A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Viii Part 57

My countess (G.o.d 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 G.o.d'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 chast.i.ty, 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 G.o.d'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.

G.o.d 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 chast.i.ty; Whom, while I live, I ever vow to love, In recompense of rash and causeless wrong.

ACT V., SCENE I.

_Enter_ BRAND _solus; with cup, bottle of poison_.

BRAND. Good, by this hand! exceeding, pa.s.sing 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 G.o.d'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 t.i.ts, 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 l.u.s.tily 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 l.u.s.t-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 G.o.d, his grace hath done you good.

MONK. Who? the king's grace?

MAT. No; G.o.d'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 G.o.d.

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, G.o.d 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, Pa.s.sing 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.