University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Street in London. Enter Mark Smeaton and Ralph Loney, meeting.
Loney.
Mark Smeaton, if I breathe!

Smeaton.
Who are you, fellow,
That thus accost her majesty's chief groom?

Lon.
So soon forgotten! Know you not Ralph Loney,
Whilom your school-mate? Shame upon you, Mark!
Had I turned Peter, and denied you thus,
When the big smith made at you with his hammer,
You would not bear your silken coat to-day.

Smea.
Ralph Coney—Coney?—

Lon.
Loney, Master Mark.
How should I call your name, not knowing you?

Smea.
Think you, this is the first, or hundredth time,
That knaves have claimed acquaintance with my name?
We of the court are known to every one;
And I in chief, as the queen's favored groom—
Nay, I may say, her most familiar groom,
Ranked more as friend than courtly servitor—
Am most conspicuous to the vulgar gaze.
It would but prove a new-come clown in town,
Had you not known me.

Lon.
Here are tidings gained
To please his grace of Suffolk. [Aside.]

Bless me, sir!
I pray forgive my vulgar forwardness;
Indeed I knew not of your dignity.
Your worship would not harm a thoughtless man.
Nay, frown not, good Sir Mark.—Do I misjudge,
In calling you Sir Mark?

Smea.
On the way thither;
To-morrow, or next day, that style may suit;
Perchance, a higher one. Resume your beaver.
Let me see—Loney—Ralph?—Upon my life,
When I reflect, I have a faint idea
That once I knew you.

Lon.
I will freshen you.
Do you remember, on an Easter day,
How the fierce urchins, half insane for meat,
And rancorous with the bile of fishy Lent,
Into a green and filthy pool bobbed you,
Merely because they could? How I alone,
In pity of your plight—your slimy plight—
Your most nose-wrenching plight—

Smea.
Good Loney, cease!
The zenith-topping sun forgets the clouds
Which, in the dirty dawn, he struggled through!

Lon.
Now, what bystander that had seen you rise
From that green pond, fresh with your miry coat,
Had ever prophesied these gilded clothes?
And who that saw me, with my broken staff,
Thrash to their doors your routed enemies,
Could have foretold my present mean estate?
I should be captain of a great armada;
You should be dragging horse-ponds.

Smea.
Prithee, cease!
These boyish pranks disgust my nicer sense.

Lon.
I would not vex you; but it comforts me,
And reconciles me to my lot on earth,
To summon back my childhood. As I then
Had my full hours of triumph and renown,
So have you now; thus fate is justified.

Smea.
You seem to be an honest fellow, Ralph;
Nor care I if from my abounding stone,
Ever replenished by my gracious mistress,
I give a parcel. [Gives a purse.]


Lon.
Luck be with you, sir!

Smea.
When that is emptied, I'll replenish it,
If you will drink my royal lady's health.

Lon.
You stand high in her favor.

Smea.
Did you know
The height I stand, it would amaze your ears.
Adieu! we'll meet again.

[Exit.]
Lon.
Farewell, poor fool!
We'll meet too soon for you. Hell snatch the purse!
[Throws it from him.]
It burns like heated brass. Now to the duke.
Mark Smeaton's vanity, a seeming trifle,
May in his grace's hands work great results;
Ay, even the unqueening of a queen.
Alas! alas! poor Mark, that thy fine feathers
Should draw the fowler's closely-prying eye!
So must it be; why should I hesitate?
Curse on his bounty! While we are beasts of prey,
The little game must ever feed the great.

[Exit.]