University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

In Cornwall. A Hall in the King's Palace.
Eliduke. Walter. Blanchespee.
Eli.

We have met warm welcome, Walter.

Walt.

Fortune's cats, my lord; we 'light on our legs ever. Oh, let content get the upper hand of ill-luck, and her kicks and her buffets are no more than fleabites; if you rub them, indeed, they will smart. I swear we never were merrier—no, not last night in the thick of the feast—than we were a week ago on our way hither, when we toasted horse-flesh on our swords' points, and a full belly outweighed a full purse. What

a desolate waste the scoundrels have made of the land!

Eli.

It was the King that did it, and wisely. Being too weak to meet the enemy in the field, he hath stored his castle and laid the open country bare; so the enemy, when he comes to besiege us here, may bring his own victuals, or starve for it. He will come shortly, and then we must fight for our keep. This King hath received us courteously and feasted us plenteously, when we came in looking like ill-fed ghosts in rusty armour; and now, our tendered services being accepted, and we being sworn his vassals, we shall do ill not to fight stoutly in his behoof.

Blanch.

I'll fight, my lord!

Walt.

He'll fight! Oh, terrible! What wilt thou fight, most sanguinary hero, most unappeasable bloodletter, a very leech hid in a helmet, a horrible beetle in hat and feather? What wilt thou fight?

Blanch.

The enemy.

Walt.

God help the enemy!

Blanch.

Do you laugh?

Walt.

He will make heaven musty with cobwebs of men's shades slain in the field, that shall hang there and make Juno sneeze, till the housemaid, Mercury, brush 'em down-stairs with her broom. Gods! his hand on his sword! I must pay for it now.

Blanch.

'Sdeath!

Walt.

O most hot-blooded hop-o'-my-thumb, I pray you be pacified; I am utterly unworthy to taste

the fiery pepper of your indignation. Ha! ha! ha! Come, I'll set you on a dunghill, and match you against the cock. You shall fight an old cock, stain your virginsword with a ferocious old cock's blood. But you must buckle your greaves tight, or your legs shall smart for it; if, indeed, the cock be not too proud to fight, being a knight spurred, which your miteship is not.

Blanch.

Will you draw?

Walt.

I cannot hold my sword for laughing; I entreat you, spare me!

Blanch.

Will you draw? will you fight, old dunghill cock?

Walt.

Must I draw? Heaven have mercy on your young soul then!

Blanch.

You will not fight me? come on!

[They fight; Walter feigning to thrust, and parrying the strokes of Blanchespee.
Walt.

I cannot hit him, he is too small.

Eli.

He will hurt you, Walter; have a care.

[Blanchespee runs Walter through the arm.
Blanch.

Have I hurt you? Oh, pardon me!

Walt.

Hang it! to be run through by a whippersnapper! You have spoiled my left arm for a month to come.

Blanch.

Oh, pardon me, sir! your laughter stirred me too deeply; what a fool was I to be angry! Come, let me bind it round with my scarf. Let me see; 'tis not much.

Walt.

Oh, 'tis nothing, had a man done it; but to be pecked so by a sparrow!

Blanch.

Nay, let me bind it—so. Is it easy?

Walt.

Easy, yes. I shall digest the coming feast the better for so neat a blood-letting. Wipe your sword, and have done; you will not brag of this?

Blanch.

Who, I, sir? it would ill become me.

Walt.

Oh, yes, you will. Your sprouting boy will sooner learn to flourish his sword than to steady his tongue; all the court must know how you fought Walter, and drew blood from him. You'll tell all.

Blanch.

I say no, sir; you may make what tale you will for your bandaged arm; I'll swear it true.

Walt.

Bandaged arm, forsooth! like tying up the scratch of a cat.

Eli.

Come, Walter; what a surly fool art thou! You well deserved the hurt you got. If you cease not your grumbling at once, I'll be the trumpeter myself to proclaim how you got it.

Walt.

I've done, my lord.

Blanch.

Do not so, brother. It would redound much to my discredit, that, like a choleric boy aping the swordsman, drew on my best friend. Be friends again, Walter.

Walt.

What a plague mean you? I'll not shake hands,—as if we had quarrelled.

Eli.

He is in the right of it; you can never be but friends. Be thankful it is not your leg; you will show no worse at the ball to-night, nor will it spoil

your love-making, eh? This is his faith Harry—that heaven is a place where departed souls fight all day, and make love to rest themselves. Thither shall all good men go; and a good man—

Blanch.

Is one who strives to make a heaven on earth.

Walt.

Oh, flout away! But who made love last night? In good sooth, I thought you had lost your heart in earnest—such looks! such low words! I swear, had I been a woman, you had taken me in off-hand. Methought the princess's eye showed a yielding fervour, too, by the way the lid hung on her cheek; and her look flashed up in yours every now and then to see if you spake true, and you lying like a Cretan; but she saw it not. How the faint crimson flush came and went too! You are a quick thief of hearts, my lord.

Eli.

She hath a rare beauty, and a rare soul below, as indeed you may mark in woman, that the noblest aspect of beauty hides ever a soul to match.

Walt.

Souls, my lord, are for men.

Eli.

O infidel! I dare hardly tell it to thee, Walter, but my conscience pricked me sorely when I was alone with it last night in my quarters. Why should I, that have a fair wife at home, and love this lady no more than a nine-pin to play with, swear away my soul to win her heart only for the sport of winning it? It may pale her cheek with sorrow, for what I know.

Walt.

Pooh! what a dainty, delicate, touch-me-not-with-the-top-of-your-finger conscience have we

got here? Why, women's hearts are never safe in their own keeping; they were only given them to lose. A woman never finds her heart till she has lost it irrecoverably. Talk love till your tongue melts in your mouth, only lose not your own heart. 'Tis a dangerous toy you play with. She is one that the angels might sigh for.

Eli.

Ha! ha! she shall find me tougher than e'er a seraph among them. Yet were I unmated, her love—

Blanch.

A plague on your love-talk! how you waste the hours! Let's go hunt.

Walt.

Hark to him! Do you scorn love? why you are a boy yet. It is no man that cannot make a lady love him to distraction by a night's talk in her ear.

Blanch.

Will you teach me to make love?

Walt.

I? ask the Lady Estreldis.

Blanch.

'Faith, so I will.

Walt.

'Tis a thing we men learn by teaching it women, and you boys by the women teaching you. Or follow your brother; his example shall teach you, though he swears he thinks it wicked.

Eli.

I'll be cold to her; 'tis villanous.

Walt.

He'll be cold! mark him! I'll fly at all hearts.

Blanch.

Oh, let's go hunt.

Walt.

There's no time; we must to the feast shortly, where your brother will sit and talk in the princess's ear.

Blanch.

There had been time, but for your hanged love-talk. [Exeunt.