University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Room in the Same. Lady Goldstraw, Lord Foam, Sir John Pollen, Hopeful, and Marks, discovered.
Hopeful.
Star of our lives, make an election now.
Behold thy four slaves suppliant at thy heels;
[They kneel.]
And all they beg, imperial dame of hearts,
Is that thou 'lt choose, among their number, one,
To make the partner of thy four-post bed.
Would thou couldst honor all, and shame the Turk
By a reversal of his way of life;
Yet since vile law confines thee to but one,
Choose from among us here the worthiest;
And let the remnant of thy slaves depart,
Covering their misery with their handkerchiefs.
As for myself—

[They all start up.]
All.
Hold, Hopeful!

Pollen.
Honor, honor!

Marks.
We chose you spokesman, and not advocate.
You must not speak, or speak for all alike.

Foam.
La! yes; well put!

Lady Goldstraw.
How shall I choose aright,
Where no one seems unworthy? Marry, sirs,
A simple woman, immature in years—
Though wise beyond them—here may hesitate,
And hand upon the syllable of judgment.
I like the martial air of bold Sir John—

Pol.
'Sdeath! yes: at Antwerp—

Hope.
Peace! an angel blabs.

Lady G.
I like the manners of Lord Foam—

Foam.
La, now!

Lady G.
The thrift of Marks; the wild poetic soul
That throbs in Hopeful—

Hope.
Glory to my queen!
She chooses nicely.

Marks.
Cease your braying, ass,
Until she chooses.

Pol.
(To Hopeful.)
Breathe another word,
And I will scour my rapier in your soul!

Marks.
Let us cast lots.

Hope.
Back, merchant! Slave, to thee!—
[To Pollen.]
What! dost thou scorn the poet? Flanders' knight,
He of the lyre is master of the blade;
Nor goes out, like a candle, at thy puff!

Lady G.
Beseech you, gentlemen!—

Hope.
Pray not for him:
His cause doth soil the ruby of thy lip
With present arsenic. On my angry sword
Grim horror sits, and murder is about!
Away!

[The others seize him.]
Pol.
I pray you, hold him; he is mad.

Lady G.
O gentlemen—good gentlemen—

Hope.
Mad for your bleeding!

Foam.
La! be quiet, do!

Marks.
Peace, or I'll trounce you!

Hope.
Dost thou second him,
Thou thing of measures, and plague-bearing rags?
Receive thy wages!

[Strikes Marks. All draw.]
Lady G.
Murder! murder! murder!

Pol.
Murder! I 'm slain!

Foam.
And I!

(Enter Ruffler and Goldstraw.)
Ruffler.
Keep the king's peace!

Hope.
(Rushing at Ruffler.)
Presuming toadstool, die!

[Goldstraw strikes up his sword.]
Goldstraw.
Stand back! you know me.

Hope.
But I regard you not.

Ruf.
Ha! dogs, you snarl,
You show your teeth, you bite, before a lady!

Lady G.
Marry! that they do, sir, and little else.

Ruf.
Are these your manners? This the high respect
A man should show before yon paragon
Of beauty, sweetness, and accomplished worth?
Now, as I live, my heart takes fire indeed
At the bare thought, and I would make you dance
To the harsh music of this rapier!—

Lady G.
No more—if you do love me.

Ruf.
Love you, sweet!
See, one soft word has saved you. Vanish, then!
I banish you her presence, one and all,
Until our wedding-day.

Hope.
Man, dost thou think
Thy clamor scares us?

Pol.
Poh, poh! soldiers, gull,
Afraid of words! In Flanders, 'sdeath! the French
Said ten words to our one.

Marks.
Ha, magpie, ha!
You 'd steal our lady's gold!

Foam.
La! yes, indeed.

Marks.
We'll clip you close enough.

(Enter Travers and Darkly.)
Ruf.
Here come allies.
Draw out your battle; for I have resolved
To drive you out, through yonder door, like thieves.

(Ruffler and his friends range themselves on one side; the suitors on the other.)
Travers.
What is this folly?

Marks.
It has just come in,
Along with you.

Lady G.
Entreat them to desist.
O dear! my hair has gotten all awry;
I must look dreadfully.

[Aside.]
Trav.
Nay, gentlemen—

Marks.
Pish! draw your sword, and sheath your tongue.

Hope.
Ay, slave,
If you be mortal, we will find it out!

Darkly.
(Coming between.)
Or, peradventure, if I might exhort—

Marks.
Out, scarecrow!

[Darkly retreats.]
Trav.
Taste your madness.

[Draws.]
Pol.
Hold, by Mars!
This looks like earnest. (Aside.)
I proclaim a truce.

Hope.
Base-born deserter!

Marks.
Coward!

Foam.
La! and I
Have no idea of getting my clothes spoiled.

[Crosses with Pollen to Ruffler's party.]
Pol.
Why, sirs, we often did it, down in Flanders,
To bury up the dead. A truce! a truce!
A soldier asks it. Or, if you will fight,
Throw down your arms, and beg for quarter.

Marks.
Hopeful,
We are out-matched.

Hope.
I care not, I! Come on!
The world shall witness how a bard goes off!

[Advances.]
Gold.
This mummery has gone far enough. (Coming between.)
Be still,
Mad poetaster; and you, master Marks,
Off to your counter, or I'll call the watch.

Trav.
A good idea.

Pol. and Foam.
Watch! watch!

Marks.
We will submit
To Lady Goldstraw; but the best of you
Shall not dictate at the sword's point to us.

Hope.
Speak, magnet of my heart! thy slaves prepare
To do thy bidding.

Lady G.
Now, I really like
That stranger's counsel, for the stranger's sake.
[Aside.]
Begone! I banish you. Yet, not to kill
Your loving spirits, I'll mix sweet with sour,—
Return again upon my wedding-day.

Marks.
Keep up your spirits: I, for one, have hope
To be alive to see your funeral.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Ungrateful brute!

Foam.
La! so do I.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Mean fop!

Pol.
Good-morning to your paint! In faith, I 'd take
The same leave of your face, if 't were in sight.

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Ugh! slanderous warrior!

Hope.
Madness, madness, madness!
A thousand hissing vipers gnaw your soul,
The nightmare lie beside you, and may dreams—
Grimmer than gorgons, hydras, and the like—
Forever mind you of lost Thomas Hopeful!
This marvellous world to me is black as soot!

[Exit.]
Lady G.
Loving, but vicious!

Trav.
(Laughing.)
'T was a fearful scene!

[Apart to Goldstraw.]
Gold.
But all a sham. You saw the cut-throats cool
When “watch” was cried.

Trav.
Yet Ruffler swaggered bravely.

Gold.
Dear aunt, excuse me. This fierce gentleman,
Who saved our lives, is Lord Guy Ruffler; famed
For gallant deeds done in the field of Mars,
And Cupid's, too.

[Introducing them.]
Lady G.
My service to your lordship.

Ruf.
Nay, nay; command me, madam.

Gold.
Aunt, my friend,
Sir William Travers.

Lady G.
(Apart to Goldstraw.)
Are they both at Court?

Gold.
Yes, both in office; and Lord Ruffler, aunt,
Is of great wealth, and greater expectation.

Lady G.
He seems to like me.

Gold.
Like you! Ah! I fear,
'T is more than liking.

Lady G.
Pshaw, you foolish boy!
Well, well, I cannot see, but so it is,
The men will fancy something in me still.
A lonely widow; only I have worn
Better than most, and youth yet lingers here
With some small show of charms.

Gold.
I never saw
Years touch one lighter; all the gayety
Of youth is yours, without youth's rudeness, madam.

Lady G.
O fie! you flatter.

Gold.
(Apart to Ruffler.)
I have smoothed your way:
Her heart is open now to all mankind.

Lady G.
Lord Ruffler.

[Goldstraw and Travers walk up the stage.]
Ruf.
Madam.

Lady G.
You are from the Court.

Ruf.
'T is true, my lady.

Lady G.
Are there many there
Of greater beauty than our city belles?

Ruf.
You jest.

Lady G.
How then?

Ruf.
I trust you know the worth
Of the transcendent beauty stored in you;
Your glass must brighten with it every day.
Those eyes, that flash upon me, are not blind,
Or heaven belies its light.

Lady G.
O dear! my lord,
You are so sudden! I could scarce expect
To hear such words at once. You frighten me.—
See how my hand is shaking.

Ruf.
(Taking her hand.)
Precious hand,
That trembles at my lips; then, at my lips,
Tremble forever.

[Kisses it.]
Lady G.
O, O, let me go!
'T is cruel to use your strength; and I so weak!

Ruf.
I love you madly!

Lady G.
Ah! you fib, you do—
You know you do—you naughty, naughty lord!

Ruf.
By those bright eyes I swear—and by that brow
Of Parian whiteness—and those curving lips
That match and rival the vermilion dye
Brought from Cathay—and by those cheeks that blush
The Persian rose to paleness—by this hand,
Which now I hold, and never will release,
I swear—and hear me Venus and young Love—
To win a title that shall make it mine!

Lady G.
(Struggling.)
Indeed, my lord, I'll call for help, I will,
If you presume so. You are crushing me—
A poor weak woman—O, unhand me, O!

Gold.
(Advancing.)
What is the matter?

[As he advances, Ruffler releases her.]
Lady G.
Nothing, goose,—begone!
[Goldstraw retreats.]
I must retire a while, indeed I must.
Stay, if you will—I cannot help it—stay;
But don't expect to see me. Lack-a-day!
The fellow 's squeezed me out of shape, I know.

[Aside, arranging her dress.]
Ruf.
Shall I not hope?

Lady G.
Hope is the guest of all;
I cannot help it if you hope. Adieu!
Sweet ruffian!

[Aside. Exit.]
(Travers and Goldstraw advance.)
Ruf.
Talk of wooing girls, forsooth!
Hang me, if aught compares with wooing widows.
The hopeful ease, the careless certainty,—
Ah! that 's the thing to whet one's heart upon.

Gold.
She took it kindly?

Ruf.
“Kindly!” that 's no word.
But I am trammelled with another scrape.

Trav.
How 's that?

Ruf.
Why, look ye, as we came along,
We met the pretty Madge, and, as I live,
She gave me that same stare.

Gold.
She spoke to me.

Ruf.
Ay, but she looked at me. And let me tell you—
For I know all about these woman's ways—
A look goes further with them in a day,
And means more too, than fifty thousand words.

Gold.
The boundless coxcomb! Madge, too!

[Aside.]
Trav.
(Laughing.)
Ha, ha! Guy,
Keep your belief; you'll need it by and by.

Ruf.
What do you mean?

Gold.
Pish! sirs; let us go in.
I have a cork to draw.—My cousin—'sdeath!—
[Aside.]
A jolly bottle of an ancient house,
Ice to the lips, but fire within the blood;
A liquid joy, that, in its native grape,
Basked a whole summer through in old Provence,
And rolled its pulpy fatness in the sun,
And caught the spirit of the Troubadour,
To kindle song amid our colder age!

Ruf.
Come, Travers, come, and crack the bottle. Ugh!
This ancient love-making is somewhat dusty.
I 'm dried up to a cinder with my flames.
Where is the wine, Hal? Quick, my throat 's afire!

[Exeunt.]