University of Virginia Library

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.