ACT IV
SCENE I.
[2nd Grooves.]
GURTON'S Ale House.
Host and Guests.
Host. So they say the king is to die. Well, his head hath swung at my door many a year, and I cannot say but that there was custom. Good day to you, Master Gilead Stubbs, you have a good mile to walk. Shall the boy go with you?
Mast. Stubbs. Nay! nay! I thank you, I will with Master Jesson here. You have lost the Captain. Where is he?—
Host. What, that Wyckoff? Gone, and his score left unpaid. Moreover, I think 'twas he that hid my keys.
A Guest. Ah! how was it?
Host. I have never lost them before. It was in my secret place, and yon Wyckoff had to do with it. He was drunk the morning I missed them without being served. I am glad he is gone.
Guests. Good day, Master Newborn, good day.
Host. The Lord be with ye; [Exeunt Guests.] and make sound vessels of ye! [Aside.] for the holding of good liquor. This is the best company I have had for long. How restless I feel. I cannot help thinking of my dream, that Wyckoff and the other would have slain me, and 'twas in this very room. Let me see, I dreamt too they hid something—this plank seems loose. I could fancy now this were the fag-end of my dream—[Lifts the Plank.] What is here?—As I live, my keys, and a bundle of papers.— [Reads.] "To Master Arthur Walton?" Why, he hath not been here, for long. If now it 'twere Basil his brother and the Captain had left them here—from Sir Marmaduke Langdale too. Here is something wrong. I feel choked. Let me put them back. Why now, I could swear I had seen them placed there. It is very odd. And to think of my keys too. I could fancy they were only skeletons. Yet I know their jingle well. I'll to my brewer now, and, as there is no one here, I say [looks round] God keep the poor king's head on his shoulders, and may it be long ere he die on his bier! [Exit, R.]
SCENE II.
[1st Cut.] [3rd Grooves.]
An Apartment in Hampton Court. The LADY ELIZABETH reading. In an inner chamber are ARTHUR and FLORENCE. Practicable door 2nd E.R.
[ARTHUR is heard singing to a lute in the adjoining chamber.]
SONG
When thy lover, dear, is nigh thee,
Look not on the world around,
In his eyes be thy blue vision,
In his eyes thy vision bound—
For thou'lt find all Heaven, I swear,
By thy gaze reflected there!
In thy ripe lips is his summer,
Autumn in thy braided hair;
Jealous is he of spring's snow-drops
Stolen from thy neck's warm care;
But the winter of his mind
Is when thou, love, art unkind:
In thee rounded, thus, his year,
Joy, doubt, sweet content, and fear.
Eliz. [Throwing down the book.] The black print seems all red—I cannot read!
[Points to the inner room.]
Mine eyes burn so—And they are happy there
Together—'twas my work—and now I wish
That seas convuls'd by tempests were between them;
And an eternal veil of blackness girded
The one from the other—each in separate light,
But still apart! apart! O horror, why
Doth their communion cast such hopeless gloom
Upon me, more than all a father's guilt,
A sovereign's woe?—O daughter of a traitor!
Traitoress! Thou lovest him thy friend doth love,
And—he loves her! ay, that is it, he loves her.
[Laughs hysterically.]
I am a wedded wife. There is no stain
Of guilty wish. I ne'er thought to be his:
No! no! False wretch, thou dost this moment. Hold,
'Tis past!
Oh! would that I were far remov'd,
Not seeing, hearing, knowing all their lore,
Not feeling their young blest affection jar
Through every fibre—thus!
This is the day
The king's fate is decided—If he die
Arthur will hate us, hate my father, me,
The regicide's pale daughter—thus to think
Of the king's life! that was my only prayer
Before; and now it fades on my cold lips,
And startles me to hear it! [MUSIC is heard within.]
O my heart!
It seems as though a thousand daggers' points
Would not suffice to stab it, so it might
Feel some release— [Falls on her knees.]
My God! forsake me not!
As the music ends, enter the LADY CROMWELL; she approaches her daughter, and, bending over her, lifts her up.
Lady Crom. What is it, child?—I have now heard from Fairfax:
He saith it will not be—Thy father is
But stern unto the last—
He'll pray to God
And God will aid him—
Eliz. But His judgments, mother!
Are awful. Did not Christ condemn the mind
That is polluted with a guilty thought,
As if 'twere done?
Lady Crom. This weary thought of hers
About the king hath turn'd her brain.
Dear daughter,
Rouse thee, he will not die!
Enter a Messenger, others of the family, the LADY FAIRFAX in deep mourning.
Lady Fairf. The king is sentenced. Death! [Bell tolls.]
ELIZABETH, raising herself, falls back into her Mother's arms with a sudden scream. They carry her back.
Enter ARTHUR and FLORENCE.
Arth. Then, madam, let us part—'tis better.
Flor. Yes, I think so, sir.
Arth. I cannot brook this treatment—
Flor. I do not wish you—
Arth. Heartless!
Flor. Certainly,
A heart is troublesome; it oft makes fools
Of those that own it—
I should hate a man
Made me ridiculous.
Arth. Farewell!
Flor. Farewell!
[FLORENCE runs to the LADY ELIZABETH.]
Arth. [Joining the group.] What is the matter?
One of the Domestics. Sir, the king is sentenc'd To death; it is too much for her—
Arth. Alas! Is it even so?—
Flor. [To Arthur.] Arthur! here, lend your aid To bear her hence—Elizabeth! 'Tis Florence—
[He attempts to raise her.]
Eliz. I tell you I can stand—
His arm? [Aside.]
Away! [Aloud.]
Sir, do not touch me, you ill-treat my friend!
Flor. To think she heard, my folly— Sir, I fancy [To Arthur.] She will be better, if you are not here—
[He bows and is about to retire.]
Enter CROMWELL and PEARSON followed by two or three officers.
Crom. Where be ye all?—
[To an Officer.] These to your Colonel Pride—
[Exit officer, L.]
And thou to Rich; tell him to watch and fast,
[To another.]
For I have need of him—[Exit officer, L.]
What coil is this?—[To his Family.]
My daughter ill! send a physician, quick:
Pearson, look to it—
I am ill myself.
'Twas a sore trial, ye have heard of it—
The man must die—
Eliz. No! father, as you hope For mercy, no!
Crom. Peace, simpleton. It was The voice of all this people.
Arth. General, hear me: Thou hadst the power to save—
Crom. Ay! Master Walton, Thou thinkest so?—
Arth. I do!—
Crom. And dar'st to speak it?
Arth. Dare! General Cromwell! [Takes off his sword.] Here, look, is my sword, I'll never more bear arms with thee or thine.
Crom. I do protest thou wilt not—
Take his sword; [To an Officer.]
I did not think to find this kite so tame.
Good, honest Master Walton, tell me now
What news from Langley, virtuous Master Walton?
Nay, never look with that blank wonderment,
Friend Arthur Walton—
[ARTH. attempts to speak.] Tush, sir, not a word—
As the Lord liveth, thou shalt die the death—
Take him away. I hate his open brow
More than a dozen dark-fac'd royalists
In arms against us.
Arth. What doth this mean?— Frenzy Hath surely seized him—
Crom. No! the sense To know thee, hypocrite!
Flor. O Arthur! Arthur!
What has he done? [Rushes to his arms.]
Forgive me, dearest Arthur!
Sir, he's not guilty— [To Cromwell.]
Crom. Silence, woman! Take him Away!
Eliz. My veins thrill! Parted?—No! No! No!
Perish the mean thought—
Let me aid them, though
I die; then o'er my quiet grave, my thought
Doth sculpture them in prayer—
[To Cromwell.] He is innocent,
My father! Let him go—Do you not see
They love each other?—
Crom. Art thou not ashamed? Thou wanton girl!
Arth. My Florence! I am happy Since thou dost love me. I know nought of that With which he charges me—
Flor. I know thou dost not:
Thou shalt not die!
O man of blood, beware! [To Cromwell.]
If thou'rt deceived, repentance comes too late.
Is that a traitor's look! Thou canst not quell it
Back'd by an army.
Thou hast bitter moments
E'en now. The king—
Crom. I'll hear no more—remove him. [A pause.]
Yet I will give three days, if in that time
Ye prove him innocent, 'tis well—If not,
He dies the death!
[ARTHUR is seized; ELIZABETH clings to her Father, who looks on her with an expression of anger, which gradually softens into affection. Exeunt, on the one side, ARTHUR, L. with his Guards, on the other, CROMWELL, with his Family, &c., R.]
Enter WILLIAM and HOST, U.E.R.
Will. Come on, I tell thee they are all gone. Have I not liberty here?
Host. Hem! Did'st thou notice how that young imp of a page flouted thee, when thou did'st civilly inquire the hour of the day? Thou wert welcome as a wet Sunday to his new feather. I doubt whether I myself will continue to know thee.
Will. Is there no way to save him? If now it were the marriage of his heart something might occur; but I never yet heard of an accident on the road to a gallows.
Host. Cheer up! cheer up! we must all die, young and old. I have had my trials. In these wars I have known very estimable men die that owed me money. There is your true trial now.
Will. If he had been slain on the right side, and died comely with a love-lock as a gentleman should. But to perish by the false canting rebel that he served. He a traitor! My master! The innocentest youth alive. Why even I, that have some claim, could not find it in my heart to cheat him. It would have been an insult to my understanding to impose upon him that had no suspicions, and would leave out his doublet in the morning to be cleaned unemptied, when he had won uncounted pieces of gold at night—Alas! Alas!
Host. Come along, thou mayest as well drink; for weeping will not mend thee. Besides, I have something to tell thee about him and his brother Basil, and one Wyckoff, that hath left his score unpaid; but I cannot remember it just now.
[He takes him by the arm and leads him out, L.]
Enter BASIL, WALTON, and FLORENCE, R.
Basil. He is my half-brother, it is true; but shall he betray the true cause for that? Shall our consanguinity make me so weak?
Flor. Oh, Basil! you have said that you can save him— Save him that lov'd you well, that gave you all That was his own—
Bas. May curses light on him! Why should his sneaking face thus cross my love?
Flor. In Heaven alone I put my trust to save him; Profane my sight no longer, sir. Away!
Bas. You are right—Let him die—Tis I am wrong To save a traitor thus, a damned traitor—
Flor. Blasphemer, silence!
Bas. Oh, a traitor's death! 'Tis none so envious—but as I'm his brother, I thought to save our name from this foul blot.
Flor. Oh, agony!
Bas. 'Tis true his life Is nothing, and 'tis forfeit—but his name Dishonour'd, tainted—
Flor. Hold, hold! Let me think. Have mercy! No? [Aside.] Then let me die for him, For thus I could not live. [Aloud.] I will be yours, But not yet—
Bas. O, I'll give a month. I am A courteous wooer—then, perchance your love May date, ere we are married—'Tis well so—
[Attempts to take her by the hand.]
Flor. I pray you, leave me now—
Bas. You swear then—
Flor. Yes!
Bas. By all that's holy?
Flor. Sir! it is enough, I have said that if you claim me in a month, I will be yours, if living—go! now, go!
Bas. Remember that his life alone I promise—
Flor. His life, his life! O God! Quick, save his life—
[He takes her hand, which he kisses; she withdraws it with an expression of pain. Exeunt, FLORENCE, L., BASIL, R.]