University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

—Murtzoufle's Camp within the walls—Watchman walking on the walls—Troops drawn up.
Enter Murtzoufle armed with a great mace, Pedro behind with soldiers.
Murtz.
(Striking the ground.)
—Shame on us that we let this petty war
Thus swell above the high brim of our city—
Thus cling around us. Can't we then be brave?
I'd rather be a bellows-man to Vulcan,
Than strive to warm these men that move like life
Beneath the far cold ice-drops of the north.
Ho! Pedro! well?

Ped.
My Lord, all's right.

Murtz.
Ay, they can keep their feet,
The stations are all set: But have you cramm'd
The towers with engines?

Ped.
Knock, for Pedro's life,
If they compound with death—all fix'd, my liege.

Murtz.
The fire-pipes ready?

Ped.
Ready—ay, most ready:
Dry in the chops, and thirsting for a draught
Of liquid fire:—down go their serpent streams,
Down—down, the red guests of their inner-cabins.

Murtz.
These Frenchmen at our gates? Go, send them on.

Ped.
Would that they were.

Murtz.
So, so, these men more brave?

Ped.
Most brave, my Lord.

Murtz.
Thyself?

Ped.
My liege must answer there.

Murtz.
Most brave,
In words and reasons: give me reason then
Why we can't conquer, if we sally forth.
Hold—where's our prisoner?

Ped.
At the western gate,
There guarded, till we know your Highness's pleasure.

[Exit Pedro.
Murtz.
Ho! there upon the wall, how looks the west?

Watch.
Nought stirring there. The north is quiet too,
Save moving lights upon the Lycus' mouth.
The ships are indistinct, but I can see,
By the hung lights, men moving on the decks
Built up the masts to overtop our walls,—
Some mighty bustle.—

Enter Pedro and Montmorency guarded.
Murtz.
Let them stir to-night,
And Montmorency dies.

Montm.
How must I answer thee? There needs no hint
That I am in thy power:

Murtz.
This youth we know,
And judge him worthy of a hint, lest now,
He scorn that power. But say, my Lord of France,
How crows are frighted, and the paltry birds
That eat the corn.

Montm.
Speak, tyrant, speak at once;
And let thy blows be oaths unto thy words.
For thou hast torn the laws of God and man,
And dug up life: Strike,—for I hold thee brave:
To brave the vengeance that shall hunt thy steps.
Am I another victim?

Murtz.
Ah! my Lord!
You've won me now to spare thee from—suspense.
Hark! we're on terms of candour—then, by Jove,
My only God, thou art upon my list;
And that ye spake of vengeance and my scorn
Of what men can, I write it down a hint,
That you pray not too long.

Montm.
Thy soul is dusky as the land of Ham,
More foul than the sea deeps, so very deep,
That send a steam of blackness to the top,
And hide all hoary filth.
Ha! art thou not
Murtzoufle? Bubbles dancing to their death,
Must have their tricks; but dare you overcrow
The hearts of men? You dare not strike—down tyrant!

Murtz.
Perhaps 'twere best to keep
Thy scorn, to bring thee help some minutes hence.
(A trumpet sounds from the north, then one loudly from the west.)
Ho! there!—and there!—that I may rise to tell
That trumpet calls thee?

Montm.
'Tis Montferrat's blast.
On—on, my Lord, ere I be done to death.
Or give me vengeance—Hear, Murtzoufle too,
The clock strikes for us both.

Murtz.
(To the Watchman.)
—Speak, villain, speak,
Hast thou not seen yet?

Watch.
Then, my Lord, they move,
Both west and north.

Murtz.
Your pardon, knight of France,
Did you not say?—Alas, poor youth, 'tis true,
Thy friends regard thee not: Hither they come,
All hot in arms: Or did you speak of her,
Thy love, but now my bride?

Montm.
(striving to break his chains.)
Unbind me, Sir,
And know and fear the laws of men. Ah, tyrant,
What didst thou say?

Murtz.
I'll swear it.

Montm.
That's the word
That smites me sorely. Hurl me down the sea,
That booming waters may devour the sound—
O for it plagues my ear. Ay, ay, of her;—
If thou art human, say thou did'st but move
A jest to keep me from the thoughts of death.
Nay, thou art kind, if it was only feign'd
To add to death.

Murtz.
Quick—bear him off.

Montm.
I cannot die in chains—
(Struggling.)
If thou art soldier, free me, or this moment
Strike me down dead, that I may hear it not.

Murtz.
This night I wed the maid.

Montm.
But not this night.—
O haste, Montferrat, haste—run with the lightning.—
As Heaven is just, most horrid tyrant,—no.
That fiendish laugh's a prophet—it foretells
Thy purpose, shed like water.

(Pedro and Soldiers guard him out.)
Murtz.
Ho! Pedro!
(Pedro returns.)
No death, until we see
He cannot be the cause of drawing off,
And humble peace.

Ped.
Must he be haughty still?

Murtz.
Ha! thou'rt a devil.—
[Exit Pedro.
Now to the western gate—
And who has fears, let that man stay behind,
And give the brave more room.

[Exit Murtzoufle and Soldiers.