 | Lucretia |  |
Enter Beatrice and Martyn.
Beatrice.
Strangers! good Martyn, and come this way?
They miss their road, unless they seek my Lord, or some
of us. How were they clad? How seem'd they?
Gentle, or of low demeanour?
Mart.
Good dame! I cannot say as to their words,
for I took not on me to speak to them: but methought
both their countenances betoken'd grief and weariness.
I heard the woman sigh deeply as they past, but word
they neither spake. She lean'd on his arm.
Beat.
How clad? aged or youthful?
Mart.
In truth I think they both are young; but the
lad still greatly younger than the dame; for scarcely
seem'd he fledg'd, yet mainly stout and manly, as though
he were fit for the wars.
Beat.
In Heaven's good time I hope the wars are over.
Cruel wars! where brothers fought 'gainst brothers,
But bloody Richard hath been slain. All will now be
peace. Thou hast not said how they were clad?
Mart.
I think she wears a Pilgrim's habit; for on the
garment, well contriv'd in folds to suit her sex, the cockle
shell is wrought at equal distances. In her hand she
holds the Cross; and her hair hangs loosely on her neck.
You change colour, good Beatrice, and tremble.
Beat.
Good Heaven! If this should be!—'Tis sixteen
years since she was born—This is the hoping of a
foolish old woman. And prithee, good Martyn, was
the youth a Pilgrim likewise?
Mart.
He has upon his shoulders a wrapper of the
same that girts his fair companion; but in his hat a jewel
sparkles, and his large plumes wave proudly. He also
hath a cross; but the staff is thick, and fitter for a warrior
than peaceful Pilgrim: its lower end was iron pointed.
Beat.
Why did'st not speak to them? Thou should'st
have ask'd what cheer, and whither bent? Did'st heed
the woman's face?
I did, and truly 'tis a comely one.
Beat.
Fair?
Mart.
Ay, but the Sun hath touch'd it.
Beat.
Tall or short?
Mart.
Tall, but bending as she lean'd on the young
man's arm.
Beat.
It would be wonderful indeed! and the work
of some good saint. Where, where is Mark? I must
go seek him. Good even Martyn.
Mart.
Good even to thee, Beatrice! and God be
with thee.
(Exeunt severally.
| Lucretia | |