University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—Tonbridge Castle.
Athulf and Grimbald.
Athulf.
There—take my truncheon—thou couldst rule my force
With more acceptance in the general mind
Than I. By Heaven, I am ashamed to see
Such bickerings in a camp! Give me a cowl
And let me rule a monastery rather.

Grimbald.
There—take my cap and bells—I'll rule your force,
And wisely too; but when I look for love
In change for wisdom from the multitude,
Give me again my good old cap and bells.

Athulf.
Ah, fool, you're right—and that man is not wise
That cannot bear to be accounted foolish.
I must be patient. Yet it frets my heart,
Amongst my many cares, to be reviled
By shallow coxcombs whom I daily save,
Rescue, redeem, snatch from a rubbishy tomb
Amongst the ruins of their wits, pulled down
By their own hands upon their heads, God help them!
Well, I'll be patient. Fetch me the muster-roll.
[Exit Grimbald.
'Tis ill to bear, though. Enter Sidroc and Wulfstan the Wise.

Ha! my friends! in this
At least has fortune favoured me. I feared
The tidings of our misadventurous Synod
Augured but ill for both of you. Well met!
Bonfires shall blaze for this. What! 'twas your heels,
I think, that brought you hither?

Sidroc.
For myself,
When I am frightened I can run with wings,
Fast as an ostrich; but preserve me, Heaven!
From flying with Philosophy in hand!

Athulf.
What! was our philosophic friend so slow?

Sidroc.
When I am flying for my life henceforth
Welcome be any ordinary load—
Anchises on my back, if so ye will;
But spare me, Athulf, if you love your friend,
From bringing Wisdom with me.

Wulfstan.
Well, my Lords,
I will not cumber you again. Farewell!
I will return—

Sidroc.
To Mount Olympus?

Wulfstan.
Yes.
To such a sanctuary as that was once.
So tranquil were the elements there, 'tis said
That letters by the finger of the priest
Writ in the ashes of the sacrifice
Remained throughout the seasons uneffaced.
And Oxford now has academic bowers
Sacred to many a Muse, where such as I
May write, though in a rough, tempestuous age,
What Time shall spare. Thither, my Lords, I'll go,
And there I'll chronicle your deeds. Farewell.

Athulf.
Farewell, good Wulfstan; and I speak the word
With reverence and love; for gifts like yours
Are all unworthy to be wasted here.
But take this with you,—wild and unreclaimed
As doubtless must appear to yours my wit,
Yet you have scattered in that wilderness
Some seeds that will not perish. Fare you well.

Wulfstan.
My Lord, your kindness which doth cause these drops
Will pardon them.

Athulf.
God keep you in His peace!
If good betide us, it will bring you joy;
If evil, you are not so chilled by age,
But that you'll mourn.

Wulfstan.
Long, long, my Lord, if long
I live to mourn,—which may not be! 'Tis true
The sharpness of our pangs is less in age,
As sounds are muffled by the falling snow;
But true no less, that what age faintly feels
It flings not off. I'll pray for your success.

[Exit.
Athulf.
The miracle of the time is that old man
And kind as wise—mine own eyes, too, are moist—
Yet he'll forget us ere the sun go down.

Sidroc.
Then I beseech you to forget him now
And tell me of your counsels and intents.

Athulf.
Thus do I stand: My letters from the north
Advise me that the Queen's impatient heart
Brooks not prolonged captivity, and burns
To jeopardize herself, and with herself,
Leolf and all his power, in rash attempts
At premature escape. Meanwhile the Dane
Lurks in the Irish Sea, till civil strife,
The needfullest resources draining last,
Disarms the seaboard, and as well may hap
Disables us within. My army here
Frets at the Pope's anathema, and some,
Whose ears are open-doored to phantoms, swear
When they would sleep o' nights they hear the voice
That was, they're pleased to say, ne'er born of man,
And scared the Synod.

Sidroc.
Save me, Heaven, from dupes;
Leave me to deal with Devils as I may.
My life upon it, 'twas a thing contrived—
The voice, I'll warrant, of some deep-mouthed monk
That skulked behind the cross.

Athulf.
This pause, besides,
Disheartens them, and lo! a laggard I,
That lingers on the road for lack of heart.
There is a fortitude in standing still
Which leaders know, but they that follow, never.
Daily I hear ten thousand tongues cry out
“Forward to London,” and I stir not. Still
I must not stand upon this strength too long,
And truth to say, the levies that come now
Are scarcely worth the waiting for. That ban
Dispersed them on their way. All which revolved
I meditate to make a sudden march,
And seize the Tower by night.

Sidroc.
I am with you there.
The more, that we have friends within the walls.
That wily wench who carried in your letters
Remains behind, and unsuspected still.

Athulf.
Moreover, she hath with her store of gold;
And some there be keep watch and ward whose thirst
Gapes wide for golden showers.

Sidroc.
So frail are they!
Now, would you know the thirst that masters me,
Bethink you of the dust of sixty miles
Swallowed since sunrise with no drop to drink.

Athulf.
Ah! God forgive me! To the buttery, come.