Chapter 15

_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_.