ROB. H. I must, for I must die;
While I live, therefore, let me have some rest.
FITZ. Ay, let him rest: the poison urges sleep.
When he awakes, there is no hope of life.
DON. Of life! Now, by the little time I have to live,
He cannot live one hour for your lives.
KING. Villain! what art thou?
DON. Why, I am a knight.
CHES. Thou wert indeed. If it so please your grace,
I will describe my knowledge of this wretch.
KING. Do, Chester.
CHES. This Doncaster, for so the felon hight,
Was by the king, your father, made a knight,
And well in arms he did himself behave.
Many a bitter storm the wind of rage
Blasted this realm within those woful days,
When the unnatural fights continued
Between your kingly father and his sons.
This cutthroat, knighted in that time of woe,
Seized on a beauteous nun at Berkhamstead,
As we were marching toward Winchester,
After proud Lincoln was compell'd to yield.
He took this virgin straying in the field—
For all the nuns and every covent[283] fled
The dangers that attended on our troops:
For those sad times too oft did testify,
War's rage hath no regard to piety—
She humbly pray'd him, for the love of heaven,
To guide her to her father's, two miles thence:
He swore he would, and very well he might,
For to the camp he was a forager.
Upon the way they came into a wood,
Wherein, in brief, he stripp'd this tender maid:
Whose lust, when she in vain had long withstood,
Being by strength and torments overlaid,
He did a sacrilegious deed of rape,
And left her bathed in her own tears and blood.
When she reviv'd, she to her father's got,
And got her father to make just complaint
Unto your mother, being then in camp.
QUEEN. Is this the villain, Chester, that defil'd
Sir Eustace Stutville's chaste and beauteous child?
DON. Ay, madam, this is he
That made a wench dance naked in a wood;
And, for she did deny what I desired,
I scourg'd her for her pride, till her fair skin
With stripes was checquer'd like a vintner's grate.[284]
And what was this? A mighty matter, sure!
I have a thousand more than she defil'd,
And cut the squeaking throats of some of them—
I grieve I did not hers.