University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

Violenzia's Chamber.
Violenzia alone.
Vio.
How much unworthy of my noble love
Have I this evening cast myself away,
And been the prey of idle vanity!
I have sucked the poison of sweet flattery,
And may digest the venom. Oh, sad weakness,
That only doth repent, and not prevent—
[Knocking.
Who beats at the door? who knocks so loudly there?

Rob.
(outside.)
Open, I say!

[Beating the door.
Vio.
Who is it knocks?

Rob.
(outside.)
Violenzia!
I'll break your bolts else!

Vio.
'Tis my brother's voice!

She opens. Enter Robert and Arthur.
Rob.
What, must we wait the whole night at your door,
Like dogs that howl at the gate?

Vio.
Alas, good brother,
I knew not it was you.

Rob.
You knew not—you!
Say, rather, some more favoured visitor
Was in your mind. We mar your purposes.
Teach, teach your cheeks some shame!

Vio.
Good brother Robert!

Rob.
Good sister Violenzia! good disgrace!
Young shame-breeder to our unspotted house!
Well, now, what would you with me?

Vio.
What means this?
Come, you forget yourself. Go elsewhere, sir,
To spend your drunken humours; I'll not bear them.

Rob.
Perfect in impudence! Beware! beware!

Arth.
You are too hasty, Robert. Let me speak.

Vio.
Speak soberly, I pray you.

Arth.
Hark, Violenzia.
You have this night given us much cause of fear,
By your light toying with the luxurious king;
The danger you perhaps know not. Tell us this—
Are you prepared to sacrifice that name,
Your only honour, of an unstained maid,
To his gross desires?

Vio.
Alas! what have I done?

Rob.
What done! Thou hast looked babies in his eyes,
Tasted his kisses, made him confident,
What's true may be, you want but opportunity
To meet him half-way.

Vio.
I have done none of this.

Rob.
Thou liest, fair infamy! and I begin to hate
That I must call a thing so stuffed with ill
By the name of sister.

Vio.
Brother! too harsh, too harsh.

Rob.
Well, look to it! If from your folly here
There spring the shadow of disgrace to us,
And you do blot that name long shining fair,
Like mountain-top untouched by cloud of shame,
By all that is most sacred in high heaven,
Or terrible in the dark world below,
Your blood shall spill to mend it. Look! I draw;
Draw, Arthur! draw your sword, and swear with me,
If this rash frivolous girl
Should with her baseness mock her father's bones,
She shall not long survive it.

Arth.
Kneeling, I swear it.

Vio.
Stay, brothers! let me speak.
That I have been weak and vain I do confess it;
And did forget that sober staid demeanour
Befits your sister. What more I have done,
Alas! I know not; but by your fierce looks
And menacing swords it should be something worse
Than yet I ever dreamt of: being brothers,
You rather should have warned me of my danger
Than threatened me with death. You do me wrong
Thus coarsely to upbraid me, and I scorn you,
When you dare hint I hold your honour light,
Knowing it false. These are sharp instruments
To teach a sister with. For that ill done,
As yet I scarce do know wherein it lies,
Humbly I ask forgiveness, and will strive
Hence to demean me worthy your approval.

Rob.
So do, and you'll do well.—Farewell, Violenzia:
Think of our words, and think we'll keep our vows. Enter Ethel as they go out.

Good night, good Ethel, in and speak with her.

[Exeunt Rob. and Arth..
Vio.
Come, noble Ethel, my soul's comforter.
In thee I find no angry proud reproach,
But a more moving sorrow. Nay, I'll kneel;
Let me upon my knees entreat thy pardon.
Have I made sad that dear esteemed face,
And grieved that heart, my home of confidence?
As if the earth should frown upon the sun,
That spreads her front with greenness. O poor Ethel!
If thus thine own beloved dare bruise thy life,
What injury shall thy foes inflict on thee?
Their worst of malice shall seem innocent
With thy home griefs compared. The curse of women!
That they love power more than they love their love,
And break true hearts to minister display.
Ah, be not harsh, so lovers should not be;
But let my white hand smooth thy cloudy brow,
And my soliciting kisses intervene
Between the solemn junction of thy lips:
Those that love dearly do forgive small faults.

Eth.
Easily I forgive thee, Violenzia.
But, oh, be tender with me; sway me not
Too far!
Lest I perceive, thy yoke being absolute,
I needs must break it utterly to be free.
I love thee dangerously.

Vio.
If I ever,
In spite of this ill-timed frivolity,
Nourished a thought faithless to my betrothed,
May thy fond love turn to devouring flame
And eat my heart to ashes!

Eth.
I believe it,
Nor think it strange the flatteries of a king
Should scatter so young a spirit. That base thoughts
Live in this temple is not possible.
But thou, unbred in courts, know'st not the danger
Lurks in the smiles of kings. They wither maidenhood,
Faster than gathered roses doth the sun;
Who first draws out their most delicious essence,
But having kissed the secrets of their bosom,
And dried the dew of their virginity,
Puts on a strange face of consuming pride,
And wrinkles them for ever. Now, even now,
Such light encouragement needs royalty,
He in his secret soul believes thee won
To grant his shameful askings.

Vio.
He shall find
Much otherwise, my Ethel.

Eth.
Alas! thou know'st not
What infinite perils set thee. What devices,
What shapes of virtue, and masked semblances,
Shall with the basest inwards lead thee on
To unimagined ruin! Subtler genius
Than ever worked for good shall with foul evil
Tangle thy soul, if thou shouldst show like virtue.

Vio.
It is my punishment. There is no flight—
Nor do I much desire it. Ethel, I know
Thou dar'st leave me unwatched. Tremble not for me.
Save this night's folly somewhat weighs upon me,
And teaches me a strange humility,
I well could scorn the utmost zeal of vice.

Eth.
I trust thee, Violenzia; and believe
From thy unsoiled chastity these assaults,
Like breath from glass, shall fade and leave it stainless.

Vio.
How dared they dream I could be false to thee?
I'll tell my brothers their sharp swords want wit,
While this heart beats and I can hang on it.

Eth.
O Violenzia!
Thy love to me is as the fire to the lamp,
Which wanting it, is valueless and cold.
That which we have, we oft want art to praise,
Until we think to lose it. Thou, kind Heaven,
Rob me of all the graces of this life—
Nay, the necessities; cut off from me
All shoots of sweet affection; let all blood
Kindred to mine be stopped by baneful death,
And all things I most earnestly desire
Fade in the grasping. But this one best jewel,
Against which I have staked all earthly bliss,
Let me not lose. Oh, when our joy's at height,
The swift hours rolling bring revengeful night.

Vio.
Touch lips at parting.

Eth.
Fare thee well, sweet heart.
If any danger threaten, send for me,
And wait not till it's imminent.

[Exit.
Vio.
Soul of gentleness
And truest equanimity, fare thee well.
If I should wrong thee in my lightest thought,
The devils would cry shame on't.
[Knocking.
Dost thou return?

Opens. Enter Malgodin.
Vio.

Who's here? My brothers, if you seek them, sir, left me some half-hour since.

Mal.

What, chamber-visiting? chamber-visiting? Hath your ladyship three brothers, or more brothers? I doubt very many brothers. Two I left in the hall filling wine-cups, and a third came out of this door, and ran over me in the corridor. Oh, mere leavings, mere leavings.

Vio.
What, there! attendance! Sir, I know in me
No hint of such behaviour as should give you
The right to intrude here. Leave me, I say!
What your words aim I know not; but, by your mien,
They are not less than insolent. Those are at hand
Would think your life a trifling satisfaction
For a breath of wrong to me. Pray you, begone!

Mal.
A very round arm. “Pray you, begone!”
Where learned you this action?

Vio.
Will you not go? Nay, then, I'll bring those to you
Shall shake your trembling life out.

Mal.
Nay, you pass not.

Vio.
By heaven, I'll pass! tottering deformity!

[She thrusts him aside.
Mal.

I beseech you! I beseech you! I come from the King.

Vio.

From the King?

Mal.

Why, you did not think I came in my own behalf? Old—old! the days have been, have been—

Vio.

What says the King?

Mal.

A young king to a fair woman. He loves you, and beseeches you to grant him an audience.

Vio.

When? where?

Mal.

Here—now. Oh, I entreat you, use not these old tricks of shyness with him. He is a king, and young.

Vio.
Who and what am I,—rather, what have I done,
That should deserve this thing?

Mal.

Ah, good now, what d'ye stick at? I'll not see you, nor hear his coming. His majesty waits upon you.

Vio.
Why, this is what they told me. Hark you, sir!
If the King did send you here—I'll not believe it;
Yet else thou dar'st not. But if the King did send you,
Go back. Tell him, he shames his majesty
To use so base a messenger; and that his breath
Is tainted in the passage. Tell him, he shames
My maidenhood. I am not of that sort
He loves in this new fashion. Go! no more words.

Mal.

Maidenhood! I'll tell him what you bid me, be sure of it. Those of your kind are proud. I have known many such. Well, well! I shall know it, though you manage it never so secretly; and I'll remember you scorned at me.

Vio.
Get you gone, aged corruption!
[Shuts the door on him.
Is't possible he should esteem me thus?
What fire is this that burns my proud cheeks up?
Did I appear like this? Not so much ceremony
As to affect to woo me! What, to me,
Whose veins do swell with a renowned blood,
The daughter of an earl!—what's more, a maid—
To-night! I'll call my brothers, let them know
What rate their master holds them. They would avenge it
Even with a king's blood—therefore I'll not tell them.
But, oh, beware, thou regal masked baseness!
Two noble hounds I hold but in the leash,
Which at a word will seize thee by the throat.
Ethel, less fiery—no less valiant,
And would with his determined sword hold back
A world that sought to harm me. What do I fear?
I'll call no help. There is no danger nigh
Worthy to fright my spirit. Come, thou proud King;
Try all thy arts: my deep-inspired love
Like a bright shield I'll hang before my heart,
And scorn thy leaden arrows. Come, thou King!