A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 45

[_Exit_.

ACT II., SCENE I.

_Sound trumpets. Enter_ KING, BONVILLE, SALISBURY, LORDS.[296]

KING. Now I perceive this only was a dream.

Divine Matilda's angel did appear, Deck'd like a vestal ready for heaven's quire, And to this earthly trunk will not come near.

Well, let her go: I must, i' faith, I must, And so I will. Kings' thoughts should be divine; So are Matilda's, so henceforth shall mine.

OLD AUB. So doing, peace shall wait upon your crown, And blessing upon blessing shall befall.

KING. It's true, my lord: I know full well there shall.

SAL. Your people will wax proud of such a king, That of himself is king, lord of his thoughts; Which by a.s.sertion of philosophers Is held to be the greatest empery.

KING. And they said wisely, n.o.ble Aubery.

SAL. Then will Fitzwater, with his gallant troop[297], Again keep triumph[298] in the English court; Then will Matilda--

KING. Matilda! what of her?

SAL. Like a bright star adorn the lovely train Of beauteous ladies which attend the queen, Whose only beauty equalleth them all.

KING. Like an old fool, whose dim eyes, wanting sight, Compar'st the sun to common candle light?

SAL. Pardon, my liege, I do confess her fair[299]

Exceeds all these as far as day doth night.

KING. Grossly alluded: night by moon, by stars By wandering fires, exhaled meteors, By artificial lights, by eyes of beasts, And little glow-worms glimpsing in the dark, Hath somewhere brightness, lightness; and sometime Under each horizon in all parts clear: But they at no time nowhere can be said To be less dark than dungeon darkness is: Pitch-colour'd, ebon-fac'd, blacker than black, While her fair eyes give beauty to bright day.

SAL. To hear the queen thus prais'd works my content.

KING. The queen!

O, had I such a thought, I would repent. [_To himself_.

SAL. Further, my lord--

KING. What, shall we further wade?

I fear I shall be tired with this jade.

SAL. The commonwealth will flourish and increase.

KING. Good Salisbury,[300] of those things now hold your peace, And take the pains to fetch in Isabel.

I have strange tidings sent me out of France, Which she will take, I know, in as good part, As I accept her praise. Fetch her, I say.

[_Exit_ SALISBURY.

What, is the old fool gone? now go thy way.

What think'st thou of him, Hubert? tell me, man.

HUB. As of a good old gentleman, my lord, That speaks but what he thinks, and thinks you think As he doth; and, I warrant you, Will not conceal those praises from the queen Which, as he deems, you utter'd in her praise.

KING. I would have them believe it so, indeed; But I protest 'tis no part of my creed. [_Aside_.

HUB. I'faith, your grace did Salisbury's years great wrong, To curtail his good work, that seem'd so long: He, peradventure, would have brought in more, After his preface, to rich plenty's store.

Perchance he would have show'd Dame Vanity, That in your court is suffered hourly; And bade you punish ruffians with long hair, New fashions, and such toys. A special care Has that good man: he turns the statute-book; About his hall and chambers if you look, The moral virtues in fair effigy Are lively painted: moral philosophy Has not a sentence, be it great or small, But it is painted on his honour's wall.

_Enter_ QUEEN _and_ SALISBURY.

KING. Peace, peace! he comes: now let's be silent all.

SAL. I tell you, I was proud of his good words.

QUEEN. G.o.d hold them, Salisbury, for it's often seen, A reconciled foe small good affords.

SAL. O, forbear! trust me.

I gage my honour he doth hold you dear.

KING. How cheer you, Isabel? The earl your spouse Hath sent defiance to the king your husband, And, like a tried tall soldier, fled his holds In Marchland, where he knows, despite of him And all the men that he therein can raise, King John could have sent dogs enou' to tear Their ill-arm'd bodies piecemeal, ere his bands Should with base blood have stain'd their n.o.ble hands.

And whither is this worshipful good earl (This first love, old love, new love, if you will) Gone, thinks your ladyship? forsooth, good man, To Normandy; and there he stirs up coals, And urgeth strong aid for confederates Who, as he says, are treacherously disposed.

QUEEN. If he do so, the greater is his sin.

Poor man. I have no interest in him.

KING. But he hath had in you, as it should seem, Else would he not make sonnets of your brow, Your eye, your lip, your hand, your thigh.

A plague upon him! how came he so nigh?

Nay, now you have the curs'd quean's counterfeit: Through rage you shake, because you cannot rave.

But answer me: why should the bedlam slave Ent.i.tle a whole poem to your kiss, Calling it cherry, ruby, this and this?

I tell you, I am jealous of your love, Which makes me break into this pa.s.sion.

Here's the kind n.o.ble Aubery de Vere Knows what I speak is true.

My lord, my lord! I do appeal to you, Are these things to be borne?

SAL. No, by the rood: These love-rhymes are the tokens of small good.

HUB. Why, my good lord, was never poetry Offer'd unto a lady's patronage?

SAL. Yes, but not taken[301].

HUB. Yes, and taken too.

Though moody[302] slaves, whose balladising rhymes With words unpolish'd show their brutish thoughts, Naming their maukins[303] in each l.u.s.tful line, Let no celestial beauty look awry, When well-writ poems, couching her rich praise, Are offer'd to her unstain'd, virtuous eye: For poetry's high-sprighted sons will raise True beauty to all wish'd eternity.

Therefore, my lord, your age is much to blame To think a taken poem lady's shame.

SAL. You see the king, that's better read than you, And far more wrong'd than I, takes it not well.

KING. Yes, but I do: I think not Isabel The worse for any writing of Le Brun's.[304]

SAL. Will you ha' the truth, my lord, I think so too; And though I be an old man, by my sword, My arm shall justify my constant word.