Читать книгу Lords and Lovers, and Other Dramas - Olive Tilford Dargan - Страница 10
ОглавлениеEld. O, my lady, up all night, and now 'tis barely day you must be going!
Gla. My good Eldra, you would teach my shadow constancy, for you follow me without let or leave from the sun.
Eld. I follow not you but my orders, mistress. Sir Roland says that I must not leave you.
Gla. The gates are all locked. Does he think me a bird to fly over the walls?
Eld. That he does! The bonniest bird that ever sang in Greenot woods. Isn't Sir Roland a man, my lady?
Gla. By his cap and feather, I should not doubt it.
Eld. But a man you may look at, my lady!
Gla. Pray God I may, madam, for 'tis sad to be young and blind.
Eld. Ay, but when I look at Sir Roland I could sing again the song that got me a husband.
Gla. What song? I think you got him with your fair face and honest mind, and he took the song by way of grace with meat.
Eld. True, mistress, I was a fair, canny lass over the border.
Gla. And a fair, canny dame you are now, Eldra. But what was the song?
Eld. It was back summat ten jaunts o' the sun from Lammas to Lammas. I was standing on the rock hills over Logan frith wi' the green woods behind me an' lookin' out to sea. The waves were runnin' high, and the brine in my face gave me such a spirit that in a minute my bonnet was off and I was singing at the top of my voice—
O braw, braw knight, come down the glen
And awa' to kirk wi' me!
And Heaven send us seven stout sons
To fight for our king on the sea!
It's a long ballad, but it's out o' my mind now, and who should come up behind me but my man that was to be, and 'twas set then and there we must go to the kirk come Sunday. Ay, it got me a husband, but never a son, for only six months away he was drowned at sea—the very sea that I'd sung so brave t-to——
Gla. Don't cry. He will come sailing back some day with a fortune in his pocket. I don't believe he was drowned.
Eld. I care not what's in his pocket, ma'am, if he bring me love in his heart.
Gla. That he will, I am sure. Where is Orson?
Eld. Bathing his knees in gooseoil, my lady. You kept him at prayers all night for Sir Hubert.
Gla. Why, did we not share his watch?
Eld. Yes, mistress, but when you fell asleep we had not the heart to wake you.
Gla. O, ho! I fell asleep, did I?
Eld. I should hope you did, my lady. For my part I winked but once, and when I woke up you were——
Gla. Asleep?
Eld. No, but you were praying so chipper that I knew you were just at it.
Gla. O, false woman! Do you think I could sleep when Hubert is on the sea? Call Orson to me.
Eld. Orson! Orson!
[Enter Orson, walking stiffly]
Gla. Why, Orson, you carry as much dignity as a watchman that has just let in a duke.
Ors. Mock not affliction got in your service, my lady.
Gla. My service? When did I tell you to sleep all night on your knees?
Ors. Sleep? Sleep, lady?
Gla. Ay, sleep. You are a knave. Bring me my lute.
Ors. Muttering] Sleep! There's thanks for you! [Exit]
Eld. Mistress, you must not play your lute here. The king's men are not like Sir Hubert's, and your voice will quick tell 'em there's a bird in the bower.
Gla. I am not afraid. What are men but creatures like ourselves?
Eld. Like ourselves? La, my lady!
Gla. There's no harm in them. You are a foolish dame.
[Re-enter Orson]
[Taking lute] Good Orson, I am sorry if your knees are stiff. You may have the unguent that Sir Roland brought me from Palestine. Go, Eldra, and get it for him.
Eld. [Aside] An I give him not gooseoil with a dash of cinnamon, I'm no good servant to my mistress. [Exeunt Eldra and Orson]
Gla. I do not like this castle with Hubert away. Sir Roland makes it a prison. If I could get out I should try to find my way to Greenot woods. The doves are nesting now, and the little brown fawns are specked with snow. [Plays lute and sings]
O, lady, let the roses blow
In thy pale cheeks for this—
That I may to that garden go
And pluck them with a kiss.
My roses are all plucked, she said,
No more shall ever grow,
For cold is he and low his head
Whose dear love made them blow.
Then lay she down where slept her lord
Upon the silver heather;
Then sighed the knight, nor said he word,
But left the twa together.
[Enter the king, dressed in black. He gazes at Glaia]
Gla. What is your name, boy?
Hen. Henry.
Gla. Henry? That is the king's name. Are you his soldier?
Hen. I fight for him.
Gla. Ah, me!
Hen. Is it not brave to fight?
Gla. But kings are wicked
To buy their kingdoms with their subjects' lives.
Two days ago they brought a noble knight
Into the castle, bloody and quite dead,
And when I cried, my Hubert whispered "Hush,
'Tis for the king." Hubert is now at sea—
Mayhap this moment dies—and for the king.
And 'twas last night I heard Sir Roland say
"We'll hold the castle till each man is down,"
All for the king. And now you fight for him.
I hate the king!
Hen. O, do not say that.
Gla. Why?
Hen. Because he loves you.
Gla. He has never seen me.
You're merry, boy.
Hen. But good kings love their subjects
Before they know them.
Gla. O! Is Henry good?
Hen. He prays to be so.
Gla. Let him pray, lest he
Grow old in evil like his father, John.
Who is your father, Henry?
Hen. He is dead.
Gla. Ah! But you have a mother.
Hen. Far away,
And one who loves me little.
Gla. Now I'll sigh
No more for parents, since I know that they
May die, or prove unkind. I have no kin.
But Hubert loves me.
Hen. Lady——
Gla. I am Glaia.
That is all I know, but Hubert says
Some day he'll tell me more. I do not care.
I love to be a mystery to myself.
Hen. [Aside] She's nobly born, and kept from her estate;
But how should she be honest Hubert's charge?
Gla. What say you, Henry?
Hen. 'Tis so strange to find
An angel housing in this black-browed castle,
Converting war's grim seat to paradise.
Hast always lived here?
Gla. O, behind these walls?
No, I've a home deep in the happy forest.
I do not like this place—these huge black rocks
Piled up so high, with caves i' the ground, and holes
To shoot out arrows. I walk on tiptoe here,
Afraid I'll wake the ghosts that sleep i' the corners.
But in the forest I can shout and run,
And everything I wake will laugh and sing.
Hen. Where is this happy place?
Gla. I can not tell.
'Twas night when we came here, and Hubert says
That none must know the way. I wonder why.
Do you live in a castle?
Hen. When I'm not
At wars.
Gla. O me, I would not live in one
To please——
Hen. The king?
Gla. No, not to please the king.
Hen. If he were lonely, Glaia?
Gla. Lonely? O,
He is to wed the princess Margaret.
Are you not glad? He'll not be lonely then.
She's fair and good, they say.
Hen. But not as you.
Her princess feet like well the solid earth.
She is a flower that sips of sun and dew.
But feedeth most from root-cups firm in ground;
While you are made of music, love, and air,—
A being of the sky—a lover's star,
Although he be a king. The grace of heaven
About your beauty plays, and drops as soft
Upon my eyes as light from the lark's wing.
But I must leave you now. Sweet, take this gift.
[Gives her his jewelled belt]
And know my name and place are worthy yours,
Though you should be a princess, as I think.
See, here's a jewel in this belt. I dare
To part with it, though wise men say my life
Is safe but when I wear it. 'Tis the stone
Of Wales, and blessed by magic of the seers
That in that country dwell.
Gla. Then keep it. Ay,
You must.
Hen. No, no! I have a fear some harm
Will touch you, me away. Keep you the charm,
And I will take your lute. In lonely hours
I'll touch the chords and think thou'rt listening. [Exit]
Gla. A lovely boy! O me, these dreadful wars!
Eldra's a goose to call the king's men rude.
I wish he had not gone. I'll play again
And see who'll come. Ah, now I have no lute.
No matter, I will sing.
[Sings]
O, sweet the day and fair the May,
But Love he laid him down to weep——
[Enter Gregory]
Greg. A pixy sure!
Sweet apparition, wilt fly if I approach?
Then here I'll stand, and from this point remote
As frosty Hebrid from the golden East,
Adore thy seeming substance! Ah, no answer?
Advance then, valiant Gregory, and explore.
Flesh? 'S light, 'tis flesh! A very woman, too.
A silent woman. Heavenly miracle!
With lips like twin strawberries 'neath one leaf.
The very manner of them begs a kiss.
I' faith, they shall not beg.
Gla. You would not kiss me!
Greg. You wrong me, duck. Why, I'm a man of mirth
A soldier, sweet. And would not kiss? Now, now!
You take me for a ghost—or starve-bone saint.
I am not padded—I fill out my coat
And owe but for the cloth. A man, my chick!
Shalt have a kiss.
Gla. O, help me, Eldra! Help!
[Stephen runs in, seizes Gregory and shakes him about]
Ste. [Pricking him with his sword] Shalt have a kiss, he shall! A man, my chick!
I fill my coat, I do.'
Greg. Hold, sir! I am
An officer of the king!
Ste. Why then, shalt have
More kisses! 'S blood! I thought thee but a scrub.
A king's man, sir, shall have more ceremony.
[Pricks him around the room. Enter Roland]
Rol. Stephen! Brawling here? You know the orders.
Ste. Orders, I take it, sir, don't count in such a case extraordinary.
Rol. Your extraordinary cases have become quite usual, Stephen.
Ste. Be you the judge, sir. This gay blood here was troubling the lady——
Rol. Glaia! Then he dies! [Drawing his sword]
Ste. Orders, orders, sir!
Gla. He did not touch me, Roland.
Rol. Touch thee? If he
No more than looked at thee death is enough.
But had he touched thee——
Gla. Art thou cruel, Roland?
I thought thee gentle. Wouldst thou make me hate thee?
Rol. You shall not hate me, Glaia. [Sheathes his sword] Let him live.
But take him from my sight. [Exeunt Stephen and Gregory]
Gla. O, Roland, now
I love thee!
Rol. Love me, Glaia?
Gla. Next to Hubert.
Rol. O, next to Hubert.
Gla. And the boy.
Rol. The boy?
Gla. Henry his name is. Such a pretty youth!
He gave me this,—and see, this jewel here
Is all so precious that it guards the life
Of whoso wears it. He must like me well
To give it me. Dost think he likes me, Roland?
Rol. [Aside] O God, the king! ... Give me the baldric, Glaia.
I will return it, for I know the youth.
In truth, I've seen him wear this very belt.
'Twas wrong to take it, Glaia. He belongs
So wholly to the king that you can have
No portion of his love, lest he betray
Himself and thee. Go, get you ready, child,
To leave this place. For you 'tis full of dangers.
Gla. Back to the woods? O happiness! But I—
Ah, must we go so soon?
Rol. It was your prayer.
Gla. But then—I had not—strange! Why is it, Roland,
'Tis not so merry going as I thought?
Is't not a little lonely in the woods?
And yet it never seemed so. Will you come
To see me, Roland?
Rol. Do you want me, Glaia?
Gla. O, yes, dear Roland! And you'll bring the boy?
I want to ask if he will be my brother.
Rol. You must not see him. Go and get you ready.
[Exit Glaia]
O, wretched me, to love so frail a thing!
Fragile and pure, thou art not for this world,
Where the same winds that bring thee breath must blow
Thy gentle life out.
[Re-enter the king]
Sovereign liege,
Count it not boldness if I dare to guess
Your presence here. You come, my lord, to find
This precious property. [Gives him the belt]
I know 'tis prized,
And hold me happy that it met my eye
Before another's.
Hen. Gentle Roland, thanks.
I need not ask if you found aught with this
More precious still.
Rol. Nothing that majesty
Might without blushing claim.
Hen. Thank you again.
[Aside] I've found the lover! ... Is there news from sea?
Rol. Uncertain news, that I was on my way
To give to you. Report cries victory
For Hubert, but 'tis chance improbable
That he should win, so take a breath, your highness,
Ere you believe.
Hen. The lords must know of this!
Rol. Your majesty, I have a suit to thee.
Hen. A victory!
Rol. If you do hold him dear
Who, by report, has won this doubtful battle,
That saves your kingdom and sets fast your crown,
I beg you hear me!
Hen. Speak, but be not slow,
Good Roland.
Rol. Sire, De Burgh has enemies
Who seek his downfall, for his honesty
Stands rock-like 'tween the throne and treachery.
'Twas they who wrought to send him feebly forth
'Gainst odds so great they left no chance of life
Save by God's love and favor. If he wins,
The victor's garland and his king's reward
Will further urge their hate to villainy.
Hen. Who are these foes?
Rol. The earl of Albemarle,
Pembroke and Winchester.
Hen. My very staff!
What proof hast thou?
Rol. I've nothing for your eye.
But in my heart there is a testament
That makes me bold to name them. I would risk
All but my soul to save you such a friend
And virtuous servant as De Burgh, You may
Condemn me——
Hen. First, I'll watch these lords.
But be they false, where, where shall I find friends?
Rol. 'Mong those who fight your battles, sire, nor fear
To die to save a king.
[Exit]
Hen. [Seating himself in an alcove]
I see a king
Must take some thought to keep his crown on 's head.
Eld. Dear man, you can't deny it! 'Twas you saved my mistress. But for my good man drowned at sea I'd love you, sweeting.
Ste. And if you love me it must be by way of kiss and part, for my good wife is still in the world, I've reason to think, and some day I shall run plumb into her bonny white arms. But a kiss, my lass, with a penny to the priest, can do a soldier no harm, and you'll always find me obliging in everything except matrimony.
Eld. Out! Away! You old father Longbeard! You Johnny Hump-back!
Ste. Hump! 'Tis the squint in your eye, my dearie! I'm as straight as a poplar in the king's court.
Eld. Squint, sir? May be so, for I'm thinkin' o' my braw handsome man, an' 'twould make a straight eye squint to see you standin' in his place, it would.
Ste. An' I'm thinkin' o' my bonny little girl, as plump and tender as a partridge at her first nest, and out upon you, my fine, fat waddler!
Eld. An my man were here you'd drop to your fours and go like a beast for shame, you would. The prettiest figure 'tween here and Jerusalem! He had an arm! He could sling a sword! And such a leg! Dick Lion-heart never shaped a trimmer stocking. Hair like a raven fannin' the wind! An eye like Sallydeen's! For all the world a black coal with a fire in the middle. No watery peepers like present company's. An his eyes were stars in heaven I could point 'em out!
Ste. O, my sweet wench that's a waitin' for me! When shall I see her comin' with her head up like a highland doe, an' cheeks as red as my grandam's nightcap? I think o' her now as she stood on the high rocks over Logan's frith singin' the song that made the sugar-water start in my heart. And straight I must gallop wi' her to the kirk— Hey, what's the matter, old lady?
Eld. Nothin'—nothin', sir,—just one o' my qualms.
Ste. Do you have 'em ordinary? A pity now. My lass, an she lived a thousand years, would not he qualmsy.
Eld. [Aside] 'Tis Stephen, my own man! And he doesn't know me! O, I am changed from his ain lassie! He despises me! Waddler! O!
Ste. Chirk up, old duck. When I find my lass——
[Re-enter Orson]
Ors. Mistress Eldra, what do you gabbling here and my lady calling you?
[Exit Eldra with Orson]
Ste. Eldra? By Pharo's ghost! Let me see—ten years. It might be—yes—her very complexion—the pert eye—the little foot—the canny twitch to her lips—and her man drowned at sea. Well, I'm pickled. She has built up such a Solomon's glory picture o' me that plain Stephen Godfrey will never get another chance. He had an arm! Ha! Did I? An eye like Sallydeen! A leg like Lion-heart! Ha! [Struts up and down] But now I'm father Longbeard. Well, I'll shave off this weeping willow tree anyhow.
[Re-enter Eldra]
Eld. Good sir, are you here yet?
Ste. [Aside] Good sir! Methinks I grow in favor. Ay, sweet madam.
Eld. [Aside] He's lookin' softer now. Well a day, this is a world. Here they brought me and the lady Glaia to make sure we would be safe, and now they're taking us back for the same reason. Ay me, and a lonely, dreary place it is we're goin' to, with never a civil gentleman like yourself to sit out the night wi' a stoop o' ale an' cakes o' my own raisin'.
Ste. My good madam, if you will give me the tip o' the road, I'll not be a slow traveller when the business of war will let an honest soldier course to his liking.
Eld. O, 'tis secret, sir. My lady is hid away for some reason of God or the devil, and I'll not be so false as to let a stranger on the track.
Ste. Am I a stranger, madam? Did not my good arm no more than an hour ago procure me warrant for better treatment? Come! As you say, there'll be lonely times, and a discreet companion who knows how to keep his tongue behind his teeth will not come amiss on a rainy day.
Eld. [Aside] How can it be harm to tell my own man when the good priest said we were one flesh? 'Twill only be tellin' my own ears. Well, sir, if you'll swear by St. Peter's thumb and the crucifix you'll never let anybody know——
Ste. By St. Peter's thumb and the crucifix—and your black eyes, too—I swear!
Eld. Then take the straight road to—O, I'm afraid!
Ste. Courage, my pretty! There's not a cricket to hear you.
Eld. The straight road to Greenot woods, and two miles in the forest where the brook crosses, ride up the stream half a mile to a tall red ash standin' alone, and three miles by the path to the right brings you to the place you'll find me. Now I've done it! No, don't thank me for bein' a fool.
Ste. Nay, a woman, dearie.
Eld. I must run to my mistress.
[Exit Eldra, Stephen following]
Hen. [Coming forward] Go, Stephen with the Lion's leg. You'll haste
If I be not before you. Am I bound
To Margaret? By others' mouths, perhaps.
But certain not at all by oath of mine.
[Enter friar Sebastian]
What holy gloom comes here? Friar Sebastian,
One time the counsellor to Isabel.
Do you not know me, father?
Fr. Seb. [Kneeling] Gracious king!
Hen. Nay, rise and bless me.
Fr. Seb. Hear, my sovereign.
This meeting is not chance. I sought thee here
To tell what palsies me to think on.
Hen. Speak,
Then think of it no more.
Fr. Seb. 'Tis said De Burgh
Has gained the victory 'gainst all expectance.
I know that he was sure he went to death,
Else had he never put unto his lips
The rose that bloomed for one so high above him.
But dreaded death is yet full gracious, sire,
And sanctions rights too bold for life to claim.
Hen. Did Hubert wrong me, father?
Fr. Seb. Alas, my king!
Hen. Come, drop your burden even to my heart
That I may know its weight.
Fr. Seb. Sire, in the hour
That he spent last on land, I married him
To a most noble lady.
Hen. Married? Ha!
Nor asked consent of me? Not one
"By your good leave, my king"?
Fr. Seb. If in my words
So soon you find affront to majesty,
I dare not tell you more.
Hen. Nay, I'll forgive him.
Remembering his service 'twere too stern
To make contention of his marriage.
Fr. Seb. Though he should banish all the woes of England,
Make sorrow alien, and a tear unknown,
Yet has he wronged a king. Though happy mothers
Drop on their knees and let no hour pass by
Without its prayer for him, still has he wronged
A king!
Hen. Wilt never speak because you speak
So much?
Fr. Seb. Here let me lie, and pray your grace
For two long troubled hearts. When I have spoken
Then set thy foot upon my priestly head,
But spare them, spare them, sire!
Hen. Up! Rise, I say,
From this debasement. We shall take good care
To shield your holiness. Now speak!
Fr. Seb. One word
Will tell you—one.
Hen. [Taking a seat] And how much time will 't take
To say that word?
Fr. Seb. It is the name of her
Whom knightly Hubert made his wife.
Hen. Is it
A long name, father?
Fr. Seb. [On his knees] It is Margaret.
Hen. [Rising] Of Scotland?
Fr. Seb. [Covering his head] Ay, my liege.
Hen. [Aside] Deliverance!
Rise, father, rise, and learn that even a king
Is noble enough to suffer and forgive.
Fr. Seb. Have I my ears? Are these your words, my lord?
Or does some pitying angel alchemize
Them into sounds more fit to reach my weak
And trembling age?
Hen. You hear even as I speak.
'Tis true that Hubert pitched his love full high.
Good manners had not o'ershot the royal bow;
But take my word no harm shall come to him.
Fr. Seb. He'll need a friend, my liege, for dangers stride
In wake of this rash marriage.
Hen. Leave them
To me. I'll try my fledgling wit in this.
Where is the cardinal?
Fr. Seb. I' the western hall.
Hen. Here come the lords. But first I'll speak with Gualo.
[Exeunt Henry and friar Sebastian, left. At right, enter Albemarle, Winchester and Pembroke]
Pem. [To Albemarle] He has not yet confirmed you chancellor?
Alb. No need, so short his reign.
Win. We should have news.
By this the battle's done. I wonder now
How far is Hubert's head on its long journey
To ocean's bottom?
Alb. May it please your grace,
We think 'tis best that you stay with the king.
If all desert him 'twill look foul in us,
And it will take an honest English face
To keep the people with us.
Win. True, my lord.
And I will stay with him, for I have gone
A little deeper in his heart than you,
And can best turn him to advance our plot.
Pem. While we ride forth to call men to defence—
In truth to give them hand and foot to Louis—
You wait here with the king——
Win. I understand.
And you not coming up, perforce be taken.
Then Henry may lay by his crown, or keep 't
To please his jailer's peeping mammets, or bribe
His turnkey for a slug of meat.
Alb. The jail
Where he must lie is small and needs no keeper;
For who go in so well contented are
They're never known to set foot forth again.
Win. Must go so far? Well, as you please, my lords.
[Re-enter Henry, with Cardinal Gualo and attendants]>
Alb. God save your majesty!
Hen. My faithful friends,
Well met.
Win. Ah, still in black, my liege?
Hen. Why not,
My lord? When my poor father in the flesh
Was struck by death they dressed me in this hue;
And heavier cause have I to wear it now,
When he who gave my soul its dearest light—
My father in nobility above
The blood or happy chance of birth—is gone
To come no more.
Win. But, good, my liege, am I
So little worth that with a strange misfit
I wear his dignity?
Hen. The worthier
You are to wear 't you'll teach me to regret
His goodness lost, and be more pleased to see
How I prize virtue dead, guessing thereby
How dear is living virtue to my soul.
Pem. [Aside to Albemarle] Does he suspect?
Alb. 'Twould trouble us. There are
Some captains in the fort would make a way
For his escape.
Hen. You've had no news, my lords?
Alb. We yet wait word, but rest you easy, sire.
Our fleet is safe and proudly bearing home.
Hen. Your faith is strong.
Alb. I have no doubt, my lord.
Hen. Were it not well to take this time to plan
De Burgh's reward?
Alb. Ay, 'twere, your majesty.
Hen. What say you, my lord cardinal? You first.
How should we grace his triumph? With what honor?
Gualo. None is too great. I'd place him next the throne.
What think your lordships?
Alb. As yourself, my lord.
[Aside to Pembroke] Best humor him.
Gualo. Then further I may speak.
The earl of Kent, who lately met his death,
Has left no heir to his vast lands and name.
I think that God did so provide this place
For honor of De Burgh. And more than this,
Let him be made the great lord chancellor,
And chief justiciary of this troubled realm.
Alb. [Aside to Pembroke] Agree. No matter. Gualo's eye is on us.
Win. You speak in happy time, lord cardinal,
And we embrace your meaning heartily.
Hen. This easy payment of so great a debt
Inclines me to forget the dangerous way
De Burgh comes by his honor. We must keep
That ever in our hearts, my worthy lords,
Lest we grow jealous of his climbing fortune.
Alb. I hope we've memories, sire, and honest ones.
Hen. Well, to forfend the bating of his praise
In my poor mind, I'll give a lasting proof
Of how I hold him, and here forfeit right
To Margaret's hand in favor of De Burgh.
Alb. My liege! The princess?
Hen. He is now an earl;
And if I not complain, should any here?
Alb. But, sire——
Pem. [Aside to Albemarle] Submit! 'Tis only for an hour.
Alb. Pardon me that I thought to save you, sire
From such dear sacrifice.
Hen. 'Tis fit we make it,
And ask your fair approval, Albemarle.
Alb. And here I give it, my too gracious king.
[To an attendant] Whist! Are the horses saddled?
Att. Ready, sir.
[Enter Gregory]
Hen. Well, captain, well?
Greg. The princess Margaret
And lady Albemarle are at the gates.
Alb. My countess gads for news of her brave brother.
Hen. A worthy quest. [To Gregory] See them refreshed and lodged,
But bid them keep their chamber for a time.
[Exit Gregory]
Alb. [To Pembroke] Where are our messengers?
Can they be lost?
Pem. We should have heard by now. There's something wrong.
[Enter an attendant]
Att. Your majesty, a messenger!
Hen. From sea?
[Enter Gersa]
Ger. The king! Where is the king?
Alb. Pray use your eyes.
Ger. [Kneeling] Your majesty.
Hen. Arise. Your message?
Ger. Sire,
Hubert de Burgh is at the port.
Alb. [Aside] How now?
Ger. With all his ships but five.
Pem. [To Winchester] But five? What's here?
Win. A witch i' the pot, your lordships.
Ger. For those five
There's fifty of the French gone to the bottom.
The rest are scattered wide, with crippled sails
Begging the winds for mercy.
Hen. Hark, my lords!
Divinity is here. [To Gersa] How was this done?
What know you of the battle?
Ger. When we met
The opposing fleet, we crept by swift and silent,
As to escape the fight. So near we coursed
We heard the jeers cast on us as we passed.
Well by, we turned, and with the wind at back,
Bore down full sail and grappled.
Hen. Here were men!
Ger. Then, sire, we cut the lime-sacks on our decks——
Hen. Lime-sacks?
Ger. Which gave out smarting clouds that rose——
Hen. Now here were fools!
Ger. Sire, you forget the wind.
The sweeping breeze took up the stinging lime,
Clearing our decks, but wrapping round our foes,
Blinding all eyes.
Hen. St. George!
Ger. 'Twas easy then
To hook our vessels to the great French ships,
Cut down their rigging and make way at will
O'er the wallowing crew.
Pem. Must we believe this tale?
Hen. Goes it against your wish?
Pem. Nay, but 'tis strange.
Ger. [To Henry] One hundred knights, eight hundred officers,
Now wait their doom from you. Le Moine was found
Hid in his ship, and offered mighty sums
For his vile life, but Fitzroy closed the parley
By striking off his head.
Alb. What? Le Moine dead?
Hen. Why so amazed, my lord of Albemarle?
Did you not prophesy a victory?
Alb. True, true, my liege, but this surpasses all
My hope of it. Call it a miracle,
Not victory.
Gualo. Call it whate'er you will,
The Lord of Hosts was with this noble knight.
Hen. Not knight, but the right noble earl of Kent,
And for his life our grand justiciary.
[To Gersa] Thou art the mavis to a happy dawn.
Come, sing again. [Talks aside with him]
Win. [To Albemarle and Pembroke] Your lordships, do you ride?
Alb. What tone is this?
Win. A tone you'll tune to, sir.
Didst think me such a fool to stay and fall
With Henry into Louis' hands? Nay, I've
No wish to enter that small cell of earth
Which needs no turnkey, as you say.
Alb. What, sir?
Win. No, by the Lord! At the first castle where
You planned to stop I had my servants laid
To take you prisoners. It stirs my blood
That you should think I came to the bishopric
By a fool's wit. Now Rome is at my back,
And Henry king! But I'll make peace with you,
For I foresee a power in De Burgh
That warns me not to scorn even traitor strength.
Alb. Ay, we've no fear you'll let this sudden turn
Cut off our fortunes.
Hen. Come, my lords. Come, all!
We'll to the gates to greet the earl of Kent!
[Exeunt. Curtain]
