University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

A Room in the Court of Cornwall. The King and a Lord playing at Chess; with them Estreldis.
Enter Eliduke.
King.
Your leave a space, good Count! I will but end
This mimic warfare, and then speak with you;
And in the fortune of this painted board
I'll read a prosperous omen of success
For you to-morrow on a real field.
Estreldis, speak this lord fair; entertain him
With a maid's courtesy.—Do I move, sir?

Eli.
I wait your leisure, sire.

King.
Not long, my lord.

[Eliduke and Estreldis converse apart from the King.
Eli.
Fair lady,—

Est.
Sir?

Lord.
Check, my liege!

King.
Ha! bad! bad!

Eli.
Fair lady, I must thank you for this glove.
Oh, keep this silence, nor lift up your eye;
But standing thus a statue, let me breathe
In your white ear the voice of my full heart.
Oh, beautiful! the glove that thou hast given me
Is but the token of a wide esteem
Thou mightst grant any man; how then should I,
That have no soul but what I own in thee,
Be half content with this? Open thy lips,
And mould the crimson issuing atmosphere
Into a phrase of love, whose amorous tone
Shall steep me in delight. Learn it of me,
And give me back some portion of my voice;
For I love thee more than the breath of spring
Or ghost of lingering autumn, more than sleep,
And more than waking; life, and soul, and sense
Shape themselves into love; and I myself
Am now myself no more, but live in thee.
Say, now, that thou lov'st me. Or if thou fearest
To make thy silence blush with such a word,
Give me the hand whereof I hold the glove,
And let it be a sign.
[She gives him her hand.
Sweet ivory token!
I take thee tenderly, and thus upon thee
Write with my lips my measureless content!

Est.
O my good lord,—

Eli.
What says the soul of beauty?

Est.
Nothing, my lord.

Eli.
But I, beshrew my tongue!
Must say a something to whose dissonant tone
The boding owl's voice would hoot musical.
I must leave thee, sweet, and in that act of parting
Forsake my soul, which thou art. I see tears
Gathering in thy large eyes. Oh, let them fall,
That they may lie like shining stars of love
Glittering the ground! Oh, now I'll think you love me!

Est.
Why must you go?

Eli.
Because, love, mine own King,
Close pressed by fierce invasion, sends for me
To stay the march of ruin, and nail fast
The tottering crown upon his trembling brow;
And should I scorn the timorous tyrant's cry,
And stay with you, what should we gain by that?
Your father's jealous pride would never let
A union grow between us; we should live
In parted nearness only the more apart.
Two dear friends, locked in two neighbour dungeons,
Mingle in vain their mutual looks of pity,
In this unhappier than if they wept
Totally severed.

Est.
Take me with you, then!

Eli.
Dost thou say this? What! wilt thou fly with me?

Est.
The wide world over! Think me not too bold;
Having once said I love, I will not stint
And tie affection in a mincing phrase.
I love thee from my soul, and without thee
Home's not a home, nor quiet, quietude.
You are a knight, and I dare trust myself
Into your hands, until the tie of wedlock
Has knit us in a twine whose golden links
Rust not with time or change.

Eli.
Listen, sweet love!
I may not now with honour bear thee off,
Because I am sworn vassal to thy father;
But if to-morrow should see victory with us,
And I survive, as I am sure I shall,
Carrying your glove here as my amulet,
I will away to Brittany, and thence,
Having with an accustomed hand of conquest
Tamed these presumptuous Picards, I'll return.
Wilt thou then fly with me? O queen! Say ay!

Est.
Alas, my lord, what should I say but ay?
You are too potent, and my love-chained will
Takes but the shape of yours. Do not forget me!

Eli.
Now, by mine honour and my knightly word,
Within the year I will return for thee.

Est.
True love's ill bound by oaths.

King.
Check-mate, my lord!
Ha, ha! you were too rash, and overlooked
The coming of my knight,—that's Eliduke;
And so to-morrow shall he serve the foe.
Now to the council-chamber, my good lord.
What is your plan?

Eli.
Promises well, my liege.
On the far edge of the plain there is a pass,
Close-throated, through the hills. There do we stand,
Leaving an ambush that i' th' heat of the fight
May take them in the rear.

King.
Come in and show us.
I am too old to fight, and must sit here,
Looking in sick impatience from the walls,
And idly painting out the hid event.
Yet, though you're beaten, I'll not let them in,
But shut my gates, and sooner die of hunger
Than let this young unbearded insolence
Marry my daughter,—for he sends me word
That's his sole end. He shall not have the girl,
Nor any petty prince among them all.
Well, well, my lord, come in; let's hear at length
Your plan o'the ambuscade.

Eli.
Lady, adieu!

[Exeunt.