(Noise again heard.)
Duch. Return you? then ’tis time to shift me hence.
(Exit, and presently Re-enters.)
Duch. Thus far, but heav’n knows where, we have escaped
The eager pursuit of our enemies,
Having for guidance my attentive fear.
Still I look back, still start my tired feet,
Which never till now measured London street:
My Honours scorn’d that custom; they would ride;
Now forced to walk, more weary pain to bide.
Thou shalt not do so, child; I’ll carry thee
In Sorrow’s arms to welcome misery.
Custom must steel thy youth with pinching want,
That thy great birth in age may bear with scant
Sleep peaceably, sweet duck, and make no noise:
Methinks each step is death’s arresting voice.
We shall meet nurse anon; a dug will come,
To please my quiet infant: when, nurse, when?
The Duchess, persecuted from place to place, with Berty, her Husband, takes comfort from her Baby’s smiles.
Duch. Yet we have scaped the danger of our foes;
And I, that whilom was exceeding weak
Through my hard travail in this infant’s birth,
Am now grown strong upon necessity,
How forwards are we towards Windham Castle?
Berty. Just half our way: but we have lost our friends,
Thro’ the hot pursuit of our enemies.
Duch. We are not utterly devoid of friends;
Behold, the young Lord Willoughby smiles on us:
And ’tis great help to have a Lord our friend.
C. L.
[175] From which place she hopes to embark for Flanders.