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.