thy birthright's heritage, Thou see'st our sovereign—lord of both our lives, A long besieger of thy chastity— Hath scatter'd all our forces, slain our friends, Razed our castles, left us ne'er a house Wherein to hide us from his wrathful eye: Yet God provides; France is appointed me, And thou find'st house-room in this nunnery. Here, if the king should dote as he hath done, It's sacrilege to tempt a holy nun: But I have hope he will not; yet my fear So drowns my hope, as I am forc'd to stay, And leave abruptly what I more would say.

MAT. O, go not yet, my griev'd heart's comforter! I am as valiant to resist desire As ever thou wert worthy in the field. John may attempt, but if Matilda yield, O, then—

FITZ. Ay, then, Matilda, thou dost lose The former glory of thy chaste resolves. These seven years hast thou bid[342] a martyr's pains, Resisting in thyself lust-growing fire, For, being mortal, sure thou hast desire; And five sad winters have their full course run, Since thou didst bury noble Huntington. In these years many months and many days Have been consum'd thy virtues to consume. Gifts have been heralds; panders did presume To tempt thy chaste ears with their unchaste tongues: All in effect working to no effect; For I was still the watchman of thy tower, The keeper of foul worms from my fair flower. But now no more, no more Fitzwater may Defend his poor lamb from the lion's prey— Thy order and thy holy prayers may. To help thee thou hast privilege by law; Therefore be resolute, and nobly die! Abhor base lust, defend thy chastity.

KING. Despatch, Fitzwater: hinder not thy child: Many preferments do on her await.

FITZ. Ay, girl, I know thou shalt be offer'd wealth, Which is a shrewd enticement in sad want, Great honours to lift up thy low estate, And glorious titles to eternise thee. All these do but gild over ugly shame; Such wealth, my child, foreruns releaseless need, Such honour ever proves dishonourate. For titles, none comes near a virtuous name: O, keep it ever, as thou hast done yet! And though these dark times should forget thy praise, An age will come that shall eternise it. Bid me farewell, and speak it in a word.

MAT. Farewell, dear father.

FITZ. O, farewell, sweet child. My liege, farewell: Leicester, Richmond, Hubert, Chester and Mowbray, friends and foes, farewell. Matilda, see thou keep thy spotless fame, And live eternis'd, else die soon with shame. [Exit.

MAT. Amen, amen: father, adieu, adieu! Grief dwells with me, sweet comfort follow you!

ABB. Come, daughter, come. This is a woful sight, When good endeavours are oppress'd by might.

[Exeunt from above ABBESS, MATILDA.

KING. Ah, Hubert! seest thou not the sun go down, Cloudy and dark? Matilda, stay! one word. She shakes her head, and scornfully says nay.

RICH. How cheer'st thou, Leicester?

LEI. Mad, man, at my state, That cannot raise true honour ruinate.

Enter MESSENGER.

KING. I will not be disdain'd. I vow to see Quick vengeance on this girl for scorning me.

MES. Young Bruce, my lord, hath gotten Windsor Castle, Slain Blunt your constable, and those that kept it; And finding in a tower his mother dead, With his young brother starv'd and famished, That every one may see the rueful sight, In the thick wall he a wide window makes; And as he found them, so he lets them be, A spectacle to every comer-by, That heaven and earth your tyrant shame may see. All people cursing, crying fie upon, The tyrant, merciless, inhuman John.

KING. Chester and Mowbray, march away to Windsor: Suppress that traitor Bruce. What, if his dam In wilful fury would receive no meat, Nor suffer her young child any to eat, Is it our fault? haste ye with speed away, And we will follow. Go; begone, I pray.

[Exeunt CHESTER, MOWBRAY.

HUB. O black and woful deed! O piteous thing, When slaves attend the fierce thoughts of a king.

LEI. My lord, shall we go too?

KING. Leicester and Richmond, ay, I pray ye, do.

LEI. Get I my bear and ragged staff once more Rais'd in the field, for these wrongs some shall roar.

[Exeunt RICHMOND, LEICESTER.

KING. Fetch in the monk of Bury, that I talk'd of, [Exeunt HUBERT for the MONK. And bid Will Brand, my instrument of death, Come likewise in. Convert to raging hate

Enter MONK, HUBERT, BRAND.

My long-resisted love! welcome, good monk.

MONK. Thanks to my liege.

KING. Thou hast been long in suit To be installed abbot of your house, And in your favour many friends have stirr'd. Now is the hour that you shall be preferr'd Upon condition—and the matter small. Short shrift to make, good honest confessor, I love a fair nun, now in Dunmow Abbey: The abbess loves you, and you pleasure her; Now, if between you two this pretty lady Could be persuaded to affect a king, Your suit is granted, and on Dunmow Abbey I will bestow a hundred marks a year.

MONK. A holy nun! a young nun! and a lady! Dear wear, my lord; yet bid you well as may be. Strike hands; a bargain: she shall be your own, Or if she will not—

KING. Nay, if she do refuse, I'll send a death's man with you; this is he. If she be wilful, leave her to his hands, And on her own head be her hasted end.

MONK. The matter shall be done.

KING. Sirrah, what poisons have you ready?

BRAND. Store, store.

KING. Wait on the monk, then, and ere we take horse, I'll give you such instructions as you need. Hubert, repair[343] to Windsor with our host.

[Exeunt KING, MONK, and BRAND.

HUB. Your tyrannies have lost my love almost, And yet I cannot choose but love eternally This wanton king, replete with cruelty. O, how are all his princely virtues stain'd With lust abhorred and lascivious heat Which, kindling first to fire, now in a flame, Shows to the whole world clearly his foul shame. To quench this flame full many a tide of tears, Like overflowing-full seas, have been spent; And many a dry land drunk with human blood; Yet nothing helps his passions violent: Rather they add oil to his raging fire, Heat to his heat, desire to his desire. Somewhat, I fear, is now a-managing, For that prodigious bloody stigmatic[344] Is never call'd unto his kingly sight, But like a comet he portendeth still Some innovation or some monstrous act, Cruel, unkindly, horrid, full of hate; As that vile deed at Windsor done of late. Gentle Matilda, somewhat I mistrust; Yet thee I need not fear, such is his love. Again, the place doth give thee warrantise; Yet I remember when his highness said, The lustful monk of Bury should him aid. Ay, so it is: if she have any ill, Through the lewd shaveling will her shame be wrought. If it so chance, Matilda's guiltless wrong Will with the loss of many a life be bought. But Hubert will be still his dread lord's friend, However he deserves, his master serve; Though he neglect, him will I not neglect: Whoever fails him, I will John affect; For though kings fault[345] in many a foul offence, Subjects must sue, not mend with violence. [Exit.



SCENE III.

Enter OXFORD, QUEEN.

OX. Now, by my faith, you are to blame, madam, Ever tormenting, ever vexing you: Cease of these fretting humours: pray ye, do. Grief will not mend it; nought can pleasure you But patient suffering; nor, by your grace's leave, Have you such cause to make such hue and cry After a husband; you have not in good sooth. Yearly a child! this payment is not bad. Content, fair queen, and do not think it strange, That kings do sometimes seek delight in change: For now and then, I tell you, poor men range. Sit down a little, I will make you smile. Though I be now like to the snowy Alps, I was as hot as Aetna in my youth; All fire, i' faith, true heart of oak, right steel— A ruffian, lady. Often for my sport I to a lodge of mine did make resort, To view my dear, I said; dear God can tell, It was my keeper's wife whom I lov'd well. My countess (God be with her) was a shrow, As women be, your majesty doth know; And some odd pick-thank put it in her head, All was not well: but such a life I led, And the poor keeper and his smooth-fac'd wife, That, will I, nill I, there she might not bide. But for the people I did well provide; And by God's mother, for my lady's spite, I trick'd her in her kind, I serv'd her right. Were she at London, I the country kept; Come thither, I at London would sojourn; Came she to court, from court I straightway stepp'd; Return, I to the court would back return. So this way, that way, every way she went, I still was retrograde, sail'd[346] opposite: Till at the last, by mildness and submission, We met, kiss'd, joined, and here left all suspicion.

QUEEN. Now out upon you, Vere: I would have thought The world had not contain'd a chaster man.

OX. Now, by my fay, I will be sworn I am. In all I tell you I confess no ill, But that I curb'd a froward woman's will: Yet had my keeper's wife been of my mind, There had been cause some fault with us to find; But I protest her noes and nays were such, That for my life she ever kept go much.[347]

QUEEN. You would take nay, but our King John says no; No nay, no answer will suffice his turn: He, for he cannot tempt true chastity, Fills all the land with hostile cruelty. Is it not shame, he that should punish sin, Defend the righteous, help the innocent, Carves with his sword the purpose of his will Upon the guarders of the virtuous, And hunts admired, spotless maidenhead With all the darts of desolation, Because she scorneth to be dissolute? Me that he leaves, I do not murmur at; That he loves her, doth no whit me perplex, If she did love him, or myself did hate: But this alone is it that doth me vex: He leaves me that loves him, and her pursues, That loathes him and loves me. How can I choose But sadly grieve, and mourn in my green youth, When nor of her nor me he taketh ruth?

OX. Ha' done, good queen: for God's good love, ha' done: This raging humour will no doubt be stay'd. Virtuous Matilda is profess'd a nun; Within a mile (at Dunmow) lives the maid. God will not suffer anything so vile; He will not, sure, that he should her defile.

QUEEN. No church nor chapel, abbey, nunnery, Are privileg'd from his intemperance. But leave we him, and let us, I entreat, Go visit fair Matilda: much I am In debt unto the maid.

OX. You are indeed; You wrong'd her, when with blows you made her bleed. But if you please to visit her, fair dame, Our coach is ready: we will soon be there.

QUEEN. Thanks, Oxford; and with us I mean to bear The beauteous garland sent me out of Spain, Which I will offer in the abbey chapel, As witness of Matilda's chastity; Whom, while I live, I ever vow to love, In recompense of rash and causeless wrong.



ACT V., SCENE I.

Enter BRAND solus; with cup, bottle of poison.

BRAND. Good, by this hand! exceeding, passing good! The dog no sooner drank it, but yugh! yugh! quoth he: So grins me with his teeth, lies down and dies: Yugh! quoth I: by God's blood, go thy ways. Of all thy line and generation, Was never dog so worshipp'd as thou art, For, ere thou died'st, thou wert an officer, I lie not, by these[348] nails: a squire's place; For the vile cur became a countess's taster: So died the dog. Now in our next account The countess comes; let's see, a countess and a nun: Why so, why so! What, would she have the whole world quite undone? We'll mete[349] her for that trick. What, not a king? Hanging's too good for her. I am but a plain knave. And yet should any of these "no forsooths," These pray-aways, these trip-and-goes, these tits, Deny me, now by these— A plague upon this bottle and this cup, I cannot act mine oath! but to't again— By these ten ends of flesh and blood[350] I swear, First with this hand, wound thus about her hair,

And with this dagger lustily lambeak'd[351]— I would, i' faith, ay, by my villainy, I would.—But here, but here she comes, Led by two doctors in sweet lechery. If they speed, with my poison I go by; If not, have at you, maid: then step in I.

Enter MATILDA, between the MONK and the ABBESS.[352]

MONK. And as I said, fair maid, you have done well, In your distress, to seek this holy place. But tell me truly, how do you expel The rage of lust-arising heat in you?

MAT. By prayer, by fasting, by considering The shame of ill, and meed of doing well.

ABB. But daughter, daughter, tell me in my ear, Have you no fleshly fightings now and then? [Whisper.

BRAND. Fleshly, quoth you, a maid of three-score years? And fleshly fightings sticking in her teeth? Well, wench, thou'rt match'd, i' faith. [Aside.]

ABB. You do confess the king has tempted you, And thinking now and then on gifts and state, A glowing heat hath proudly puff'd you up: But, thanks to God, his grace hath done you good.

MONK. Who? the king's grace?

MAT. No; God's grace, holy monk.

MONK. The king's grace would fain do you good, fair maid.

MAT. Ill-good: he means my fame to violate.

ABB. Well, let that be.

BRAND. Good bawd, good mother B.[353] How fain you would that that good deed should be! [Aside.]

ABB. I was about to say somewhat upon a thing: O, thus it is. We maids that all the day are occupied In labour and chaste, hallow'd exercise, Are nothing so much tempted, while day lasts, As we are tried and proved in the night. Tell me, Matilda, had you, since you came, No dreams, no visions, nothing worth the note?

MAT. No, I thank God.

ABB. Truly you will, you will, Except you take good heed, and bless yourself; For if I lie but on my back awhile I am, past recovery, sure of a bad dream. You see yon reverend monk: now, God he knows, I love him dearer for his holiness, And I believe the devil knows it too; For the foul fiend comes to me many a night, As like the monk, as if he were the man— Many a hundred nights the nuns have seen, Pray, cry, make crosses, do they what they can— Once gotten in, then do I fall to work, My holy-water bucket being near-hand, I whisper secret spells, and conjure him, That the foul fiend hath no more power to stand: He down, as I can quickly get him laid, I bless myself, and like a holy maid, Turn on my right side, where I sleep all night Without more dreams or troubling of the sprite.

BRAND. An abbess? By the cross of my good blade,[354] An excellent mother to bring up a maid! For me, I mean, and my good master John; But never any for an honest man. [Coughs. Now, fie upon that word of honesty, Passing my throat't had almost choked me: 'Sblood, I'll forswear it for this trick. [Aside.]

MONK. We trifle time. Fair maid, it's thus in brief: This abbey by your means may have relief; An hundred marks a year. Answer, I pray, What will you do herein?

MAT. Even all I may.

ABB. It's charitably spoken, my fair child: A little thing of yours, a little help, Will serve the turn: learn but to bear—to bear The burden of this world, and it will do.

BRAND. Well, go thy ways: is this no bawd, think you? [Aside.]

MAT. Madam, the heavy burden of the world Hath long oppress'd me.

ABB. But not press'd you right; Now shall you bear a burden far more light.

MAT. What burden-bearing? whereto tends this talk?

MONK. To you, to us, this abbey, and King John.

MAT. O God, forfend he should be thought upon!

MONK. Lady, make short: the king must lie with you.

MAT. With me? with me? [First turns to the MONK, then to the ABBESS.

ABB. Sweet, never look so strange: He shall come closely,[355] nobody shall see.

MAT. How can he come, but One hath eyes to see?

MONK. Your chamber-windows shall be shadowed.

MAT. But no veil from my conscience shadows me.

ABB. And all the nuns sent quietly to bed.

MAT. But they will rise, and by my blushing red Quickly give guess of my lost maidenhead.

BRAND. She goes, i' faith: by God, she is their own! [Aside.

MONK. Be not so nice, the sin is venial, Considering you yield for charity; And by your fall the nunnery shall rise.

ABB. Regard good counsel, daughter: pray, be wise.

MONK. Come, here's a stir! will't do, wench? will it do?

ABB. Say ay, say ay; forget the sound of no: Or else say no, and take it:[356] wilt thou so?

MAT. Do you intend thus lewdly as you speak?

BRAND.[357] Ay, by Gog's blood, do they; and, moppet, you were best To take their proffers, lest, if they forsake you, I play the devil's part—step in, and take you.

MAT. Some holy water! help me, blessed nuns! Two damned spirits, in religious weeds, Attempt to tempt my spotless chastity; And a third devil, gaping for my soul, With horrid starings ghastly frighteth me.

ABB. You may Call while you will; but, maid, list what we say, Or be assur'd this is your dying day.

MAT. In his name that did suffer for my sin, And by this blessed sign, I conjure you. [Draws a crucifix. Depart, foul fiends, and cease to trouble me.

BRAND. 'Zounds, she thinks us devils! Hear you, conjuror, Except you use that trick to conjure down The standing spirit of my lord the king, That your good mother there, the Abbess, uses To conjure down the spirit of the monk, Not all your crosses have the power to bless Your body from a sharp and speedy death.

MAT. Are ye not fiends, but mortal bodies, then? [Feels them all.

BRAND. Maid, maid, catch lower when you feel young men. 'Sblood, I was never taken for the devil till now.

MAT. O, where shall chastity have true defence, When churchmen lay this siege to innocence? Where shall a maid have certain sanctuary, When Lady Lust rules all the nunnery? Now fie upon ye both, false seeming saints, Incarnate devils, devilish hypocrites! A cowled monk, an aged veiled nun, Become false panders, and with lustful speech Essay the chaste ears of true maidenhead! Now fie upon this age! Would I were dead!

MONK. Come, leave her, lady: she shall have her wish.

ABB. Speed her, I pray thee: should the baggage live, She'll slander all the chaste nuns in the land.

[Exeunt MONK, ABBESS.

BRAND. Well, well, go; get you two unto your conjuring: Let me alone to lay her on God's ground.

MAT. Why dost thou stay?

BRAND. Why, maid, because I must: I have a message to you from the king.

MAT. And thou art welcome to his humble maid. I thought thee to be grim and fierce at first, But now thou hast a sweet aspect, mild looks. Art thou not come to kill me from the king?

BRAND. Yes.

MAT. And thou art welcome; even the welcom'st man That ever came unto a woful maid. Be brief, good fellow: I have in the world No goods to give, no will at all to make; But God's will and the king's on me be done! A little money, kept to give in alms, I have about me: deathsman, take it all; Thou art the last poor almsman I shall see. Come, come, despatch! What weapon will death wear, When he assails me? Is it knife or sword, A strangling cord, or sudden flaming fire?

BRAND. Neither, thou manly maid. Look here, look here: A cup of poison. Wherefore dost thou smile?

MAT. O God! in this the king is merciful: My dear-lov'd Huntington by poison died. Good fellow, tell the king I thank his grace, And do forgive his causeless cruelty. I do forgive thee too, but do advise Thou leave this bloody course, and seek to save Thy soul immortal, closed in thy breast: [He gives it her. Be brief, I pray you. Now, to King John's health A full carouse:[358] and, God, remember not The curse he gave himself at Robin's death, Wishing by poison he might end his life, If ever he solicited my love. Farewell, good fellow. Now thy medicine works. And with the labour I am forc'd to rest.

BRAND. 'Zounds! she cares not: she makes death a jest.

MAT. The guiltless fear not death. Farewell, good friend; I pray thee, be no trouble in my end. [He stands staring and quaking.

Enter OXFORD, QUEEN, ABBESS, Attendants.

OX. And say you, Lady Abbess, that there came One from the king unto her? what was he?

ABB. Yonder he stands: I know not what he is. [Still he stands staring.

QUEEN. Jesus have mercy! Oxford, come not nigh him.

OX. Not nigh him, madam? yes: keep you away.

ABB. Come in, good queen; I do not mean to stay. [Exit ABBESS.

QUEEN. Nor I to stir before I see the end.[359]

OX. Why star'st thou thus? speak, fellow: answer me. Who art thou?

BRAND. A bloody villain and a murderer! A hundred have I slain with mine own hands. 'Twas I that starv'd the Lady Bruce to death And her young son at Windsor Castle late: 'Tis I have slain Matilda, blessed maid, And now will hurry to damnation's mouth, Forc'd by the gnawing worm of conscience. [Runs in.

OX. Hold him, for God's sake! stay the desperate wretch.

MAT. O, some good pitying man compassionate That wretched man, so woful desperate: Save him, for God's sake! he hath set me free From much world's woe, much wrong, much misery.