University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Castle hall. Lady Westmoreland, Elinor, and Florence, seated under a canopy: King Henry, and Nobles, in their hunting dresses, gathered round them in conversation: the Royal retinue, and retainers of the Castle, scattered in groups about the hall, while the tables are drawn.
K. Hen.
I flatter not. Now, what says noble Warwick?

War.
As much, my liege: the hunt was bravely pushed.

K. Hen.
Ay, by my knighthood, thrice upon the course
I thought to ask what mettled gallant led it.

War.
I cannot say, my liege: an active huntsman.

K. Hen.
Lady! good Aunt! Or, Cousin, thou canst tell.—
What stripling Centaur leads your father's hunt?

El.
My liege,—I—know not—

K. Hen.
Blush not, pretty playfere:
I broke not truce. Those timorous ears are pricked
At every fancy.

Flor.
Simple girl!—
His name is Arthur, gracious liege.

K. Hen.
Well, mistress,
What more? what parentage? whence and who is he?

Lady West.
(turning quickly.)
A beggar-boy, we took for charity.

War.
Here comes my brother.

K. Hen.
Uncle Westmoreland,
What daring youth led forth the train to-day?

West.
You task me, liege, above my knowledge.

K. Hen.
Patience!

West.
Which simply ends in this, his name is Arthur.
Three months ago, I found him, coarsely clad,
Driven in one blustering night to 'scape a storm.
Silent he seemed, and sad of heart; yet spake
With such mild grace, the less he said, the more
Curious I grew to hear. His friends were dead;
(For, once, he said, he had them kind, and able;)
His patrimony lost; and he an exile.
Won by a gentle word or two, he begged,
Having no home, a place among my huntsmen:
A boon right gladly granted; since repaid
By deeds of nearest service to our house.

K. Hen.
He has endowments: you should cherish him.
Such feats of horsemanship I scarce have seen.

West.
Liege, every free and high-born courtly grace
Prized by the noblest nursed in Princes' halls,
Learning, arms, courtesy, and wit, appear
Native in him as doth his horsemanship.

K. Hen.
Why, Uncle, these are marvels. Call him in.

West.
He plainly shuns the light; but I have worn
An eye of note upon him, and, of late,
Begin to think him far above his seeming.

K. Hen.
Cite him. How long his service here?

(A flourish of music.)
Seneschal.
(loudly, from the lower part of the hall.)
The Masque!

West.
First, view a little entertainment, liege,
Devised and led by him.

Seneschal.
Lords, clear the hall.

West.
My lords, and gentlemen, please you be seated.

(The crowd retires, leaving the area of the hall vacant.)
(A shrill fanfare from the minstrels ushers in a phalanx of Spearmen. They approach, in close array, the group round Lady Westmoreland and the King; halt, and open into a crescent, discovering in the midst Percy and Douglas in splendid armour. An ivory horn suspended by Percy's side, and the armorial bearings of his house blazoned on his shield. He lifts his beaver, advances, and speaks.)
Per.
To show our humble pageant, dreaded Liege,
Fair Ladies, Peers, and Knights, behold us come.—
Fearful a tale artless and rude as ours
May prove, from lips unskilled in buskined pomp,
But wearisome to Courtiers; yet, kind Sirs,
We'll show you warriors' pastime, when the King,
Girt with his Barons, rises. Rise ye must;
All,—Knight and Noble,—to a doubtful game!
For honor, life, we play, and mean, my lords,
To quit us valiantly.

West.
(aside.)
Why, who are these?

Per.
I cannot practise, for your sport, the Antic.
Too long, too long a Masquer, Arthur comes,
Stripped of disguise, this night, to execute
His fathers' testament;—whose blood lies spilt;
Whose murmurs from the tomb are in his ears;
Whose injuries are treasured in a scroll
Steeped with a mother's and an orphan's tears.
O'er that dark record has my spirit groaned,
Since dawning reason, in unuttered anguish.
When others danced, struck the glad wire, or caught
The thrilling murmurs of loved lips, I roamed
Where the hill-foxes howl, and eagles cry,
Brooding o'er wrongs that haunted me for vengeance.

K. Hen.
What tune may this be, Uncle?

West.
Faith, my lord—

Per.
For I have been an outcast from my cradle;
Poor, and in exile, while an alien called
My birthright, home. Halls founded by my sires
Have blazed and rudely rung with stranger triumphs;
Their honorable name rivals have stained;
Trampled their laurels and profaned their bones;
Hence have I labored; watched while others slept;
Known not the spring of life, nor ever plucked
One vernal blossom in the day of youth.
The harvest of my toils, this night, I reap;
For death, this night, or better life awaits me.
Before my lord the King I stand, and claim
Northumberland, my just inheritance,
As Henry Percy, son and heir of Hotspur.

(All start.)
West.
Percy!—Hotspur!—

K. Hen.
(to Westmoreland.)
What say'st thou now?

West.
Impossible! impossible! great Heaven!
It cannot be.

Lady West.
'T is but in sport, my lords,
'T is but the play.

West.
What means this, boy?—But sport?—
Speak, or by Heaven—

Per.
Peruse yon steely circle.—
Do those dark faces seem familiar?

West.
Ha!

Per.
Those are the warriors of the Bloody Heart,
And this the son of Douglas.

West.
(starting back.)
Douglas!—No;
This cannot be.

Doug.
(raising his beaver sternly.)
Look!

West.
What! ho! to arms!
Treason! to arms!

Knights.
(in different parts of the hall.)
Arms!—Hark you?—Sirs, they cry to arms.

Seneschal.
(hastily approaching.)
What means that shout?

West.
(loudly.)
Treason! to arms! Ho! Treason!

(A confused multitude of voices repeat the cry, and knights rush to the door, but are driven in. Percy and Douglas, meanwhile, lean in silence on their swords. The pibroch is sounded.)
Seneschal.
(returning.)
The pass is guarded.

West.
(to King Henry.)
Follow me.
(Hurries to a postern near the seat of Lady Westmoreland, which he throws open.)
Descend, my liege.

Voices
within.
Stand back! Ho! Esperance!

K. Hen.
Ha! hold, my lord.

West.
O, treachery! O, villain!

(An armed man appears upon the steps of the passage, and closes the postern.)
Per.
Thou find'st us provident.

West.
Accursed traitor!

(Rushes at Percy with his dagger, but meets the levelled lances of the spearmen.)
Per.
Tempt not your fate.—Beware, Lord Westmoreland!

West.
Slave! hypocrite! (Striking his head.)
Fool! fool! most blind.

K. Hen.
Cousin of Westmoreland, stand here awhile.
(Advances a few steps; waves his hand to silence the tumult; when all is hushed, speaks.)
My lords, and gentlemen, an unknown youth,
A vassal in my uncle's hunting train,
The selfsame wight who led our dogs to-day,
Now boldly enters to the presence, backed
By foreign arms, and challenges a right
Conferred by our most gracious father's will
On valiant Westmoreland, for deeds of love
Rendered our house when faction shook the throne.
He claims Northumberland; in right of blood
Drawn from rebellious Percy. Well you know
That name was blotted from the roll of Peers
When old Northumberland, from faith scarce pledged,
And pardon fell, lending his reverend locks
Anew to traitors.—Hollow title this!
But where the vouchers even for this? His name,
He says, is Percy. Sirs, must we believe?
Give me a sword,—my lord of Warwick, thine.—
Now, sirrah, prove thy vaunt here on the King.
Stand forth, if kin to Hotspur. He had charged
Through hosts Infernal to the gates of Hell,
Ere Man or Demon twice braved him to combat.
Leave, if thou darest, the covert of those spears.
Thus bucklered with my mantle, I defy thee
Blazing in Percy's arms.

Per.
That Percy's spirit lives, my lord,
A burning, proudly-swelling witness tells me.
But blood I seek not. Justice—

K. Hen.
Craven, peace!
When Hotspur spoke, his trumpet of alarum,
Fire-snorting steed, and shout of onset answered.
His thundering descant was on foemen's crests!
What lithe-tongued Insolent is this who claims
A hero for his sire? Away! away!

Doug.
Endure these taunting tongues no longer, Percy:
Let 's prove ourselves as they would have us.

Per.
No,—
Douglas,—I charge thee on thine oath—

K. Hen.
What! dost thou think to daunt us, boy? In arms
To parley with the King? I thought, by Heaven,
I had some small repute; I thought the world,
By this time, knew me.—Bare your weapons, lords.

Flor.
O, Heaven!

El.
Ah! mother! mother!

Lady West.
Peace; be still.

West.
They rue this gambol. Marked you, liege, the flash
Of swords unsheathing?

Per.
Westmoreland, beware!
Under these walls a vengeful Spirit wakes
More terrible than glared on Brutus. Harm
The life he watches, and to-morrow's dawn
Finds thee, thy King, this mingled throng, these towers
Founded as cliffs, a blasted, smouldering heap
Of blood and ashes.

West.
Babbler, peace! My lord,
Now shall we charge?

Per.
Stay, madman, but a breath
Upon this bugle.

(Sounds his horn. Mountfort and his party answer, from under the walls, with a terrific blast, that rolls in hollow echoes through the abysses of the Castle, and dies away like distant thunder.)
West.
Gods!

Per.
Again, my lord.

(Sounds; and is answered by Bertram from the armory above; a third time, by Bardolph from the four corners of the Castle. A pause of astonishment and silence.)
West.
Is hell disgorged around us?

Per.
A thousand horns have answered at my call,
A thousand spears are brandished for the charge,
And never did a thousand bolder hearts
Heave under breast-plate for the work of death.
(Takes off his helmet, and advances a little.)
Can any question who I am, my lords?—
If any; speak.—Could falsehood purchase aught
But shame, detection, and immediate fall?—
My lord and King, this youth, my friend, is Douglas;
Born of a race that nicely guards its honor.
That spotless honor lies this night at pawn,
Sworn to redeem my pledge.

(Unclasps his bugle-horn, and casts it round the neck of Douglas.)
Doug.
(waving his sword.)
Clansmen! retire.

(Their followers withdraw from the hall, leaving Percy and Douglas alone amidst the royal train.)
Per.
Scarce was I born, when our brave fathers burst
Their solemn league, indissoluble thought,
When Percy's hand gave Bolingbroke the crown.
I ask not whose the fault in that sad breach.
If Percy erred, has not the name yet made
Its expiation?—O! my lord, look back!
Let Shipton, Shrewsbury, and Bramham-Moor,
Let the dire pangs that broke my mother's heart,
Let my own banishment and blasted youth,
Declare.—I am the last of all the Percies:
A name coeval with the crown thou wearest,
And prized for ages as its brightest gem.
(Throws off his cuirass, and kneels; presenting his sword and breast to the King.)
Death—death—or my inheritance! Enact
Thy sovereign pleasure, for by Heaven I swear,
By Hotspur's ashes, by the faith of Douglas,
A hair of thine shall never fall for me.

(Exclamations from all sides. The circle presses towards the King, who remains awhile silent.)
K. Hen.
A desperate game,—but played out gallantly.—
Relenting thoughts and ancient amity
Had touched our bosom. Fraught with Percy's pardon,
Missives in Scotland bear our seal. His flight
Reserves it for his Monarch's lips. Arise,
As Percy, Lucy, Poinings, Fitz-Payne, Bryan,
Knight of the Garter, Earl Northumberland.—
Swear on this sword, faith, fealty, and allegiance,
By us, and by our throne, through life, to stand
A loyal, brave defender.

Per.
Sword—life—all
I dedicate—I consecrate—

K. Hen.
Earl Westmoreland, this act makes thee a Marquis.
Henceforth, be styled Marquis of Montacute.

West.
Meet thanks, puissant King.

Per.
My lord,—my Sovereign.
(Advances through the crowd to Elinor, who, pale and fainting, hangs upon Florence.)
Thy royal grace restores my lands, but ah!
Add this, (clasping her hand,)
or but a sepulchre thou givest!
Life were a curse,—a diadem but dust,
Bereft of this!

West.
(aside.)
Furies!

Per.
Plead, plead for me,
My gracious master!—Stern and frowning eyes
Are bent upon me;—fatal, else, this night
For ever to my hopes.

K. Hen.
What says my uncle?

West.
Death—
The grave—her bridegroom and her bed shall be,
Before that traitor. For my land I took,
Without a murmur, as a princely boon,
A barren title; but, by all the gods.
O'er my own daughter I am Heaven's vicegerent.

Lady West.
O, heed not, gracious Sovereign,—

K. Hen.
Have a care,
Or troth thou 'lt win a sterile seigniory!
For mark ye, my good lord, the King would call
That traitor—brother, friend, or son, more proudly,
Than any prince now crowned in Christendom.
(To Lady Westmoreland.)
Instruct me, lady.—Doth the maid incline?

West.
I swear, my lord,—

K. Hen.
(sternly.)
Peace, Sir!

(Approaches Elinor, who conceals her face on Florence's shoulder.)
Per.
(in a supplicating voice, still retaining her hand.)
Father, and Sovereign!—

K. Hen.
Fear nothing.—Elinor?

Flor.
She cannot speak:
The terrifying tumult yet distracts her.

K. Hen.
(to Percy.)
Forbear:—I see:—no further press to night.
(Takes Elinor's hand.)
Come, pretty throstle, hie thee to thy nest.
A bustling day and night we've had of it,
And many cares await thee on the morrow.
Let Henry, like a good physician, now
Bless, and dismiss thee gravely to repose.
But, like a May-Queen, ere the earliest beam
Call the young eaglets from their cloud-built bowers,
Up, and play hostess with a busy grace.
Good Angels guard thee!—Lady Florence.

(Gives Elinor's hand to Florence.)
(Percy whispers Douglas, who goes out.)
Per.
Did I not fear to seem presumptuous, liege,
Once more on bended knees, I'd play the suppliant,
For one whose youth in warlike toils was spent
To rear the fabric of my grandsire's fame;
Whelmed in whose fall, he since has worn away
The winter of his age in penury.
Foes have miscalled his errors: faults of zeal
Too warm for us, not hatred of thy house.
Re-enter Douglas, followed by Mountfort.)
This ancient man—I pray your Majesty
Repeal the sentence of his banishment.

K. Hen.
Why kneels he not to ask it?—Who is this?

Mount.
Guy Marmaduke de Mountfort.

Per.
Gracious liege,—

K. Hen.
Ha! doth that hoary Rebel live?

Mount.
Mayhap, now—

Per.
Mountfort, Mountfort, pause—Remember me!

Mount.
My joints are stiff, great King.

K. Hen.
Presumptuous slave—

Mount.
But, Sir, (kneels,)
I crave oblivion of the past.

K. Hen.
I know thy stubborn nature. Greybeard, hence!
For Percy's sake, and only for his sake,
Take with thee pardon.

Doug.
Come.

(Mountfort rises haughtily, and stalks out with Douglas, muttering.)
Per.
O! for a tongue!—'t is here, 't is here full fraught!
But my dull lips are bankrupt.

K. Hen.
Noble youth,
Rough signs are rising: in the Gallic field
Thou shalt have leading, and a day to thank me.
Dismiss your friends: give audience here to-morrow.—
Now, gentlemen, good night. Look to the gates.
Disperse. Another day we pass at Warkworth.