University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—Winchester. A terrace. Enter Queen Elinor, Wilfred, Jose, and Beatrix.
Q. Elin.
When, when?

Wil.
Not yet have Time and Circumstance
Engendered their love-child Occasion.
Have patience, O my Queen!

Q. Elin.
Patience and Queen!
Thou fool, the words are mortal enemies,
As much opposed as Strength and Impotence,
Entreaty and Command. I am no queen
Then, when I must be patient; royalty
Allows no pause between the will and deed.

Wil.
Pardon!

Beat.
Yet God is patient.

Q. Elin.
What, my saint?
Patient! God patient! Does He ever pause?
Give me a poison-bowl to mix, a blade
To try the edge of—something to prepare.

Jose.
There's for your silver pious tongue!

Beat.
We're told
God's patient with our wickedness.

Q. Elin.
What! lags
In preparation?—puts away His wrath?
Takes ease, as you would bid me now? You fools!
He whets the hunger ere the sin be hatched
Of the dragon that will tear it in our sight.
He never waits!

Jose
[to Beat.].
Why were you not a nun?

Wil.
Because she's tender, and her shining self
She'd never make foul weather of in black.

Jose.
Ha! ha!

Beat.
For shame!

Wil.
Nay, Mistress Beatrix,
What were my loss!

Beat.
Then, sir, I'll take the veil.—

Wil.
Of bridal lawn—ay, ay!

Beat.
You have me, sir,
But you must learn to keep a sinless mouth;
I'd have my husband irreproachable.

Q. Elin.
[aside].
To think of it!—at Woodstock!—and a home!
He brought me to a place inherited;
For her he's built this palace.—Rosamund?

Wil.
The name?
You have it right.

Q. Elin.
And planned the building.—Walk!
Why should we stand? In pausing we grow cold.

[They pace apart.
[Enter King Henry].
K. Hen.
Sons, sons! She'll dash the words against her mouth,
As if to break 't to pieces. And she stirs
A troop of boys, with tricks of horsemanship
And set o' the lips that stamp her nuptial faith,
To mad rebellion. Would she murder them?
She is a desperate woman! Sick at heart
Of all her wrath, passing yon twines of rose,
My wont, I tore a handful of the flowers,
Black, splendid, half malignant as it seemed,
To throw into her lap,—a gift for queens—
My first to her, coiled sleeping on her couch.
When presently she woke, she took the flowers
And sobbed, “A happy dream!—the sweet warm scent!—
For the king kissed me close, and called me Rose;”
Then tossed them from her with a stormy hand.
I heard her singing her Provençal songs
For an hour afterwards. Can she suspect?
I dare not try to soften her. She smiles
At a deprecating word—as the sword smiles
In blades of finest temper. I must keep
My majesty.—What news?

[Enter Messenger.
Mess.
A letter, sire,
From the third prince, your son.

K. Hen.
Ah! give it me.
[Reads.
Death-warrant to my heart!—
A call to Aquitaine. O Rosamund!
I'll bear the news myself. He asks my help.
[To Mess.]
Hence, and be entertained.
[Advances to Elinor.]
What! rebel too,
My tongue!—Read this.

Q. Elin.
News from the children?

K. Hen.
Ay
Your progeny, in arms, war each with each,
In most unnatural combat. Our chief son
Presses back Richard to the ocean's point,
Who prays for help we'll grant him speedily
Whom favour you?

Q. Elin.
Who bears thy name and face
Is my prime warrior.

K. Hen.
You'd greet me, how,
If I returned a conqueror?

Q. Elin.
With shrieks,
A spectre's welcome.

K. Hen.
What, that's darkly said.
I'll never slay the first-born of my loins
For all his bitter disobedience.
I trust you with the guidance of my realm:
Be ready for all chance; leave not the gates
Of Winchester. My Queen, the man in you
Will keep my honour safe, while I chastise
Our rebel offspring. You, good gentlemen,
Keep revel as our land were not distraught.
I may not tarry longer. Elinor,
Pray, not as wife or mother; pray for peace
To our divided hearts. Farewell!

[Exit.
Wil.
'Tis come!
The moment's ripe—

Q. Elin.
For vengeance and the deed!

Wil.
[to Beat.]
My Fair, you shudder at the thought of blood.
We've work to do. Braid me that favour, sweet;
You promised, and I crave.

Beat.
Nay, I'll to church.

[Exit.
Wil.
And there we'll meet.—I only know one way
To get the door unlocked.

Q. Elin.
None but ourself
Must murder her. Oh, I am blind with hate!
You'll lead me by the hand? I could not catch
The thread o' the maze.

Wil.
I say there is a way.
Her foster-sister lives within my house,
A common wench—but thus she'll serve our turn.
She shall be taken to her father's hut—
(He'll have her back; they're grossly lenient,
These peasants, in such matters)—which is near
To Woodstock and the sylvan labyrinth.
There shall she seek her sister, there grow dear
To jovial Topaz in his lonely hours.
And thus her voice will be our key; to us
He'll double bar the door.
[To Jose].
She does not mark.
[To Elin.].
Listen, at Woodstock I prepare the toils.
[To Jose].
Attend the Queen, till at a sign from me
You draw her to the precincts of the maze.
Give her a gipsy's dress, and thus equipped
Yourself, await the doing of the deed,
With ready horses, just outside the wood.
I will attend her at the beldam's cot
Down by the brook—you know it—to the right;
There shall the poison brew.

Jose.
And how long hence?

Wil.
I fear me some few weeks, or even more,
To make all straight. But stay you till I send.
The king belike will not return for months.

Jose.
I'll off to help you.

Wil.
Look! she's throttling her.

Jose.
Ah, truly! Speak and soothe.

[Exit.
Wil.
Dear Queen, adieu.
Have patience; you must feign a sickness.

Q. Elin.
Yes!
Something at last to do.

Wil.
I'll straight prepare
My piece of goods for travel.

[Exit.
Q. Elin.
If he die
In France, two lovers will be gay in heaven,
And I on earth in hell. He must not die;
I must watch work in him the injury.
When God would hurt, He turns the heart adrift
To cut itself alive among the tombs,
And sets not corpse to corpse;—he must not die!