The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere

Leicester, Cornwall.
Leic.
This meeting of the primate and the kings
Must bring the end. Our king shall make or mar
In measure as the course he takes to-morrow
Be true or false.

Corn.
For years I have not seen
Such health on Henry's brow. That coronation
Which raised the boy to monarch, changed not less
His father to a boy.

Leic.
Cornwall! that deed
Was worse than questionable. Triumphant acts
Consummated at last and on the sudden,
Yea though of sin compact, with omens black,
Are not alone achievement but deliverance
And fire the heart like wine—
A load's removed; and, like a ship upspringing
Then when the o'er-blown mast is hacked away,
The spirit regains its port erect and rushes,
Though maimed, before the storm. Conscience expelled,
Conscience long labouring, and at last expelled,
Is next in strength to conscience crowned a king:—
Which strength this day is Henry's?

Corn.
Which? I care not!
Enough that strength he hath.

Leic.
Strength to waste strength:
He hath sold his great ambitions for a dream!
He might have conquered Scotland ere this hour:
We battle still 'mid marches bleak of Wales
Whose war-cries scare our sleeping babes. There's Ireland!

276

He scarce was crowned when Adrian blessed that suit:
Three years ago, Dermod, her woman-stealer,
Knelt to our king. His hands were full of Becket:
He might have conquered Ireland in six months;
Conquered and raised; or else with continent heart
Trampled Ambition's letch and left her bloodless.
He found a baser path: he farmed his feud
To bandit barons: bade them cross the sea
And ravin where they listed.

Corn.
Wary and wise!
These barons soon will sorely need his aid:
Then comes his time!

Leic.
Cornwall! They'll win and keep;
Now cut a prince's throat; now wed a princess:
Our king is vowed and sworn to Law and Order:
They'll brook no law that stands betwixt their greed
And serfs, their prey. Fitz-Stephen laughed of late
While Dermod danced o'er true men foully slain;
They'll laugh more loud when Outlawry not Law,
And clans war-mad, secure to them their lands
Sans need of aid from England. I discern
A deep'ning cancer bred from Ireland's heart
Yet hollowing England's breast.

Corn.
Those Letters Patent,
'Tis true, gave licence large. I scarcely guess—

Leic.
'Twas granted half in hope, and half in fear:
This Becket-war offends the greater nobles:
He dare not trust them: Chester—Arundel—
Frown when they name him: Oxford calls him upstart.
Barons that starve and disaffected priests,
On such alone securely he relies.
His Customs! What were we, princes of England,

277

If pledged to recognize as law and right
Casual concessions filched or bought, if tried
In hostile courts, and not before our peers?
Better be collared with the old Saxon ring;
Wear name of Serf and Thrall!

Corn.
In that we holp him:
Northampton's castle—

Leic.
Sir, we have our penance!
Young Harry's crowned! In guerdon of our help
We are ruled by babes! Good father-king, beware
You light a fire that soon will reach your roof!
From this beginning wars on wars shall rise.
The prince is proud; will scorn to reign, a puppet;
Discord will spread: first sons against their sire,
Brother 'gainst brother next will dash in frenzy:
The inveterate habit, hate, will prey within;
The wound, skinned o'er, break out again in blood
A river rushing on from reign to reign,
Till on the far, predestinate field at last
Plantagenet's great race makes shameful end
While some large-fisted boor or blear-eyed knave
Steals the dishonoured crown. If any Fury
Hates Henry's house, she fixed on it her eye
Then when this strife began.

Corn.
I hate this Becket;—
He is the Church's champion.

Leic.
Friend, you err:
I thought with you; but years have taught me better:
Becket was fanatic never though once proud:
Salisbury's old bishop says ‘he's dangerous,
Yet dangerous not as tortuous, but as simple
And passionate for the honour of his charge:
The State, not Church, that charge, he had not failed

278

To vindicate her right.’

Corn.
I serve the king;
My thought ends there.

Leic.
Cornwall, I also serve him;—
Would I had served him with less servile service:
Our course hath scarce been knightly, nay, scarce Christian:
Our service hath disserved him to his shame.

University of Virginia Library

Scene VI.—A house in Freitval.