University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

A Room in the Palace.
The King; to him enter Malgodin.
Mal.

My lord! here's news from the camp at last, and great ones. I think Lady Fortune laughs at our little frailties, and takes side with us. The hot-brained brothers and the confederate Swedes have been defeated—and by whom, think you? Ethel of Felborg. Laugh at it, it is true: and he hath taken the Ingelwalds prisoners; and oh, it is more laughable yet, hath condemned them to death, and by this time they are dead, and by his means. Here's news for a man to get fat upon, if his merriment spoil not his digestion; Ethel hath done them to death.

King.

Hath Felborg defeated the Swedes?

Mal.

Why, 'tis a very wise fellow; he could not marry the girl now. What should he get by joining the Swedes, being a Christian, and not of a revengeful temper? What should he do, but make favour with you? Tush! he'll bring you back the girl in his hand. Oh, the ingenuity and great good temper of the devil!

King.

She's dead, Malgodin.

Mal.

But your majesty must not trust this Felborg: 'tis these forgiving spirits, these mean pocketers of insult, that bear a long memory; I never smiled on a man yet that struck me, but I gave him a dig in the dark, ay and a deep one. And the girl, again, your majesty! blushing scarlet, and praying forgiveness for running away like a fool; she shall go on her knees, which is a pretty attitude in so fair a woman.

King.

Be silent, you damned beast! I say she's dead.

Mal.

(aside.)
What's in the wind now? Bah! he frightens me as a tame cat does when she turns to bite: he can wound me, but I am his master as much as ten times his wickedness can make me. Magister scelerum, that's your true degree, and a good working distinction. He walks to and fro like a hungry bear.—Why is your majesty so restless and moody? Are these not good news?

King.

I tell thee, Malgodin, I saw her last night.

Mal.

Whom did your majesty see?

King.

Violenzia.

Mal.

In the flesh?

King.

No; in the spirit.

Mal.

A very poor exchange in a woman.

King.
Peace, you devil!
About the middle of the night she came,
Or nearer morning, as I lay awake.
My curtain shook, and on my spirit came
A sense of something savouring of death;
At which my hair 'gan rise, and all my body
Was bathed in anxious dew: yet could I not
Take off my eyes from where the curtain moved;
Which parting, showed me Violenzia,
Who with straight staring eyeballs uninformed
Looked into vacancy; on her white side,
Whiter than her torn robe, she grasped her hand,
And through the parted fingers I could see
A sword's deep stab with red and gaping edges.
A year I gazed at her, until my blood,
All thronged into my drawn suspended heart,
Burst with a great leap back into my veins,
And then I fainted.

Mal.
'Twas a pretty dream.

King.
I have a dagger in my belt. Beware!
It was no dream.

Enter Attendant.
Att.
A messenger from the army, so please your Majesty,
Would speak with you.

Mal.
Let him come in at once.

[Exit Attendant.
Enter Messenger.
Mal.
Now, what's the news?

Mess.
O mighty Sovereign—

Mal.
Speak to me, knave. He will not be disturbed.

Mess.
Oh, I must bring my liege unwelcome news
That hangs upon my tongue.

Mal.
Peace, wordy fool!
Tell it in little space.

Mess.
Earl Ingelwald
And his condemned brother did last night
Evade their guards, and, being at liberty,
Fled to the private lodging of their sister,
And slew her sleeping.

Mal.
Is this all?

Mess.
Being taken,
They were this morning executed.

Mal.
Hence!

King.
Nay, stay awhile; I'll hear it over again.
What is't about the high-born Countess Ingelwald?

Mess.
Slain by her angry brothers, gracious liege.

King.
Slain by her brothers with a sword, you say?
They stabbed her in the side?

Mess.
Ay, very like;
I think 'twas in the side.

King.
In the white side.

Mal.
Fellow, be gone!

[Exit Messenger.
King.
Why, then, it is no dream!
Up to this moment I did well believe
It was a painted and fantastic dream.
Why, then, we do not die; and what you taught me
Of the material structure of our being
Is false, and there's a life beyond the grave.
Her face being ghastly, pale, and sorrowful,
Betrays we have affections, and keep memory
Of that which we did here. Oh, what remembrances
Shall I there feed upon! If she, an angel,
Wore a sad face in memory of her faults,
What inextinguishable dreadful pangs
Shall I not be condemned to! Is there no help?
No, not a whit! Why let it be and come,
I cannot alter it.

Mal.

Not unless you could go back into your longclothes and be born again, as the righteous are.

King.
I'll picture you my hell. Thus shall I sit,
Frozen to stone, yet more than sensible;
And all affections I have ever quenched
Of mild-eyed piety and soft compassion
Shall throng up in my bosom: then shall be brought
Myself, and all the deeds wherein I acted,
And every person that was mixed in them;
And all the mischiefs that I ever did
Shall there be set before me; all the griefs,
The pain, the anguish, and the misery
That ever my misguided will did breed,
Down to remote and finest consequence,
Shall there be shown; and I sit staring on,
Debarred from weeping, while the scene displays
Such sights as would make Pity waste her eyes,
And down the face of Winter draw warm tears.
There shall be played a weeping chamber-scene,
And screams be heard that would have moved the dead;
And there rebellion shall make hasty home
In honest bosoms; and white gleaming swords
Shall, in the hands of brothers, bend their points
Against a sleeping sister; and a king
Shall be portrayed, beating his bosom—thus.

Mal.

A very ingenious and pleasant mode of passing eternity; same, though—same.

King.
This serpent I have nourished in my breast
Is grown so bold he scoffs me to my face,
And I endure it. Why, what should I do,
Were I to kill the only wickedness
That can outmatch my own?

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
More news, my liege.

King.
More news—more grief—more hell!

Enter another Messenger.
Sec. Mess.
Fly, my good lord! an instant flight may save you;
The Earl of Felborg rides against you fast,
And all the army, sworn to do his will,
Follow behind; the cry is all against you:
They will depose you, and he shall be king.
Fly, for your lives!

Mal.
O these forgiving saints!
I think the game is almost played away.
This fool begins to rave too.

Mess.
Haste, my liege!
'Tis more than imminent; they're on my heels.

King.
He comes whose face, being seen in endless hell,
Shall make me mad with vain attempts to die.

Mal.
What boots a flight? I shall be apprehended:
I'll try my knack at managing a Christian.
He that can ride a wild beast may a tame one;
Yet they're mule-mouthed sometimes.—Take heart, my liege.
(Aside)
What a poor slave it is!—Swallow some wine.

King.
(throwing it down.)
What should I want with wine? my mood is cold,
Cold as despair. Enter Ethel, Olave, and Officers.

Who breaks into my presence without leave?
Bent brows, bold eyes, and bonnets unremoved—
Is treason ripe, and so unmannerly?
[Drawing his sword.
Come on, you hateful traitor; I abide you
As I do leprosy.

Eth.
Disarm him, gentlemen;
I do not come to measure swords with him.
You are my prisoner, and for this I charge you,
That you have ruled this country most amiss,
And done foul wrongs and monstrous wickedness,
Whereat heaven aches, and will no more endure it.
For this you shall be tried; and on the morrow
Expect to make your answer.

King.
Who shall try me?

Eth.
(pointing to Malgodin.)
Arrest him for a common malefactor.
If he vent blasphemy, gag him.

[Exeunt.