Chapter 14

_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 Iö 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_.