University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

A Garden.
Enter Ethel and Violenzia.
Eth.
Sing, Violenzia.

Vio.
Hark! the still air gives voice, and sings,
And music mounts on murmuring wings;
Grave silence, throned in upper skies,
Unfolds her silken slumbering eyes;
No voice but jars the ear of silence,
Save tuned breath, which doth 't no violence.

Eth.
Thou speak'st it sweetly, Violenzia;
Only thy voice discharms not holy silence.

Vio.
Look, how the heavy-foliaged elm-trees stand,
Like clustered pictures in the western sky;
And there a fainter blue doth still betray
Where bright Apollo had his bedding-place.
High overhead the angels light their lamps,
And with rich gifts and precious influence
Walk the night-wandering winds. Look up, my Ethel!
When on the glances of the upturned eye
The plumed thoughts take travel, and ascend
Through the unfathomable purple mansions,
Threading the golden fires, and ever climbing
As if 'twere homewards winging,—at such time
The native soul, distrammeled of dim earth,
Doth know herself immortal, and sits light
Upon her temporal perch.

Eth.
Wonder not at it,
Since often to our human temperaments
Things contrary inform—not semblances,
And mostly in immortal questionings;
Seeing we ourselves live in their opposite,
And sit in the circumference of death.
Violenzia!

Vio.
My Ethel?

Eth.
Turn thine eyes
From heaven, and look upon me.
Now tell me what thou seest.

Vio.
A dear face,
And image perfectly beloved.

Eth.
And I, in thee,
See such a gift as when I first possessed it
Did recreate my soul; yea, even yet
Doth make me sceptic of the heavenly shore.
For what needs Paradise by poets feigned,
Or those celestial gardens past the grave,
If here, on the condemned, slandered earth,
Perfect felicity visiteth? I, in thine eye,
Or the touch of that white hand, or thy low voice
Whispering thou lov'st me, have such full content
As nothing more can add to't.

Vio.
Oh, if thus ever!
Ever tell me thus thou lov'st me.

Eth.
Do I not?

Vio.
Ah, no! I think thou dost repent thyself
Of the dear hour that broke thy love to me;
And I, that know myself too much unworthy
Of the royal benefaction, too mean a vestal
To feed so rich a fire unquenchably,
May weep, and blame the jealous circumstance,
That such a treasure in my path did lay,
Who am no setting for so proud a gem.

Eth.
It is my love that will not let me speak,
And passion puts a silence on my tongue.
I have no gift of speech; and when I strive
To model that which beats so deeply here,
The dull air gives no echo, but deceives
With faintest semblance. Oh, for the poet's voice!
Within whose bosom no emotion breeds,
Or deep desire doth burn, or fancy sway,
But straight the fashioning brain gives it a shape,
And carves it out in sound of measured verse.
Were I a poet, my dear love should learn
How deep I love, that lack the art to show it.
And that thou mayst not doubt me, Violenzia,
Or think I would forego what is to me
The air of my soul's life, thy love, here stand with me,
And underneath the solemn silent stars,
And passion deep inspiring dark of night,
Let us our mutual vows enregister.

Vio.
With all my soul!

Eth.
Reverently, Violenzia;
For here we stand to bind a chain which neither,
With honour or true happiness, may unlink.
This love which ties our souls is the true wedlock;
And the formal after-ceremony, though essential,
Unites our lives alone, is the honourable bond,
Not the religious. Search thy soul, Violenzia;
If there be any doubt there lingering
If thou affect'st me truly—as well there may be—
We will defer until it be burnt out,
Or if it grow, break off. Tell me entirely
If thou dost love me.

Vio.
If it be to love thee,
To think the enfolding arm of any god
Abhorrent beside thine; in thine eye to live,
As if I thence drank the gold life-giving water;
If it be love to waste the nights in tears,
Because I have no gift that may repay
The least taste of thy affection; if it be love,
At the whisper of thy name, wherever heard,
To feel the life-blood stopping at my heart,
To know all things a blank, dearest friends' news
Trivial, all old distractions nothing worth,
But the empty time only impediment
That severs me from thee; to feel me unworth,
Yet to believe under thy tutelage,
As I do know my utmost should not want,
Something of this light frame might yet be moulded
Worthy of Ethel's wife; if it be love,
Which hath so changed my vain, inconstant spirit,
That I beweep frailties late gloried in,
And think this beauty, lately my life's idol,
And that I did believe outstarred all nature,
But worthy as the pleasure of thine eye;—
If these be love—Alas! I speak it coldly,
Violenzia loves, and dares avow it boldly.

Eth.
Consider yet my faults.

Vio.
Thou art all virtue.

Eth.
I am not, Violenzia. Of a spirit proud,
Over-constant, lost in thought, oft melancholy,
Unused in word or gesture to betray
Affections deepest felt; therefore cold seeming,
But in my heart most true, most true indeed;
I have more wants than I have wit to tell.
Bear with them, sweet.

Vio.
Ethel! I am not proud
To say I'll bear with them—rather I'll love them,
Thinking them part of thee. But for my faults!
Nay, I lack grace to name them. I'll hide them rather,
And root them out ere I become thy wife.

Eth.
Here with this ring I hoop thy finger round.
A jewel of great value, and ancestral,
And with it dedicate my fire of love,
Lighted by thee, and by no other fuel,
Now or henceforth, ever to be sustained,
To thy dear service. For ever thine, Violenzia.

Vio.
And take thou this one, which my dying mother
Gave me to this intent. O lofty Ethel,
I kiss thy lips, and am for ever thine.

Eth.
Look, the moon rises; fair stars wink and shine,
And through the overarching branches peep
To see our ceremonial. Sweet, good night.

Vio.
Good night, dear love. Ride you to-night away?

Eth.
To-night.

Vio.
And with the early morning I;
Arthur stays for me; we shall meet at court.
But late so fair—and now, look, clouds arise,
And the wind begins to blow. We shall have rain.
I think you are not ominous. Well, good night.

Eth.
Good night; soft-handed slumber shut your eyes!

[Exit Vio.
Enter Robert.
Rob.
What, ho! holla! Ethel, thou wandering spirit,
What mak'st thou with the stars? To horse! to horse!
Boot, ere the early cock doth sound his horn,
For we must ride full twenty miles ere morn.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

The Court.
King, Malgodin, Ethel, Robert, Haveloc, Courtiers, &c.
King.
And now, young Ingelwald, that rid'st so fast,
What news bring you from the East?
As by your face, there should be news within,
Burning to be unbosomed.

Rob.
Gracious liege,
Upon my lips no welcome news abide,
But such as shall on your imperial eyes
Draw down your frowning brow, and bid your voice
Unlock its youthful thunder. The old Swede
Hath broken his bounds; with twice five thousand men
He treads upon the bosom of the land,
Lighting his way with villages on fire,
And driving forth the unhoused hungry swains,
Who, like starved locusts, feeding far and wide,
Eat what the tempest spares.

King.
Where lies his force?

Rob.
Now before Engelborg,
Which nobly yet doth bear his furious brunt,
But scarcely may, unless fresh succour come,
Hold out a seven-night more.

King.
So closely pressed?
Why, then, your castle stands in daily fear.

Rob.
Most imminent, sire, and since my duty here
Hath called me to your hand, fearing to leave
My only sister to the unheaded courage
Of menials, whose zeal, faithful and proved,
Might yet lack in my absence, I have bidden her
Follow me hither.

King.
And do when expect her?

Rob.
This day, my liege.

King.
She shall be welcome hither,
As well befits the sister of her brother,
And taste a royal treatment. For the Swede,
We knew his purpose long, and but awaited
Some overt act like this to lay him bare
To a well-merited chastisement. Here, Ingelwald,
Here hast thou written the several mustered companies
Late gathered, and appointed of the best,
With all equipment needful. The command,
By death late wrested from the shaking hand
Of Otfrid, aged with honourable years,
Take thou, and succour Engelborg. The Dane
Wars with us, but I think we shall not need
His slow-advancing succour.

Rob.
Noble my lord,
You will yourself go forth?

King.
No, Ingelwald;
Me higher state cares do at home detain.
The head that from offence would ward the body
Makes not itself a weapon, but employs
The service of its members. Thus I of thee
Create a hand, whose vigorous employment
I will afar direct.

Rob.
Your majesty
Hath seen no war. Hath royalty such arts
That it can cool the youthful rolling blood,
To sit at home when arms are in the field,
And glory on a fiery wing doth float,
The entranced spectatress of the bloody day?
Oh, let my liege once strap his armour on,
And bind his young thigh with a soldier's sword—
Once hear the clanging trumpet's troubled voice,
And loud citation of the rolling drum,
Bidding fall on—and once, after bold deeds,
Hear victory ring in his amazed ears,
And he will hold a warlike fame more worth
Than these dull cares of state. Befits a king
First to secure or ere he rule his realm.

Mal.
What, shall his majesty go out to war?
And that his precious and irreplaceable person
Submit to the perilous chance of battle-field?
For whom fight'st thou or is thy service worth
But for the King? And that for which alone
We do protect all else—his life, shall we
Stake on the first throw?

Rob.
Why, thou pest of kings,
As I can read a flatterer in thy face—

King.
Content thee, Ingelwald. We go not forth;
Our choice admits not question: use good haste;
Choose thine own officers, as thou best knowest,
Who hold the worthiest faculties.

Rob.
Here is one,
Whom I would fain have second to myself;
So please your majesty commend my choice.
He is the Earl of Felborg, son of him
Who was your royal father's nearest friend,
Counsellor, and warrior, under whose able eye
He studied war, and stands most near to me,
As the betrothed husband of my sister.

King.
If he be like his father all throughout,
As in his grave young face I read a semblance
To that which I from early years recall,
We may hope here for such a prop of state
As kings are rich to own.—Welcome, young sir!
Ethel of Felborg,—as I nothing doubt
You hold your father's name,—second i' the army
We name you here; and as your service holds,
You shall well find that no ungrateful eye
Looks on your works.

Eth.
I humbly thank my liege,
And my best efforts shall not want to show me
Worthy your high conception.

King.
The third place
Your brother Arthur holds; rode he not with you?

Rob.
He waits upon my sister.

King.
Well, move on.
And, gentlemen, to-morrow set you forth.
This evening high festivity let reign
In all our bosoms. We invite you all
To grace our entertainment. Noble Ethel,
Let us not want you.

[Exeunt King, Malgodin, and Train.
Manent Ethel, Robert, and Haveloc.
Rob.
Felborg, know this gentleman,
The brother of our King, and I dare warrant him
As honourable as high-born, and add—may I not, sir?—
Willing to love you.

Hav.
It is extremely true.
Did I not fear to seem too confident,
And over-estimate my worthiness,
I would make bold to sue you for your friendship.

Eth.
You do me, sir, much honour.

Hav.
May I ride with you,
And learn some soldiership under your flag?
You are young, and yet well practised. I so raw,
I fear I shall disgrace your company.

Rob.
You can ride, and use your weapon.

Hav.
That's but little;
But I can be obedient and diligent,
If the Lord Felborg will accept the services
Of such a volunteer.

Eth.
Sir, very willingly.
I'll keep a place for you. Good day, my lord.—
Robert, will you go with me?

Rob.
Ay; I'll follow you.

[Exit Ethel.
Hav.
That's somewhat cold, I think.

Rob.
Who? Ethel cold!
When you have lived with him a little week,
He'll love you like a brother.

Hav.
Would I were worthier;
I could love him strangely. Farewell till to-night, then.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

A Hall in the Palace.
Violenzia and Ethel, Robert, Arthur, Haveloc, Ladies, Courtiers, &c. dancing.
King and Malgodin.
Mal.
Your blood beats high, my liege.

King.
By heaven, Malgodin!
These eyes did never feast on beauty yet;
With what poor meats my passion hitherto
Hath cooled its appetite!

Mal.

Red and white, red and white; what a fair thing is innocence! Pity it should be spoiled in the using. Very pretty painted crockery, but hot water will crack it.

King.
Blasted be the face
On which she looks with such transported eye!
Ethel of Felborg, we must teach those glances
To wander and set elsewhere. Ay, squeeze hands!

Mal.

A very good arm to fold in a king.

King.

Of a chaste and noble keeping: what, Malgodin?

Mal.

Very light! very light! Such a weathercock

as all women; hath such a fire in her eye as many women, and needs such an excuse as some women. By an equal not to be touched, but by a king.

King.
O sudden passionate blood, burst not my veins
With the anticipation of delight!
To-morrow Felborg goes,—foul shade that hides
The lamp of joy from my dear longing eyes.
To-morrow! oh, too long it lies behind;
Even now I'll speak, and teach her now my mind.

Mal.
Better wait yet; an over-open courtship
May bring some danger.

King.
Danger! from whence?—to whom?
To her?—to them?

Mal.
To you, to you, I fear it.

King.
Away, you fool! I only fear delay.

[The King accosts Violenzia; they come forward conversing.
Vio.
Your majesty doth mock me with fair words.

King.
Why, then, truth mocks; those lie not that do say
The sun outshines dim stars' nocturnal ray;
Those overpraise not heaven that name it blue;
To call a rose sweet, is no more than due.
Thy smile doth pale the sun, heaven's blue thine eyes,
And roses faint before thy breathed sighs;
To wrap all praise in cincture of choice sounds,
And heap it on thee, were to keep due bounds.

Vio.
Yonder stands one, in whose eyes showing fair,
I seek no other praise.

King.
Oh, enviable!
Why, then, I see a king's state is but trouble,
And those on whom, from my high-bolstered state,
I pityingly looked down, may win more grace.
Is 't possible thou shouldst down-glance so low?
Fair women's eyes seem fairest looking up.

Vio.
Down to the Earl of Felborg! I to Ethel!

King.
Talk not of dust. A king bows to thine eyes.

Vio.
And would bewitch me with false flatteries.
Why should your majesty waste grace with me?
Many sit here more fair than I can be.

King.
O blasphemy! The young moon shows not fairer
Among the stars that coldly do ensphere her.

Vio.
Many more witty—

King.
Chattering apes beside thee.
Hark, in thine ear—

Vio.
Nay, I shall blush to hear it.

[Exeunt.
Robert, Ethel, and Arthur.
Rob.
What! do you mark it too? for in your eye
I read but small contentment.

Eth.
I do mark it;
And am very sorry she should seem so vain,
And easily taken with false flattery.
Yet youth may plead her pardon; nor do I think
She spoke him much encouragement.

Rob.
Spoke, man!
Her eyes did speak with bright triumphant sparks
Delight to have a royal pursuivant;
Her smiles did sun the growth of his advances;
Her every gesture cast itself about
To be admired and bent to. Fie upon her!

Eth.
She knows not how this king affects her sex.

Rob.
Affects! why that old dragon famed of old,
Who, issuing from his briny wave-roofed house,
Devoured each day the unfiled rock-bound virgin,
Was not so vast a ravisher of maidenhood,
Nor owned such an insatiable maw,
As this voluptuous youngling.

Enter King and Violenzia conversing.
Arth.
Whispering!

[He crosses and drops his sword in their path.
King.
Who's that?

Vio.
My brother Arthur.

King.
Ho, young lord!
What means this careless mischief in our path?

Arth.
Pardon, my liege; but this young maid, I fear,
Will need a sword to keep her feet from tripping.

King.
Beware, young insolent! she stands not subject
To thee or to thy sword. In my protection
Alone henceforth she lives. Look to it well,
And meddle in it as you love your head.

[Exeunt King and Violenzia.
Arth.
Good brother Robert, did you mark his words?

Rob.
Either I'll tame her young and mutinous spirit,
Or she shall ride back home. Better endure
An honest death than stain her father's name.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

Violenzia's Chamber.
Violenzia alone.
Vio.
How much unworthy of my noble love
Have I this evening cast myself away,
And been the prey of idle vanity!
I have sucked the poison of sweet flattery,
And may digest the venom. Oh, sad weakness,
That only doth repent, and not prevent—
[Knocking.
Who beats at the door? who knocks so loudly there?

Rob.
(outside.)
Open, I say!

[Beating the door.
Vio.
Who is it knocks?

Rob.
(outside.)
Violenzia!
I'll break your bolts else!

Vio.
'Tis my brother's voice!

She opens. Enter Robert and Arthur.
Rob.
What, must we wait the whole night at your door,
Like dogs that howl at the gate?

Vio.
Alas, good brother,
I knew not it was you.

Rob.
You knew not—you!
Say, rather, some more favoured visitor
Was in your mind. We mar your purposes.
Teach, teach your cheeks some shame!

Vio.
Good brother Robert!

Rob.
Good sister Violenzia! good disgrace!
Young shame-breeder to our unspotted house!
Well, now, what would you with me?

Vio.
What means this?
Come, you forget yourself. Go elsewhere, sir,
To spend your drunken humours; I'll not bear them.

Rob.
Perfect in impudence! Beware! beware!

Arth.
You are too hasty, Robert. Let me speak.

Vio.
Speak soberly, I pray you.

Arth.
Hark, Violenzia.
You have this night given us much cause of fear,
By your light toying with the luxurious king;
The danger you perhaps know not. Tell us this—
Are you prepared to sacrifice that name,
Your only honour, of an unstained maid,
To his gross desires?

Vio.
Alas! what have I done?

Rob.
What done! Thou hast looked babies in his eyes,
Tasted his kisses, made him confident,
What's true may be, you want but opportunity
To meet him half-way.

Vio.
I have done none of this.

Rob.
Thou liest, fair infamy! and I begin to hate
That I must call a thing so stuffed with ill
By the name of sister.

Vio.
Brother! too harsh, too harsh.

Rob.
Well, look to it! If from your folly here
There spring the shadow of disgrace to us,
And you do blot that name long shining fair,
Like mountain-top untouched by cloud of shame,
By all that is most sacred in high heaven,
Or terrible in the dark world below,
Your blood shall spill to mend it. Look! I draw;
Draw, Arthur! draw your sword, and swear with me,
If this rash frivolous girl
Should with her baseness mock her father's bones,
She shall not long survive it.

Arth.
Kneeling, I swear it.

Vio.
Stay, brothers! let me speak.
That I have been weak and vain I do confess it;
And did forget that sober staid demeanour
Befits your sister. What more I have done,
Alas! I know not; but by your fierce looks
And menacing swords it should be something worse
Than yet I ever dreamt of: being brothers,
You rather should have warned me of my danger
Than threatened me with death. You do me wrong
Thus coarsely to upbraid me, and I scorn you,
When you dare hint I hold your honour light,
Knowing it false. These are sharp instruments
To teach a sister with. For that ill done,
As yet I scarce do know wherein it lies,
Humbly I ask forgiveness, and will strive
Hence to demean me worthy your approval.

Rob.
So do, and you'll do well.—Farewell, Violenzia:
Think of our words, and think we'll keep our vows. Enter Ethel as they go out.

Good night, good Ethel, in and speak with her.

[Exeunt Rob. and Arth..
Vio.
Come, noble Ethel, my soul's comforter.
In thee I find no angry proud reproach,
But a more moving sorrow. Nay, I'll kneel;
Let me upon my knees entreat thy pardon.
Have I made sad that dear esteemed face,
And grieved that heart, my home of confidence?
As if the earth should frown upon the sun,
That spreads her front with greenness. O poor Ethel!
If thus thine own beloved dare bruise thy life,
What injury shall thy foes inflict on thee?
Their worst of malice shall seem innocent
With thy home griefs compared. The curse of women!
That they love power more than they love their love,
And break true hearts to minister display.
Ah, be not harsh, so lovers should not be;
But let my white hand smooth thy cloudy brow,
And my soliciting kisses intervene
Between the solemn junction of thy lips:
Those that love dearly do forgive small faults.

Eth.
Easily I forgive thee, Violenzia.
But, oh, be tender with me; sway me not
Too far!
Lest I perceive, thy yoke being absolute,
I needs must break it utterly to be free.
I love thee dangerously.

Vio.
If I ever,
In spite of this ill-timed frivolity,
Nourished a thought faithless to my betrothed,
May thy fond love turn to devouring flame
And eat my heart to ashes!

Eth.
I believe it,
Nor think it strange the flatteries of a king
Should scatter so young a spirit. That base thoughts
Live in this temple is not possible.
But thou, unbred in courts, know'st not the danger
Lurks in the smiles of kings. They wither maidenhood,
Faster than gathered roses doth the sun;
Who first draws out their most delicious essence,
But having kissed the secrets of their bosom,
And dried the dew of their virginity,
Puts on a strange face of consuming pride,
And wrinkles them for ever. Now, even now,
Such light encouragement needs royalty,
He in his secret soul believes thee won
To grant his shameful askings.

Vio.
He shall find
Much otherwise, my Ethel.

Eth.
Alas! thou know'st not
What infinite perils set thee. What devices,
What shapes of virtue, and masked semblances,
Shall with the basest inwards lead thee on
To unimagined ruin! Subtler genius
Than ever worked for good shall with foul evil
Tangle thy soul, if thou shouldst show like virtue.

Vio.
It is my punishment. There is no flight—
Nor do I much desire it. Ethel, I know
Thou dar'st leave me unwatched. Tremble not for me.
Save this night's folly somewhat weighs upon me,
And teaches me a strange humility,
I well could scorn the utmost zeal of vice.

Eth.
I trust thee, Violenzia; and believe
From thy unsoiled chastity these assaults,
Like breath from glass, shall fade and leave it stainless.

Vio.
How dared they dream I could be false to thee?
I'll tell my brothers their sharp swords want wit,
While this heart beats and I can hang on it.

Eth.
O Violenzia!
Thy love to me is as the fire to the lamp,
Which wanting it, is valueless and cold.
That which we have, we oft want art to praise,
Until we think to lose it. Thou, kind Heaven,
Rob me of all the graces of this life—
Nay, the necessities; cut off from me
All shoots of sweet affection; let all blood
Kindred to mine be stopped by baneful death,
And all things I most earnestly desire
Fade in the grasping. But this one best jewel,
Against which I have staked all earthly bliss,
Let me not lose. Oh, when our joy's at height,
The swift hours rolling bring revengeful night.

Vio.
Touch lips at parting.

Eth.
Fare thee well, sweet heart.
If any danger threaten, send for me,
And wait not till it's imminent.

[Exit.
Vio.
Soul of gentleness
And truest equanimity, fare thee well.
If I should wrong thee in my lightest thought,
The devils would cry shame on't.
[Knocking.
Dost thou return?

Opens. Enter Malgodin.
Vio.

Who's here? My brothers, if you seek them, sir, left me some half-hour since.

Mal.

What, chamber-visiting? chamber-visiting? Hath your ladyship three brothers, or more brothers? I doubt very many brothers. Two I left in the hall filling wine-cups, and a third came out of this door, and ran over me in the corridor. Oh, mere leavings, mere leavings.

Vio.
What, there! attendance! Sir, I know in me
No hint of such behaviour as should give you
The right to intrude here. Leave me, I say!
What your words aim I know not; but, by your mien,
They are not less than insolent. Those are at hand
Would think your life a trifling satisfaction
For a breath of wrong to me. Pray you, begone!

Mal.
A very round arm. “Pray you, begone!”
Where learned you this action?

Vio.
Will you not go? Nay, then, I'll bring those to you
Shall shake your trembling life out.

Mal.
Nay, you pass not.

Vio.
By heaven, I'll pass! tottering deformity!

[She thrusts him aside.
Mal.

I beseech you! I beseech you! I come from the King.

Vio.

From the King?

Mal.

Why, you did not think I came in my own behalf? Old—old! the days have been, have been—

Vio.

What says the King?

Mal.

A young king to a fair woman. He loves you, and beseeches you to grant him an audience.

Vio.

When? where?

Mal.

Here—now. Oh, I entreat you, use not these old tricks of shyness with him. He is a king, and young.

Vio.
Who and what am I,—rather, what have I done,
That should deserve this thing?

Mal.

Ah, good now, what d'ye stick at? I'll not see you, nor hear his coming. His majesty waits upon you.

Vio.
Why, this is what they told me. Hark you, sir!
If the King did send you here—I'll not believe it;
Yet else thou dar'st not. But if the King did send you,
Go back. Tell him, he shames his majesty
To use so base a messenger; and that his breath
Is tainted in the passage. Tell him, he shames
My maidenhood. I am not of that sort
He loves in this new fashion. Go! no more words.

Mal.

Maidenhood! I'll tell him what you bid me, be sure of it. Those of your kind are proud. I have known many such. Well, well! I shall know it, though you manage it never so secretly; and I'll remember you scorned at me.

Vio.
Get you gone, aged corruption!
[Shuts the door on him.
Is't possible he should esteem me thus?
What fire is this that burns my proud cheeks up?
Did I appear like this? Not so much ceremony
As to affect to woo me! What, to me,
Whose veins do swell with a renowned blood,
The daughter of an earl!—what's more, a maid—
To-night! I'll call my brothers, let them know
What rate their master holds them. They would avenge it
Even with a king's blood—therefore I'll not tell them.
But, oh, beware, thou regal masked baseness!
Two noble hounds I hold but in the leash,
Which at a word will seize thee by the throat.
Ethel, less fiery—no less valiant,
And would with his determined sword hold back
A world that sought to harm me. What do I fear?
I'll call no help. There is no danger nigh
Worthy to fright my spirit. Come, thou proud King;
Try all thy arts: my deep-inspired love
Like a bright shield I'll hang before my heart,
And scorn thy leaden arrows. Come, thou King!