ACT V., SCENE I.
Enter BRAND solus; with cup, bottle of poison.
BRAND. Good, by this hand! exceeding, passing good!
The dog no sooner drank it, but yugh! yugh! quoth he:
So grins me with his teeth, lies down and dies:
Yugh! quoth I: by God's blood, go thy ways.
Of all thy line and generation,
Was never dog so worshipp'd as thou art,
For, ere thou died'st, thou wert an officer,
I lie not, by these[348] nails: a squire's place;
For the vile cur became a countess's taster:
So died the dog. Now in our next account
The countess comes; let's see, a countess and a nun:
Why so, why so!
What, would she have the whole world quite undone?
We'll mete[349] her for that trick. What, not a king?
Hanging's too good for her. I am but a plain knave.
And yet should any of these "no forsooths,"
These pray-aways, these trip-and-goes, these tits,
Deny me, now by these—
A plague upon this bottle and this cup,
I cannot act mine oath! but to't again—
By these ten ends of flesh and blood[350] I swear,
First with this hand, wound thus about her hair,
And with this dagger lustily lambeak'd[351]—
I would, i' faith, ay, by my villainy,
I would.—But here, but here she comes,
Led by two doctors in sweet lechery.
If they speed, with my poison I go by;
If not, have at you, maid: then step in I.
Enter MATILDA, between the MONK and the ABBESS.[352]
MONK. And as I said, fair maid, you have done well,
In your distress, to seek this holy place.
But tell me truly, how do you expel
The rage of lust-arising heat in you?
MAT. By prayer, by fasting, by considering
The shame of ill, and meed of doing well.
ABB. But daughter, daughter, tell me in my ear,
Have you no fleshly fightings now and then? [Whisper.
BRAND. Fleshly, quoth you, a maid of three-score years?
And fleshly fightings sticking in her teeth?
Well, wench, thou'rt match'd, i' faith. [Aside.]
ABB. You do confess the king has tempted you,
And thinking now and then on gifts and state,
A glowing heat hath proudly puff'd you up:
But, thanks to God, his grace hath done you good.
MONK. Who? the king's grace?
MAT. No; God's grace, holy monk.
MONK. The king's grace would fain do you good, fair maid.
MAT. Ill-good: he means my fame to violate.
ABB. Well, let that be.
BRAND. Good bawd, good mother B.[353]
How fain you would that that good deed should be! [Aside.]
ABB. I was about to say somewhat upon a thing:
O, thus it is.
We maids that all the day are occupied
In labour and chaste, hallow'd exercise,
Are nothing so much tempted, while day lasts,
As we are tried and proved in the night.
Tell me, Matilda, had you, since you came,
No dreams, no visions, nothing worth the note?
MAT. No, I thank God.
ABB. Truly you will, you will,
Except you take good heed, and bless yourself;
For if I lie but on my back awhile
I am, past recovery, sure of a bad dream.
You see yon reverend monk: now, God he knows,
I love him dearer for his holiness,
And I believe the devil knows it too;
For the foul fiend comes to me many a night,
As like the monk, as if he were the man—
Many a hundred nights the nuns have seen,
Pray, cry, make crosses, do they what they can—
Once gotten in, then do I fall to work,
My holy-water bucket being near-hand,
I whisper secret spells, and conjure him,
That the foul fiend hath no more power to stand:
He down, as I can quickly get him laid,
I bless myself, and like a holy maid,
Turn on my right side, where I sleep all night
Without more dreams or troubling of the sprite.
BRAND. An abbess? By the cross of my good blade,[354]
An excellent mother to bring up a maid!
For me, I mean, and my good master John;
But never any for an honest man. [Coughs.
Now, fie upon that word of honesty,
Passing my throat't had almost choked me:
'Sblood, I'll forswear it for this trick. [Aside.]
MONK. We trifle time. Fair maid, it's thus in brief:
This abbey by your means may have relief;
An hundred marks a year. Answer, I pray,
What will you do herein?
MAT. Even all I may.
ABB. It's charitably spoken, my fair child:
A little thing of yours, a little help,
Will serve the turn: learn but to bear—to bear
The burden of this world, and it will do.
BRAND. Well, go thy ways: is this no bawd, think you? [Aside.]
MAT. Madam, the heavy burden of the world
Hath long oppress'd me.
ABB. But not press'd you right;
Now shall you bear a burden far more light.
MAT. What burden-bearing? whereto tends this talk?
MONK. To you, to us, this abbey, and King John.
MAT. O God, forfend he should be thought upon!
MONK. Lady, make short: the king must lie with you.
MAT. With me? with me?
[First turns to the MONK, then to the ABBESS.
ABB. Sweet, never look so strange:
He shall come closely,[355] nobody shall see.
MAT. How can he come, but One hath eyes to see?
MONK. Your chamber-windows shall be shadowed.
MAT. But no veil from my conscience shadows me.
ABB. And all the nuns sent quietly to bed.
MAT. But they will rise, and by my blushing red
Quickly give guess of my lost maidenhead.
BRAND. She goes, i' faith: by God, she is their own! [Aside.
MONK. Be not so nice, the sin is venial,
Considering you yield for charity;
And by your fall the nunnery shall rise.
ABB. Regard good counsel, daughter: pray, be wise.
MONK. Come, here's a stir! will't do, wench? will it do?
ABB. Say ay, say ay; forget the sound of no:
Or else say no, and take it:[356] wilt thou so?
MAT. Do you intend thus lewdly as you speak?
BRAND.[357] Ay, by Gog's blood, do they; and, moppet, you were best
To take their proffers, lest, if they forsake you,
I play the devil's part—step in, and take you.
MAT. Some holy water! help me, blessed nuns!
Two damned spirits, in religious weeds,
Attempt to tempt my spotless chastity;
And a third devil, gaping for my soul,
With horrid starings ghastly frighteth me.
ABB. You may
Call while you will; but, maid, list what we say,
Or be assur'd this is your dying day.
MAT. In his name that did suffer for my sin,
And by this blessed sign, I conjure you.
[Draws a crucifix.
Depart, foul fiends, and cease to trouble me.
BRAND. 'Zounds, she thinks us devils! Hear you, conjuror,
Except you use that trick to conjure down
The standing spirit of my lord the king,
That your good mother there, the Abbess, uses
To conjure down the spirit of the monk,
Not all your crosses have the power to bless
Your body from a sharp and speedy death.
MAT. Are ye not fiends, but mortal bodies, then?
[Feels them all.
BRAND. Maid, maid, catch lower when you feel young men.
'Sblood, I was never taken for the devil till now.
MAT. O, where shall chastity have true defence,
When churchmen lay this siege to innocence?
Where shall a maid have certain sanctuary,
When Lady Lust rules all the nunnery?
Now fie upon ye both, false seeming saints,
Incarnate devils, devilish hypocrites!
A cowled monk, an aged veiled nun,
Become false panders, and with lustful speech
Essay the chaste ears of true maidenhead!
Now fie upon this age! Would I were dead!
MONK. Come, leave her, lady: she shall have her wish.
ABB. Speed her, I pray thee: should the baggage live,
She'll slander all the chaste nuns in the land.
[Exeunt MONK, ABBESS.
BRAND. Well, well, go; get you two unto your conjuring:
Let me alone to lay her on God's ground.
MAT. Why dost thou stay?
BRAND. Why, maid, because I must:
I have a message to you from the king.
MAT. And thou art welcome to his humble maid.
I thought thee to be grim and fierce at first,
But now thou hast a sweet aspect, mild looks.
Art thou not come to kill me from the king?
BRAND. Yes.
MAT. And thou art welcome; even the welcom'st man
That ever came unto a woful maid.
Be brief, good fellow: I have in the world
No goods to give, no will at all to make;
But God's will and the king's on me be done!
A little money, kept to give in alms,
I have about me: deathsman, take it all;
Thou art the last poor almsman I shall see.
Come, come, despatch! What weapon will death wear,
When he assails me? Is it knife or sword,
A strangling cord, or sudden flaming fire?
BRAND. Neither, thou manly maid. Look here, look here:
A cup of poison. Wherefore dost thou smile?
MAT. O God! in this the king is merciful:
My dear-lov'd Huntington by poison died.
Good fellow, tell the king I thank his grace,
And do forgive his causeless cruelty.
I do forgive thee too, but do advise
Thou leave this bloody course, and seek to save
Thy soul immortal, closed in thy breast:
[He gives it her.
Be brief, I pray you. Now, to King John's health
A full carouse:[358] and, God, remember not
The curse he gave himself at Robin's death,
Wishing by poison he might end his life,
If ever he solicited my love.
Farewell, good fellow. Now thy medicine works.
And with the labour I am forc'd to rest.
BRAND. 'Zounds! she cares not: she makes death a jest.
MAT. The guiltless fear not death. Farewell, good friend; I pray thee, be no trouble in my end. [He stands staring and quaking.
Enter OXFORD, QUEEN, ABBESS, Attendants.
OX. And say you, Lady Abbess, that there came
One from the king unto her? what was he?
ABB. Yonder he stands: I know not what he is.
[Still he stands staring.
QUEEN. Jesus have mercy! Oxford, come not nigh him.
OX. Not nigh him, madam? yes: keep you away.
ABB. Come in, good queen; I do not mean to stay. [Exit ABBESS.
QUEEN. Nor I to stir before I see the end.[359]
OX. Why star'st thou thus? speak, fellow: answer me.
Who art thou?
BRAND. A bloody villain and a murderer!
A hundred have I slain with mine own hands.
'Twas I that starv'd the Lady Bruce to death
And her young son at Windsor Castle late:
'Tis I have slain Matilda, blessed maid,
And now will hurry to damnation's mouth,
Forc'd by the gnawing worm of conscience. [Runs in.
OX. Hold him, for God's sake! stay the desperate wretch.
MAT. O, some good pitying man compassionate
That wretched man, so woful desperate:
Save him, for God's sake! he hath set me free
From much world's woe, much wrong, much misery.
QUEEN. I hear thy tongue, true perfect charity!
Chaste maid, fair maid, look up and speak to me.
MAT. Who's here? My gracious sovereign Isabel!
I will take strength and kneel.
QUEEN. Matilda, sit;
I'll kneel to thee. Forgive me, gentle girl,
My most ungentle wrongs.
MAT. Fair, beauteous queen,
I give God thanks I do not think on wrongs.
OX. How now, Fitzwater's child! How dost thou, girl?
MAT. Well, my good Lord of Oxford; pretty well:
A little travail[360] more, and I shall rest,
For I am almost at my journey's end.
O that my head were rais'd a little up,
My drowsy head, whose dim decaying lights
Assure me it is almost time to sleep.
[Raise her head.
I thank your highness; I have now some ease.
Be witness, I beseech your majesty,
That I forgive the king with all my heart;
With all the little of my living heart,
That gives me leave to say I can forgive;
And I beseech high heaven he long may live
A happy king, a king belov'd and fear'd.
Oxford, for God's sake, to my father write
The latest commendations of his child;
And say Matilda kept his honour's charge,
Dying a spotless maiden undefil'd.
Bid him be glad, for I am gone to joy,
I, that did turn his weal to bitter woe.
The king and he will quickly now grow friends,
And by their friendship much content will grow.
Sink, earth to earth; fade, flower ordain'd to fade,
But pass forth, soul, unto the shrine of peace;
Beg there atonement may be quickly made.
Fair queen, kind Oxford, all good you attend.
Fly forth, lay soul, heaven's King be there thy friend.
[Dies.
OX. O pity-moving sight![361] age pitiless!
Are these the messages King John doth send?
Keep in, my tears, for shame! your conduits keep,
Sad woe-beholding eyes: no, will ye not?
Why, then, a God's name, weep. [Sit.
QUEEN. I cannot weep for ruth.[362] Here, here! take in
The blessed body of this noble maid:
In milk-white clothing let the same be laid
Upon an open bier, that all may see
King John's untimely lust and cruelty.
[Exeunt with the body.
OX. Ay, be it so; yourself, if so you please,
Will I attend upon, and both us wait
On chaste Matilda's body, which with speed
To Windsor Castle we will hence convey.
There is another spectacle of ruth,
Old Bruce's famish'd lady and her son.
QUEEN. There is the king besieging of young Bruce:
His lords are there who, when they see this sight,
I know will have small heart for John to fight.
OX. But where's the murderer, ha? is not he stay'd?
SER.[363] Borne with a violent rage he climb'd a tree,
And none of us could hinder his intent;
But getting to the top-boughs, fast he tied
His garters to his neck and a weak branch;
Which being unable to sustain his weight,
Down to the ground he fell, where bones and flesh
Lie pash'd[364] together in a pool of blood.
OX. Alas for woe! but this is just heaven's doom
On those that live by blood: in blood they die.
Make[365] an example of it, honest friends:
Do well, take pains, beware of cruelty.
Come, madam, come: to Windsor let us go,
And there to Bruce's grief add greater woe.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter BRUCE upon the walls.
BRUCE. Will not my bitter bannings[366] and sad plaints,
My just and execrable execrations,
My tears, my prayers, my pity-moving moans
Prevail, thou glorious bright lamp of the day,
To cause thee keep an obit for their souls,
And dwell one month with the Antipodes?
Bright sun, retire; gild not this vault of death
With thy illustrate rays: retire, retire,
And yield black night thy empery awhile—
A little while, till as my tears be spent,
My blood be likewise shed in raining drops
By the tempestuous rage of tyrant John.
Learn of thy love, the morning: she hath wept
Shower upon shower of silver-dewy tears;
High trees, low plants, and pretty little flowers
Witness her woe: on them her grief appears,
And as she drips on them, they do not let,
By drop and drop, their mother earth to wet.
See these hard stones, how fast small rivulets
Issue from them, though they seem issueless,
And wet-eyed woe on everything is view'd,
Save in thy face, that smil'st at my distress.
O, do not drink these tears thus greedily,
Yet let the morning's mourning garment dwell
Upon the sad earth. Wilt thou not, thou churl?
Then surfeit with thy exhalations speedily;
For all earth's venomous infecting worms
Have belch'd their several poisons on the fields,
Mixing their simples in thy compound draught.
Well, Phoebus, well, drink on, I say, drink on;
But when thou dost ungorge thee, grant me this,
Thou pour thy poisons on the head of John.
Drum. Enter CHESTER, MOWBRAY, Soldiers, at
one door:[367] LEICESTER, RICHMOND, at another:
Soldiers.
BRUCE. How now, my lords! were ye last night so pleased
With the beholding of that property[368]
Which John and other murderers have wrought
Upon my starved mother and her son,
That you are come again? Shall I again
Set open shop, show my dead ware, dear-bought
Of a relentless merchant, that doth trade
On the red sea, swoll'n mighty with the blood
Of noble, virtuous, harmless innocents?
Whose coal-black vessel is of ebony,
Their shrouds and tackle (wrought and woven by wrong)
Stretch'd with no other gale of wind but grief,
Whose sighs with full blasts beateth on her shrouds;
The master murder is, the pilot shame,
The mariners, rape, theft and perjury;
The burden, tyrannous oppression,
Which hourly he in England doth unlade.
Say, shall I open shop and show my wares?
LEI. No, good Lord Bruce, we have enough of that.
Drum. Enter KING, HUBERT, Soldiers.
KING. To Windsor welcome, Hubert. Soft, methinks
Bruce and our lords are at a parley now?
BRUCE. Chester and Mowbray, you are John's sworn friends;
Will you see more? speak, answer me, my lords.
I am no niggard, you shall have your fill.
BOTH. We have too much, and surfeit with the woe.
BRUCE. Are you all full? there comes a ravening kite,
That both at quick, at dead, at all will smite.
He shall, he must; ay, and by'r Lady, may
Command me to give over holiday,
And set wide open what you would not see.
KING. Why stand ye, lords, and see this traitor perch'd
Upon our castle's battlements so proud?
Come down, young Bruce, set ope the castle-gates;
Unto thy sov'reign let thy knee be bow'd,
And mercy shall be given to thee and thine.
BRUCE. O miserable thing!
Comes mercy from the mouth of John our king?
Why then, belike, hell will be pitiful.
I will not ope the gates—the gate I will;
The gate where thy shame and my sorrow sits.
See my dead mother and her famish'd son!
[Opens a casement, showing the dead bodies within.]
Open thy tyrant's eyes, for to the world
I will lay open thy fell cruelties.
KING. We heard, indeed, thy mother and her son
In prison died by wilful famishment.
BRUCE. Sin doubled upon sin! Slander'st thou the dead?
Unwilling willingness it shall appear,
By then I have produc'd, as I will do,
The just presumptions 'gainst your unjust act.
KING. Assail the castle, lords! alarum, drums!
And drown this screech-owl's cries with your deep sounds.
LEI. I tell thee, drummer, if thy drum thou smite,
By heav'n, I'll send thy soul to hell's dark night.
Hence with thy drum! God's passion, get thee hence!
Begone, I say; move not my patience.
[Exit drum.
KING. Are you advised, Leicester, what you do?
LEI. I am advised; for, my sovereign, know,
There's not a lord here will lift up his arm
Against the person of yon noble youth,
Till you have heard the circumstantial truth,
By good presumptions, touching this foul deed.
Therefore, go on, young Bruce; proceed, refel[369]
The allegation that puts in this doubt,
Whether thy mother, through her wilfulness,
Famish'd herself and her sweet son, or no.
BRUCE. Unlikely supposition: nature first denies
That any mother, when her youngling cries,
If she have means, is so unnatural
To let it faint and starve. But we will prove
She had no means, except this moanful mean,
This torture of herself. Come forth, come forth,
Sir William Blunt, whom slander says I slew:
Come, tell the king and lords what you know true.
Enter SIR WILLIAM BLUNT [on the walls.][370]
KING. Thou hast betray'd our castle.
BLUNT. No: God can tell,
It was surpris'd by politic report,
And affirmation that your grace was slain.
RICH. Go on, Sir William Blunt:
Pass briefly to the lady's famishment.
BLUNT. About some ten days since there came one Brand,
Bringing a signet from my lord the king,
And this commission, signed with his hand,
[Lords look, and read the thing.
Commanding me, as the contents express,
That I should presently deliver up
The Lady Bruce and her young son to him.
MOW. What time o' day was this?
BLUNT. It was, Lord Mowbray, somewhat past eleven,
For we were even then sitting down to dine.
LEI. But did ye dine?
BLUNT. The lady and her son did not.
Brand would not stay.
BRUCE. No, Leicester, no; for here is no such sign
Of any meat's digestion.
RICH. But, by the way, tell us, I pray you, Blunt,
While she remain'd with you, was she distraught
With grief, or any other passions violent?
BLUNT. She now and then would weep, and often pray
For reconcilement 'twixt the king and lords.
CHES. How to her son did she affected stand?
BLUNT. Affection could not any more affect;
Nor might a mother show more mother's love.
MOW. How to my lord the king?
BLUNT. O my Lord God!
I never knew a subject love king more.
She never would blin[371] telling, how his grace
Sav'd her young son from soldiers and from fire;
How fair he spake, gave her her son to keep:
And then, poor lady, she would kiss her boy,
Pray for the king so hearty earnestly,
That in pure zeal she wept most bitterly.
KING. I weep for her, and do by heaven protest,
I honour'd Bruce's wife, howe'er that slave
Rudely effected what I rashly will'd.
Yet when he came again, and I bethought
What bitter penance I had put them to
For my conceiv'd displeasure 'gainst old Bruce,
I bad the villain post and bear them meat:
Which he excus'd, protesting pity mov'd him
To leave wine, bread, and other powder'd meat,[372]
More than they twain could in a fortnight eat.
BLUNT. Indeed, this can I witness with the king,
Which argues in that point his innocence:
Brand did bear in a month's provision,
But lock'd it, like a villain, far from them;
And lock'd them in a place, where no man's ear
Might hear their lamentable woful moans;
For all the issue, both of vent and light,
Came from a loover[373] at the tower's top,
Till now Lord Bruce made open this wide gap.
BRUCE. Had I not reason, think you, to make wide
The window, that should let so much woe forth?
Where sits my mother, martyr'd by herself,
Hoping to save her child from martyrdom?
Where stands my brother, martyr'd by himself,
Because he would not taste his mother's blood?
For thus I gather this:—my mother's teeth and chin
Are bloody with the savage cookery
Which her soft heart, through pity of her son,
Respectless made her practise on herself;
And her right hand, with offering it the child,
Is with her own pure blood stain'd and defil'd.
My little brother's lips and chin alone
Are tainted with the blood; but his even teeth,
Like orient pearl or snow-white ivory,
Have not one touch of blood, one little spot:
Which is an argument the boy would not
Once stir his lips to taste that bloody food
Our cruel-gentle mother minister'd:
But as it seem'd (for see his pretty palm
Is bloody too) he cast it on the ground,
For on this side the blessed relics lie,
By famine's rage divided from this shrine.
Sad woful mother in Jerusalem!
Who, when thy son and thou didst faint for food,
Buried his sweet flesh in thy hungry womb,
How merciless wert thou, if we compare
Thy fact and this! For my poor lady mother
Did kill herself to save my dying brother;
And thou, ungentle son of Miriam,
Why didst thou beg life when thy mother lack'd?
My little brother George did nobly act
A more courageous part: he would not eat,
Nor beg to live. It seem'd he did not cry:
Few tears stand on his cheek, smooth is each eye;
But when he saw my mother bent to die,
He died with her. O childish valiancy—
KING. Good Bruce, have done. My heart cannot contain
The grief it holds: my eyes must show'r down rain.
LEI. Which showers are even as good
As rain in harvest, or a swelling flood
When neighbouring meadows lack the mower's scythe.
A march for burial, with drum and fife. Enter OXFORD. MATILDA borne with nuns, one carrying a white pendant—these words written in gold: "Amoris Castitatis et Honoris Honos." The QUEEN following the bier, carrying a garland of flowers. Set it in the midst of the stage.
RICH. List, Leicester: hear'st thou not a mournful march?
LEI. Yes, Richmond, and it seemeth old De Vere.
OX. Lords, by your leave, is not our sovereign here?
KING. Yes, good old Aubrey.
OX. Ah, my gracious lord!
That you so much your high state should neglect!
Ah! God in heaven forgive this bloody deed!
Young Bruce, young Bruce, I weep
Thy mother and thy brother's wrong;
Yet to afflict thee more, more grief I bring.
BRUCE. O honourable Aubery de Vere,
Let sorrow in a sable suit appear:
Do not misshape her garment like delight;
If it be grief, why cloth'st thou her in white?
OX. I cannot tell thee yet: I must sit down.
Attend, young Bruce, and listen to the queen;
She'll not be tongue-tied: we shall have a stir
Anon, I fear, would make a man half-sick.
QUEEN. Are you here, lecher? O intemperate king!
Wilt thou not see me? Come, come, show your face,
Your grace's graceless, king's unkingly face.
What, mute? hands folded, eyes fix'd on the earth?
Whose turn is next now to be murdered?
The famish'd Bruces are on yonder side,
On this, another I will name anon;
One for whose head this garland I do bear,
And this fair, milk-white, spotless pendant too.
Look up, King John! see, yonder sits thy shame;
Yonder it lies! what, must I tell her name?
It is Matilda, poisoned by thee.
KING. Matilda! O that foul swift-footed slave,
That kills, ere one have time to bid him save!
Fair, gentle girl, ungently made away.
BRUCE. My banish'd uncle's daughter, art thou there?
Then I defy all hope, and swear—
LEI. Stay, Bruce, and listen well what oath to swear.
Louis the Dolphin, pitying our estate,
Is by the Christian king his father sent
With aid to help us, and is landed too.
Lords, that will fly the den of cruelty,
And fight to free yourselves from tyranny[374]—
Bruce, keep that castle to the only use
Of our elected king, Louis of France.
OX. God's passion! do not so: King John is here!
Lords, whisper not with Leicester? Leicester, fie!
Stir not again regardless mutiny.
Speak to them, Hugh:[375] I know thou lov'st the king.
Madam, go to them; nay do, for God's sake, do!
Down with your stomach,[376] for if he go down,
You must down too, and be no longer queen:
Advise you; go, entreat them speedily.
My sovereign, wherefore sit you sighing there?
The lords are all about to follow Louis:
Up and entreat them, else they will away.
KING. Good Oxford, let them go. Why should they stay?
OX. What, are ye desperate? That must not be.
Hear me, my lords.
[All stand in council.
KING. This pendant let me see.
Amoris Castitatis et Honoris Honos.
She was, indeed, of love the honour once,[377]
When she was lov'd of virtuous Huntington:
Of chastity the honour all her life;
To impure thoughts she never could be won:
And she of honour was the honour too.
By birth and life[378] she honour honoured.
Bring in two tapers lighted: quick, despatch!
LEI. Remember, Bruce, thy charge. Come, lords, away!
ALL but OXFORD and HUBERT. Away! we will away.
[Bring in two white tapers.
OX. Hark, Leicester, but one word: a little stay.
Help me, good Hubert! help me, gentle queen!
[Again confer.[379]
KING. How dim these tapers burn! they give no light.
Here were two beauteous lamps, that could have taught
The sun to shine by day, the moon by night;
But they are dim, too, clean extinguished.
Away with these, sith those fair lights be dead!
OX. And, as I say—hark, Bruce, unto our talk—
Think you it is for love of England Louis comes?
Nay. France is not so kind; I would it were.
Advise yourselves. Hark, dost thou hear me, Bruce?
BRUCE. Oxford, I do.
OX. Can noble English hearts bear the French yoke?
No, Leicester: Richmond, think on Louis' sire,
That left you and your king in Palestine.
QUEEN. And think, beside, you know not Louis's nature,
Who may be as bad as John, or, rather, worse
Than he.
HUB. And look, my lords, upon his silent woe;
His soul is at the door of death, I know.
See how he seeks to suck, if he could draw
Poison from dead Matilda's ashy lips.
I will be sworn his very heart-string nips.
A vengeance on that slave, that cursed Brand!
I'll kill him, if I live, with this right hand.
OX. Thou canst not, Hubert; he hath kill'd himself—
But to our matter. Leicester, pray thee speak.
Young Bruce, for God's sake, let us know thy mind.
BRUCE. I would be loth to be a stranger's slave:
For England's love, I would no French king have.
LEI. Well, Oxford, if I be deceiv'd in John again,
It's 'long of you, Lord Hubert, and the queen.
Yield up the castle, Bruce: we'll once more try
King John's proceedings. Oxford, tell him so.
[OXFORD goes to the KING, does his duty,
and talks with him.
BRUCE. I will come down. But first farewell, dear mother, [Kiss her.
Farewell, poor little George, my pretty brother!
Now will I shut my shambles in again:
Farewell, farewell! [Closes the casement.
In everlasting bliss your sweet souls dwell.
Ox. But you must mend, i' faith; in faith you must[380].
LEI. My lord, once more your subjects do submit,
Beseeching you to think how things have pass'd;
And let some comfort shine on us, your friends,
Through the bright splendour of your virtuous life.
KING. I thank you all; and, Leicester, I protest,
I will be better than I yet have been.
BRUCE. Of Windsor Castle here the keys I yield.
KING. Thanks, Bruce: forgive me, and I pray thee see
Thy mother and thy brother buried
[BRUCE offers to kiss MATILDA.
In Windsor Castle church. Do, kiss her cheek:
Weep thou on that, on this side I will weep.
QUEEN. Chaste virgin, thus I crown thee with these flowers.
KING. Let us go on to Dunmow with this maid:
Among the hallow'd nuns let her be laid.
Unto her tomb a monthly pilgrimage
Doth King John vow, in penance for this wrong.
Go forward, maids; on with Matilda's hearse,
And on her tomb see you engrave this verse.
"Within this marble monument doth lie
Matilda, martyr'd for her chastity."
[Exeunt.
EPILOGUS.
Thus is Matilda's story shown in act,
And rough-hewn out by an uncunning hand:
Being of the most material points compact,
That with the certain'st state of truth do stand.